The Problem of Threadneedle Street (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

response to the Great Stink of a half-century ago.”
    “I cannot believe it,” mumbled Winthrop. “All this time, a river under my bank!”
    “But how could you have suspected the existence of such a tunnel, Holmes?” I inquired.
    Holmes smiled broadly and his eyes shone from underneath his black brows. He was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known the introspective logician of Baker Street or the quietly retired bee-keeper of the South Downs would have failed to recognize him. “I simply had to apply my maxim again, Watson. If they did not come through the door, the walls, or the ceiling, then they must have come through the floor.”
    “But how did you know it was this stone in particular, Holmes?”
    “The scratches, of course, Watson.”
    I looked about in confusion. “But all of the flagstones are scratched, Holmes! It must be expected when moving around such heavy crates.”
    He shook his head. “But not like these specific abrasions, Watson,” he pointed to the adjoining flagstone. “These are fresh, without time to fill in with the typical dust that permeates rooms such as this. The cuts on this particular stone must have been made very recently, when a particularly cumbersome item was moved on top of it. Such as the adjoining stone that we have just dislodged.”
    “You deduced all of this from a set of fresh scratches?” said I, wonderingly.
    “Not at all, Watson. It was equally likely that the scratches had been made while the crates were removed. But I knew that one of the stones must have been recently replaced, for that was the only possible explanation for the presence of what Inspector Gregson referred to as dust, but was actually a quick-drying Portland cement. And the flask of water confirmed it.”
    “Water!”
    “Oh yes, Watson. Why else would there be a spirit flask with no scent? The residuals of any other alcohol would have been evident. The water was used to cure the cement.”
    “But the cement!” protested Gregson. “How could it have been replaced from below?”
    “It couldn’t be. It was set from above,” said Holmes simply.
    “That’s impossible!” spluttered Mr. Winthrop. “A man would have had to remain behind in the vault.”
    “That is exactly what I suspect happened. Why else do you think that you received that peculiar note from the so-called Mr. Wild?”
    “What do you mean?” asked Gregson.
    “It was intended to raise an alarm. Mr. Wild did not wish for you to calmly open the vault as your normal morning routine, for he would surely have been discovered standing within. Rather, he wished for a small regiment of constables to rush blindly into the darkened room, so that one additional man, also dressed in a false constable’s uniform, could easily blend in and then safely sidle away.”
    Gregson shook his head violently. “Impossible. No man has such a cool hand, to lock themselves in the main vault of the Bank of England and wait for the arrival of the police. It would be foolhardy to the point of madness.”
    “And yet, Inspector, I believe that is exactly what happened. It is the only plausible theory that fits the facts.”
    “But Holmes, it would have taken a man of exceptional strength standing in that shaft to hold this heavy flagstone in place while the cement set,” I noted.
    “Yes, yes, but how does it advance us?” said he irritably, at the interruption to his narrative.
    “Well, it may be of capital importance. Anything which will define the features of the gang will help us towards the criminal.”
    He considered this for a moment. “Capital, Watson! I concur completely with your observation. At least one member of the gang is either a giant, or they have some deformity. For I have noted that weakness in one limb is often compensated for by remarkable strength in the others.”
    Meanwhile, Gregson shook off the torpor that had been induced by the stunning find of Holmes, and called out to his men.