It was a rainy Wednesday when we were called upon for a case. The morning paper was in my hands and I had no sooner had read the opening lines- "MURDER IN DERBYSHIRE! Lord James Alcott, a man of some considerable wealth, had been accused of and arrested for the murder of his wife." when Mrs. Hudson had come scurrying in with his card.
"He says it's very urgent," she panted, holding it out.
"It always is," said Holmes.
"And he didn't know whom to turn to,"
"They never do," remarked I, and Holmes half-smirked, irking our Landlady.
"And he's not sure what to do!"
"They never are," Holmes and I said in complete concert. Mrs. Hudson threw up her hands and went to fetch Lord Ackley, which whose was the name on the card, "And some tea, if you please!" Holmes called out. I buried my nose back in my paper, for I did not, at the time, know the lord was connected to the murder. As two pairs of feet ascended the steps, a name in the paper caught my eye.
"Holmes!" he turned his hawk-like nose towards me, "Lord Ackley was the name on the card, and here it says 'the Lord Ackley's daughter, Mary Alcott, was murdered'." Holmes' head turned, he looked determined, like a falcon deciding on his next prey. The door then came open, and Mrs. Hudson, who still looked unamused, announced;
"Lord Ackley," before stepping back out the door, doubtless to return with the tea that Holmes had ordered.
"Mr. Holmes, I apologize for interrupting your morning, but it is very urgent." Holmes and I shared a look, "My son-in-law's life is in danger! He is not guilty!"
"Give me the evidence," the detective sighed, "I cannot build a house of truth without the bricks of fact." Holmes flopped into his chair and let his eyes drift shut. Lord Ackley glanced at me in hesitation, "This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, you may speak freely in front of him as in front of me." Mrs.
Hudson brought in the tea, and we sat in silence as Ackley gathered his thoughts.
Finally, he started to speak: "Lord Alcott, I know, is wholly innocent of this crime. But the police refused to even listen to his story after their house keeper told the inspector." Holmes interrupted here,
"Which inspector?"
"An old friend of the family; Lestrade."
"Ha!" was the reply. Lord Ackley slanted a look at Holmes.
"Please continue," I prompted, and he did.
"Lestrade thinks there can be no other possibility, but I know that he loved Mary more than life itself." The man was on his feet and started pacing from the mantel to the window, fidgeting with the chain of his pocket watch.
"And what story did he give to the, hehe, inspector?"
"James was downstairs, my son-in-law has the horrible vice of laziness, and was asleep on the daybed. He awoke to horrible screams, Mary's, and flew upstairs, only to see a black cloak slip out of the window." Holmes interrupted him again.
"What floor is this window?"
"The second, but there's a tree who's branches rest next to the sill." Holmes nodded. "Lestrade hints upon the importance that there were no footprints at the scene, but it had been raining, so that proves little."
"Were there any footprints inside?"
"Well, no, not that I know of." Lord Ackley fell back into his chair and fiddled with his tea, but never drank a drop.
"Hmmm," Holmes opened his eyes for the first time, and began to scrutinize the man in front of him. "We'll take the case!" he cried, and leapt from the chair as he only does when something of great interest has crossed his path.