The Adventure of the Manufactured Miracle (The Midwinter Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Molly. I have but a few more questions for you. Did Mr. Vaughan always have a picture of Queen Victoria upon his bedside table?”
    Before the maid could answer, Lestrade spluttered in amazement. “Holmes, really! Was the man poisoned for being too patriotic?”
    Holmes merely smiled. “I have my methods, Lestrade. I shall follow my train of evidence while you follow yours. We shall see who arrives at the station first.” He turned back to the maid with raised eyebrows, awaiting her reply.
    She had followed this exchange with wide eyes, but promptly answered. “It’s certainly been there for the last few weeks, sir. But I have a feeling that there was another picture there when I first started. However, there were so many new things to learn, I am afraid I took little notice of it.”
    Holmes pursed his lips in disappointment, but nodded his head reassuringly. “That is fine, Miss Hopton, I understand.”
    “Now, then, if you will follow me over to the table, I would like for you to confirm a few things for me.” He took her by the hand and led her back into the dining-room towards the table, which was still laid out as it had been during the holiday gathering. Four goblets rested in a rough circle around a silver ewer, on top of a white tablecloth embroidered with evergreens and holly leaves. Holmes circumnavigated the table once, coming to a stop so that the passage to the kitchen was behind him.
    “Alright, Molly. Now, let me reconstruct where everyone was sitting. This is where Mrs. Molyneux sat.” He pointed to the place to his right.
    “How could you know that, sir?” said she, in an amazed tone.
    “There is a spot of facial powder on the serviette that can only have come from Mrs. Molyneux, as I note that you do not wear any.”
    Her hand flew to her cheek as a spot of color rose there. “As if any respectable maid would wear powder while serving!”
    “Indeed,” said Holmes. “Across from me sat Reverend Arden. Upon the tablecloth, I detected a slight scent of lime-cream. As Dr. Lowe does not use such a product in his hair, and I saw no such bottle upon the dressing table of Mr. Vaughan, it could only have come from the Reverend.”
    “Yes, sir,” Molly replied. “That is correct.”
    “Then the doctor sat to my left.”
    The maid nodded. “Indeed, sir.”
    I examined the table for a clue that would suggest such an arrangement, but found nothing. “How can you tell, Holmes?”
    He grinned sardonically. “You did not miss any sign, Watson. The good doctor left no mark of his passing. But it is the only place left, for I am certain that Mr. Vaughan would have sat here,” he tapped the chair in front of him, “closest to the kitchen.”
    I frowned in bewilderment. “But why would he have to sit there?”
    Holmes shrugged. “Well, perhaps it was a lucky guess. Let us just say that it fits with one possible scenario for what occurred yesterday afternoon.” He turned to the inspector. “Now, then, Lestrade. I think we’ve seen all we can here. Do you mind if I take a sample of the ashes from the office?”
    “The ashes?” exclaimed Lestrade. “Don’t you mean the wassail?”
    Holmes shrugged. “If you insist, we will take samples of that as well.” He went about collecting samples from all four goblets and the ewer into separate phials. He then carefully placed all of the waste-bin ashes into an envelope, which he sealed and placed into his waistcoat pocket.
    “By the way, Lestrade,” said Holmes, off-handedly. “What exactly was Dr. Lowe’s motive?”
    “Motive?” replied, Lestrade, puzzled.
    “Indeed. All of your evidence points towards the doctor, but why did he do it?”
    Lestrade shrugged. “Madness, I suppose. It happens this time of year.”
    “Hmmm, yes,” said Holmes. “I suppose it does. Thank you, Lestrade.”
    On the hansom ride back to Baker Street, Holmes was silent, a state I allowed to continue, as I knew the machinations of his finely-tuned mind were busy