Victorian Villainy Read Online Free PDF

windows, as is only proper, considering. Ain’t it horrible? We should leave the doors and windows open, in respect of the dead, only the mistress’s body has been taken away, and the master has been taken away, and it’s raining, and those newspaper people will come in and pester Miss Lucy if the door is open. And then there’s the murderer just awaiting out there somewhere, and who knows what’s on his mind.”
    “So you don’t think Professor Maples killed his wife?” I asked.
    The maid looked at me, and then at Holmes, and then back at me. “This is Mr. Moriarty, Willa,” Holmes told her. “He’s my friend, and a lecturer in Mathematics at the college.”
    “Ah,” she said. “It’s a pleasure, sir.” and she bobbed a rudimentary curtsey in my direction. “No, sir, I don’t think the professor killed the Missus. Why would he do that?”
    “Why, indeed,” I said.
    “Miss Lucy is in the drawing room,” Willa told Holmes. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”
    “I see you’re well known here,” I said to Holmes as the maid left.
    “I have had the privilege of escorting Miss Lucy to this or that over the past few months,” Holmes replied a little stiffly, as though I were accusing him of something dishonorable. “Our relationship has been very proper at all times.”
    I repressed a desire to say “how unfortunate,” as I thought he would take it badly.
    Lucinda came out to the hall to meet us. She seemed quite subdued, but her eyes were bright and her complexion was feverish. “How good—how nice to see you, Sherlock,” she said quietly, offering him her hand. “And you’re Mr. Moriarty, Sherlock’s friend.”
    Holmes and I both mumbled something comforting.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t see you when you arrived earlier, Sherlock,” Lucy told him, leading us into the sitting room and waving us to a pair of well-stuffed chairs. “I was not in a fit condition to see anyone.”
    “I quite understand,” Holmes said.
    “I am pleased that you have come to the defense of my—of Professor Maples,” Lucy said, lowering herself into a straight-back chair opposite Holmes. “How anyone could suspect him of murdering my dear sister Andrea is quite beyond my comprehension.”
    “I have reason to believe that he is, indeed, innocent, Lucy dear,” Holmes told her. “I am about to take my friend Mr. Moriarty over the grounds to show him what I have found, and to see whether he agrees with my conclusions.”
    “And your conclusions,” Lucy asked, “what are they? Who do you believe committed this dreadful crime?”
    “You have no idea?” I asked.
    Lucinda recoiled as though I had struck her. “How could I?” she asked.
    “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said. “Did your sister have any enemies?”
    “Certainly not,” Lucy said. “She was outgoing, and warm, and friendly, and loved by all.”
    “Andrea went to the cottage to meet someone,” Holmes said. “Do you have any idea who it was?”
    “None,” Lucy said. “I find this whole thing quite shocking.” She lowered her head into her hands. “Quite shocking.”
    After a moment Lucy raised her head. “I have prepared a small traveling-bag of Professor Maples’s things. A change of linen, a shirt, a couple of collars, some handkerchiefs, his shaving-cup and razor.”
    “I don’t imagine they’ll let him have his razor,” Holmes commented.
    “Oh!” Lucy said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
    “I may be wrong,” Holmes said. “I will enquire.”
    “Could I ask you to bring the bag to him?” Lucy rose. “I have it right upstairs.”
    We followed her upstairs to the master bedroom to collect the bag. The room was an image of masculine disorder, with Professor Maples’ bed—they for some reason had separate beds, with a night-table between—rumpled and the bed clothes strewn about. Clothing was hung over various articles of furniture, and bureau drawers were pulled open. Maples had dressed hastily and, presumably,