Chapter 14

In the morning, I was awakened by a sharp knocking on my bedroom door. "Get dressed. There have been new developments." It was Holmes, but his tone was icy, and the fact that he had not entered to wake me up as he usually did was enough to communicate to me that he was still angry.

I could not rightly blame him, but I felt unjustly treated nevertheless. After all, it had been concern for his well being that had stilled my tongue, not falsehood. Why he had reacted so harshly was beyond me.

Still, I obeyed his command quietly and soon joined him in the hallway, where he was in conversation with Nathaniel O'Neil. The inspector looked quite shaken. He was very pale, shivering like a leaf in the wind, which was a sight to behold for so sturdy a man. "Whatever has happened?"

Holmes did not turn to look at me. "Another murder, as we expected. The inspector has only just discovered the corpse, and the scene of the crime."

"It is horrid, Doctor Watson. Horrid. The poor man has been incinerated."

"Good God."

"Oh, He had nothing to do with it. The Devil, more likely."

"Why don't you tell me all that has occurred on our ride to the church, O'Neil? I would prefer the scene to be undisturbed."

"Yes, of course, Mr Holmes. I have the carriage waiting outside."

I did not fail to notice that Holmes had omitted the plural that sat so well with us both. He had never been a man to bear grudges for long, but these were no ordinary times. I could well fathom that with the one misunderstood remark I had caused a crack in our long and intimate friendship.

During the drive, O'Neil rattled off the occurrences in a rapid, hurried fashion of someone who would rather forget, oblivious to the tension between us. Holmes sat on his side in the carriage, listening intently, eyes closed, long fingers folded on his lap. I was alone on the other bench, shivering in the cold wind of the ride, and trying to focus on both the case at hand and on a possible means to mend my relationship with Holmes.

"Today being Sunday, I was on my way to church. I'm always to first to go there, Mr Holmes."

Holmes opened his eyes at that. "Why?"

"My wife died two month ago. I usually visit her grave in the morning."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Inspector."

"It is quite all right, Doctor. Thank you."

"Pray continue, O'Neil."

"Of course, Mr Holmes. I was on my way to the church door. The vicar used to unlock it for me so I could fetch a candle for the grave, and his assistant, Mr Justin, promised to do the same, now that our dear vicar is no longer with us. Anyway, I found the church door locked, and naturally looked around the premises. That's when I saw the flames.

"They were coming out of a small hut at the edge of graveyard, where some tools were stored. Mr Justin also leashed his dog there at night."

"What became of the animal?"

"We found it behind the church. It had been clubbed to death."

"Did you conduct an autopsy?"

"On the dog? What a strange idea. Of course not."

"Ah, well. Do continue."

"Well, I called the fire engines, and by the time they were finished, there was nothing left of the hut but the dog leash. It is, in fact, a strong iron chain, which could be fastened to the dog's collar. On this occasion, it was melted together, but the shackles that had been used to fasten the poor man to the chain were still visible. He could not escape the flames, and the body is horribly distorted, of course, but his identity is beyond doubt. He tried to protect his face, and while everything else is quite burned, the features are still visible. I have hardly ever seen such horror on human features, Mr Holmes."

"Quite so. Can we see the corpse now?"

"I'm afraid not. I had to remove the body – no need to frighten the people unduly. But there is not much to examine anyway. An autopsy is out of the question. There is not enough left for that." O'Neil grimaced. "I do hope you can shed some light on this matter. It is really quite horrible that our quiet village should be shattered by murder, twice, even!"

Holmes straightened. "We will see what can be discovered."

As usually, Holmes was completely transformed upon the scene of a crime. Nothing remained of his more human side that I had learned to know and treasure over the last few years, and weeks especially, even if it was no doubt that less rational part of him that had caused the silence that existed between us now. He was once again Holmes the detective, the ruthless investigator, the sleuth hot upon the scent of a crime.

He prowled the area of scorched earth around the ruins of the hut for some time, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his chin sunk upon his chest. His eyes were directed unwaveringly to the ground. So intense was his investigation, that he once almost bumped into me, had I not side-stepped in time. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was trying his best to ignore my presence completely, even ban it from his sensory information, but maybe that was too egocentric a notion. After all, nothing could distract him from investigating the scene of a crime, and I had seen him walk into furniture in the examination of the ground on previous occasions.

"How was the fire started, Inspector?" I asked, rousing O'Neil out of his gaping admiration of my friend in action.

"We have not given it much thought, to tell the truth. In fact, we didn't investigate at all, so far. The fire was hard to extinguish, and after I had seen that the body was taken to the morgue, I immediately came to you. As you can see, I roped the area off, so as to leave it undisturbed for Mr Holmes here."

"It is perfectly obvious," Sherlock Holmes's sharp voice cut through our conversation. "Petroleum, of course. The smell still lingers."

I should have felt relief at the fact that he answered my question, but his harsh, almost condescending tone turned my blood to ice. "What have you been able to discover?" I asked, in an effort to appease him. I was at a loss as to how to apologise – never before had I seen Holmes sulk, for the lack of a better word. His depressions, as one could think, were nothing like this cold rejection of myself. Not even after my marriage have I seen him in a similar mood.

"The fire engines have destroyed any traces there might have been. There is really nothing left for me to discover. You have done remarkably badly, Inspector."

"What could I have done? If we hadn't extinguished the fire, we would never have discovered the body in the first place!" O'Neil had flushed red, and I could feel with him. He had hardly deserved such criticism.

"You should have autopsied the dog. But it really is of no matter now. I am certain how the crime has been committed, but I hardly have any clue as to who is the criminal. What is the connection between the vicar and this latest victim, aside from the fact that they were associates in work?"

"I gather they were close friends. Mr Justin lived with the vicar's family."

"Did they know each other for long?"

"They came here together a good ten years ago."

"I see." Holmes did not seem at all surprised. "There is nothing more I can do here now."

"Don't you have any clue to the identity of this murderer? I had hoped..."

"None. I would advise you, however, to keep a close eye on any stranger in the proximity of the village."

"But there are several, with the cottages all being occupied at present!"

Holmes just shrugged and walked away, back to the carriage. But before he climbed in, he turned around again. "I almost forgot. Did you find another note?"

"Yes. It was clutched in the dead man's hand. It crumbled to ashes as soon as we touched it."

"I see."

"So you do think this has been the same person or persons who killed the vicar?"

"It was most certainly not the harbingers of the Last Judgement," replied Holmes with a slight mocking quirk of the corners of his thin lips. He was definitely not himself. Else, he would have paid more attention to the crime scene, and even shared more of his deductions with us. "Do you have any suspects, Inspector?"

"Well, there is Mr Oakshot, an old friend of both Mr Justin and the vicar. He was present when we discovered the body. He did seem very disturbed by the deaths, and so was his wife. They live in the house just down the road." O'Neil seemed relieved that he could supply relevant information after all. He had moved closer to Holmes, his posture more relaxed now.

"I see. Did you show him the note?"

"Yes, but he could make nothing of it. He is quite shaken, and, naturally, also afraid. Shall I keep an eye on him?"

"Most definitely, and don't lose track of the vicar's family. I would like to be informed of any developments."
"As you say, Mr Holmes. Will you speak to the Oakshots?"

"Not yet."