"First let us make all necessary observations here," continued Holmes. "It is not often we can observe the scene of a crime in its pristine state, untouched by the misguided bumblings of our colleagues at Scotland Yard."
He looked down and suddenly seemed to notice that he was still holding the basket. Placing it on the table, he drew back the fringed cloth inside and gave a start.
"Watson!"
"Holmes?"
"It is a baby." How insightful, I thought, restraining myself from voicing my sarcasm. Granted, Holmes had little experience with children, but his miserable statement of the obvious was the closest he had come to deduction in some months. A start, at least. His glance fell on Mrs. Hudson, whimpering slightly as she stared at the unfortunate young man. "Mrs. Hudson, calm yourself," he said, handing the basket to the landlady. He pushed her toward a large soft armchair and turned finally to the man lying prostrate beside me on the floor.
"I am much afraid that he can tell us no more," I said, bending over the still body.
"Ah, my dear Watson, that is where you are mistaken. He can tell us a great deal. Obviously I do not need to tell you that he is a coachman by profession, his manner of dress being enough to make that clear. However, it is also clear that he has come across with the child's family from the continent, Paris to be specific. They were forced to leave in great haste. When they arrived in London he procured a rented carriage and horses, however he had difficulty driving them as they were not accustomed to his hand. Tragedy occurred when the carriage was overtaken by whomever they were fleeing, and the occupants either killed or abducted. This man was just able to get away with the child, and hid for a time in an alcove off Marylebone street.
That is all, except of course for the fact that he is left-handed.
"Really, Holmes," I cried, pleased by the sudden return of my friend's mental skills but exasperated as ever at his instant grasp of facts which were stubbornly invisible to me. "How can you possibly learn all that from a man who spoke but a few words to us before perishing? Perhaps he is simply a London hired coachman."
Holmes looked disappointed. "My friend, you must really make a greater effort to use your powers of observation and deduction. You are an intelligent man, yet you have missed the most elementary information simply by failing to look. And listen. You could hardly help but notice immediately when he came in, the rather peculiar accent with which this fellow spoke English, as well as his particular pronunciation of the child's name."
"Yes, I did note a certain emphasis on the last syllable, Madeleine rather than the usual Madeleine."
"There, you see you have made the necessary observation. Madeleine is the French version of the name, and his accent clearly bespoke a Parisian background. It is extraordinarily obvious. As for his being a hired hack, surely you do not imagine such to-the-death loyalty from an ordinary London coachman. He has obviously been with the child's family for some time."
Well, as usual, once you have explained your method of deduction to me is all quite extraordinarily obvious," I admitted a bit sullenly. "But you have not yet explained the rest of your deductions. How do you know, for example, that they left in great haste?"
"He is wearing no overcoat. Although the cold winter weather is behind us, still it is too early to put aside one's coat, especially if one plans to journey to London, where the weather is known to be somewhat raw this time of year. As for the rented carriage and horses, look at his hands. He has numerous old calluses, clearly from years of holding the reins. But notice the new blisters alongside them. He must have had a difficult time controlling the unfamiliar horses. The child could not have been travelling alone at this age, so the other occupants must have met with ill fortune at the hands of whomever they were fleeing. Finally, the shoes of this young man are caked with lime of the particular variety being used at present to repair the mortar of the building across from a dark alcove on Marylebone Lane. I know, because I had occasion to hide there myself recently while observing the habits of a certain street criminal."
"And the new blisters you pointed out are on his right hand, indicating that it is the one in which he would hold the reins, making it his less-used, or secondary hand," I added.
"Very good, Watson!" exclaimed Holmes. "Your powers are growing. Now, let us see what information we can get from this small person, who I believe must be Madeleine." He turned back to Mrs. Hudson, who had withdrawn the bundle from the basket and now was holding a small child, at whom she was peering with an extremely foolish expression on her face. She sat lost in the room's largest armchair, the baby on her lap. She seemed quite oblivious now to the rather disturbing fact that a dead man was lying in the middle of our sitting room.
Holmes pulled another chair up to hers. "Let me take a look at what we have here - no, Mrs. Hudson, please continue to hold her. The basket is standard variety florist shop and can be purchased anywhere in London. But the baby - she is wrapped in a finely knitted cloak of brown and blue Scottish wool, distinguished by the letters - " Holmes brought a corner of the shawl closer to his eyes. "The capital letters N V T, embroidered in blue thread." His voice was thoughtful.
"The maker's mark, no doubt," I offered, knowing Holmes' predilection for tracing objects of all kind by the various identifying marks of the manufacturers.
"No, Watson, you have as usual observed well but failed to make the necessary deductions from your observations. These letters were embroidered by hand as a monogram, the initials of the owner. With no visible maker's mark, we can still determine that this is a woman's cloak, of the fringed style currently being worn in Paris. A thorough reading of the daily papers would have brought that piece of information to you. Always read the papers, Watson, and you will always be prepared with the information crucial to a case. This child is also wearing a woven bonnet, trimmed in white lace with a heavily embroidered band. Would you straighten the bonnet please, Mrs. Hudson? The monogra is visible, embroidered in the same blue thread and by the same hand as the shawl. Since we know her name is Madeleine, M S N are certainly her initials."
"Since the bonnet does not have the same last initial as the shawl, it must not be her mother's shawl," I noted.
"Yes, I find that a most curious detail indeed. It is a point which merits further investigation. This cloak was wrapped around the child in haste against the cold. She must be in great danger indeed if she was rushed out, by her mother or someone else, not properly dressed for the weather. Although it is not my area of expertise, it is my understanding that no mother, governess or nanny will ever fail to overwrap her child in chilly weather. A look at her face - Mrs. Hudson, please clean her off, why must children be so untidy, tells us - hmmm - nothing. All children do look alike, don't they?"
"Why Mr. Holmes, how can you say that?" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson. "Just look at her almond eyes, why she's beautiful! Bright chestnut hair. And what a strong jaw she has. Quite the little aristocrat."
Holmes looked startled. "Yes, quite." He peered into his pipe, momentarily lost in thought. "Mrs. Hudson, what would you estimate to be the baby's age?"
"Oh, it's difficult to guess, Mr. Holmes," began the landlady.
"Well, is she newly born or is she a year old, can't you tell?" snapped Holmes.
"Oh, no, sir, no more than six or seven months. She'll just be starting to eat some solid food and sit up alone now, Mr. Holmes." Mrs. Hudson answered evenly.
"Six or seven months." Holmes had a decidedly odd look in his eye. "Well, she has provided us with enough information for the moment. Clearly she is of paramount importance to someone; otherwise the coachman would not drag her across London when his own life was in danger." He paced across the room, thinking.
It seemed to me that it was impossible to be sure just whose life was in danger. The fatal shot might have been meant for either Holmes or the little girl instead of the coachman.
"No, I am certain the bullet met its intended mark." Holmes had an irritating habit of reading my mind at times. "You saw, did you not Watson, how the killer looked directly up at our window before fleeing?" He didn't wait for my answer. "The deduction is elementary. Had he intended to shoot me or the child whom I was still holding, he would not have been content to run away, but would have finished his work. For some reason of which I am now ignorant, but which I will soon discover, he wanted to eliminate the coachman before he revealed any information to us. And, he wanted to be sure the baby was alive." He was right, I thought. It was elementary.
"One thing I do know is this," he continued. "This cold-blooded killer may not be content with just one death. He may decide he wants to come back for the child after all." Holmes looked around the room, as if seeking a closet or drawer where he could hide a baby.
Up until this moment Madeleine had seemed quite happy, looking about the room with an interested expression on her face and making gentle nonsensical sounds. Now, however, her small lower lip began to push out and the sounds grew distinctly less gentle. A moment later, she opened her mouth and started crying.
"Well! That was sudden." I exclaimed.
Holmes scowled. "Mrs. Hudson, what is the matter with her?" he demanded.
"She's a baby, sir," Mrs. Hudson answered, for once unperturbed by Holmes' brusqueness.
"Can't you do something?"
"She might be hungry. We could give her - now, that's fine. How are we going to feed her without a baby bottle? And without milk! All I had delivered this morning was cream for your coffee." Mrs. Hudson stood and began jiggling the baby, which seemed to quiet her at least momentarily. "Wait! I cooked a pot of rice for your dinner - we can give her the rice water. It will hold her for a while, at least, until we can get some more appropriate food for her. How am I going to feed it to her, though, without a bottle?"
"What kind of a bottle?" Holmes asked.
"Why, a baby bottle, sir, surely you've seen them." With a slight flush, she described the various parts of the baby bottle to an astonished Holmes.
When she finished, Holmes stood for a few seconds with his head tilted to one side, lips pursed slightly in thought. Then he sprang into action. Leaping over the poor dead man in the center of the room, he strode over to his chemical set, long dormant since he had been down in the dumps. Working expertly and efficiently, he chose a medium-sized glass beaker with a narrow neck and set it down on the table. Picking up a rubber stopper, he fit it carefully into the beaker and then removed it. Now, as we watched speechlessly Holmes selected a length of his thinnest rubber tubing, held it up to the beaker and trimmed it slightly. Finally, he pushed the tube through the rubber stopper and stuck the stopper back into the beaker. The tube dangled down into the beaker almost to the bottom, and protruded from the stopper about half an inch on the outside.
"Et voila!" With a flourish he held up his invention for our admiration. "One baby bottle at your service, madam."
"Mr. Holmes, I always wondered if that smelly mess of chemicals could ever be put to good use. Give me that bottle and I'll fetch this child some nourishment." She made as if to hand the baby back to Holmes, but he backed up.
"Watson will take her," he demurred. Apparently his interest in children extended only as far as inventing new feeding contraptions. I took the baby from Mrs. Hudson and began jiggling her myself as she resumed her loud anxious noises.
In a moment Mrs. Hudson reappeared with the beaker, now filled with rice water. "I'd already salted the rice," she said worriedly. "I hope she'll take it anyway. Here, Dr. Watson, I'll just sit in this chair." She sat down in the overstuffed armchair and took the baby from me, leaning her back in her arms. She needn't have worried about whether or not Madeleine would take the rice water. As soon as the rubber tube touched her cheek, she turned her head and grabbed it in her mouth. As she drew the first mouthful she stopped, a quizzical expression on her face, but she must have decided she liked it because she almost immediately began enthusiastically drinking from the bottle.
"That was quite easy," Holmes said. "But still, she is not safe here. The murderer of this young man knows just where we are and might send someone for her at any time."
Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?" asked Holmes. "I freely admit that in the area of children I am a novice. I most welcome any ideas you have about what to do with her."
"Well sir," she began hesitantly, "I could take her with me to Briarheath, my daughter's house. It's a fully staffed house, her husband does well enough for himself and I'm sure they wouldn't mind having such a little darling one around."
"That is a capital idea," exclaimed Holmes, a look of relief crossing his face. "In the meantime I will begin investigation of this strange situation."
"I'll just stop along the way and get the things she needs." Mrs. Hudson sat the child , who had begun making unhappy noises, up on her lap. "Now what? The bottle is still almost full." She tilted the baby back and tried giving her the bottle again. Again Madeleine began drinking, only to stop and fuss after a few moments.
Holmes had been paying no attention to the scene, but I had. "It's the rubber tube," I exclaimed. "It reaches to the bottom of the bottle, and when you tilt the bottle back, the baby only can only drink what was already in the tube. We need to cut the tube very short." I took the bottle from Mrs. Hudson and did exactly that. Now when our landlady tried one more time to give the bottle, the baby drank happily without pause until the bottle was drained.
Holmes had begun pacing the room again, lost no doubt in the mental gymnastics for which he has become famous. Another knock at the door and our footman Harry entered to announce the arrival of Mrs. Hudson's coach. His eyes grew round as he spotted the lifeless body on our floor surrounded by glass and water. Holmes instructed Harry to fetch the police and the coroner, then turned to the shattered window. He spent several minutes making observations, muttering to himself and ignoring the rest of us. Rain was coming into the room through the broken glass and spattering his suit badly, but he was oblivious to it.
Presently Harry returned with the news that the police were on their way.
"Could I get these things loaded up, sir?"
"Yes, go ahead Harry. There's no need for Mrs. Hudson or the infant to be here anymore. They would only confuse the brilliant minds at Scotland Yard."
The loading of Mrs. Hudson's luggage took some time, but finally Mrs. Hudson rose from her chair. "Everything is ready," she interrupted Holmes gently, "I'll be on my way now if you won't be needing me any more."
"No, Mrs. Hudson, you may go. We will be in contact with you by wire if there is any need. Please remember to take utmost care with the child." The odd look was back in his eye.