Chapter Three
The body was not such a horrific sight as one might have believed. As Mrs. Jamieson had said, he did indeed look as though he was resting. His eyes were closed and his hands folded neatly across his breast. The only thing to mar this picture of peaceful repose was the blood-soaked bed linen that surrounded him.
As a medical man, I felt perfectly justified in stepping forward to examine the cadaver. I concurred with the police surgeon's estimate that the man had been dead since the previous morning, then fell to looking at the wound itself.
It is by no means as easy to stab someone through the heart as people think. For a start, the general public believes the heart to be much further to the left than it is in reality. Then there is also the small matter of the ribcage to negotiate. Practically speaking, it is usually far more effective to cut the throat. Whoever Simon West's murderer was, they were possessed of unnerving accuracy.
Holmes and Lestrade had now joined my study.
"A straight edged blade, maybe an inch in width," murmured Holmes. "Quite long, I think. There's no sign that it was rammed in up to the hilt."
"If you're finished here, Mr. Holmes, I think it would be as well to get poor Mr. West to a mortuary as soon as possible. It is after all a warm day."
"Out of interest, Inspector, how do you know his name is Simon West?" I asked.
"He still has a tailor's bill in one of his pockets and his cigarette case was engraved. Now let me think, what did it say? Oh yes: To Simon, as true as any compass point. From your loving Cat."
"Cat?" Holmes exclaimed sharply. "That is a shortening of Catherine, is it not?"
"Oh there's no mystery about that. I personally sent a telegram to the Penridges enquiring on that very point. It appears he and Miss Penridge were engaged to be married and the case was a gift from her."
"How very thorough of you, Lestrade. I think that I have seen all I need to here. If you don't mind, I should like to return to Baker Street to think it over."
Lestrade agreed that nothing more could be done here and summoned two of his constables to remove the body. Holmes and I returned in silence to Baker Street.
Once comfortably ensconced in his armchair, Holmes withdrew into one of his deep introspections. Knowing better than to interrupt one of these moods, I picked up a copy of The Times and attempted to interest myself in the deeds of humanity. When I reached a column-inch to the effect that the Mayfair murderer was still unknown, I realised I would be unable to concentrate until the case was solved. Accordingly, I cast my mind back over the day's events.
I am ashamed to say that I could make neither head nor tail of them though, and the pleasant warmth of the day soon sent me into a doze, where masked assassins cavorted before my eyes and cats prowled amidst the shadows.
I was jerked abruptly out of my reverie by the arrival of Lestrade. His thin face was flushed with excitement and in his hand he clutched a triumphant piece of paper.
"See here, Mr. Holmes! A letter, signed Catherine Penridge," he exclaimed, thrusting it under my friend's nose. "We found it in the lining of West's coat."
Here I will take the liberty of reproducing the letter, as I have it to hand now.
Dear Mr. West,
After the abominable way you have treated me, I beg leave to inform you that the engagement is, most emphatically, broken off. I am fully aware of the harm this will do my reputation, but do not think for one moment that this will deter me from my course. What care I for public ridicule when the alternative is marriage to a man who has neither love nor respect for me?
If you had to have dalliances with other women, could you not have used a little discretion? It is cruel enough to be treated in this fashion without half the world being aware. Upwards of ten people have, with the utmost tact, brought the matter to my attention. One I might have taken as malicious gossip, but ten!
As of this moment, I renounce you utterly. If you have any room in your heart for me, I ask only that you never see or speak to me again. Fly to the arms of your lady-friend, but I suspect that yours will not be a long and happy life. I pray nightly that the Lord will see fit to rend your heart as you have broken mine.
I am no longer your,
Catherine Penridge
Lestrade had been watching Holmes' face carefully throughout his perusal of the letter. Seeing him finished, he broke in, "What do you think of that? Damning stuff, I'd say."
"I thought you said the young lady was in Paris at the time," I objected. "She could hardly have escaped notice long enough to travel to England, murder Simon West, arrange the body in her own house – where, I might point out, suspicion would be certain to attach itself to the family – and get back to Paris without anyone remarking on her absence."
The Inspector looked disappointed, before brightening as he said, "But naturally, Doctor, her family would be anxious to prevent any hint of scandal. Of course they'd say she was with them if it meant preserving the family honour."
Holmes was still reading and rereading the letter through his lens. "Would you mind if I kept hold of this for a while, Lestrade?" he asked.
"Well it is evidence, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, apparently turning it over in his mind. "I suppose that it's of little use until we charge Miss Penridge though. Very well, on the condition that it does not leave this room. And mind, if it goes missing, you'll be the one explaining it to the Commissioner of Police."
"Fine," said Holmes, sweeping around to his desk where he proceeded to lock the letter away. "Watson, I believe I shall be out all afternoon; I have a few enquiries of my own to instigate. Inspector, if you would be so good as to call again tomorrow, I think I will be able to offer a solution to your little problem."
"Tomorrow?" burst out Lestrade. "This is a very serious investigation. No time should be lost! If you know anything about it, you must tell me immediately."
"As yet, I know nothing, I merely suspect. As I cannot act on unsubstantiated suspicion, certain questions need to be answered. I hope to have my answers by tomorrow. It will be little use calling on me before then, Inspector."
With a dejected expression, the man shuffled out.
