Disclaimer: See Part 1.
*****
"I trust you have some idea of which maid we should focus on?" I asked Miss Cartwright as we rode a hansom back to the Cartwright Estate.
"There are three maids on staff who have blonde hair," she replied, "It should be a simple matter to find her."
"But first, how does Mrs Matthews' testimony fit in with the timeframe we've already established? Does a gap of fifteen to twenty minutes allow enough time for you to leave your room, take your bath, and come back?"
"I should say so. I was out of my room for perhaps a half hour. You're assuming, of course, that this child has anything to do with it."
"I never assume anything. This is merely conjecture, and may or may not be part of the final solution."
She leaned back in her seat with a sigh, and it was then that I noticed that our exertions that morning had taken their toll on her, though she did not appear to be a creature of an especially delicate constitution. I remembered our earlier agreement and wondered idly if she was merely being heroic in coming this far.
"I expect we will be spending some time at the scene of the crime," I said mildly, "So you should have time to rest your feet. I expect they must hurt by now."
Her gaze, which had been drifting out the window, returned to me. "Are you trying to be gallant?"
"Perhaps I am."
She favoured me with a smile. "We *have* been walking for most of the morning. Of course my feet hurt." I opened my mouth to propose that she wait in the parlour during the next stage of the investigation, but she overrode me. "But you're not getting rid of me that easily. By the time we get home they should be feeling better." She reached across and patted me reassuringly on the hand, and I half expected a spark to leap across as she touched me.
*****
The maid in question was named Lora, short for Loralee. She was a slender wisp of a girl of eighteen who probably hadn't been in the role of domestic for much longer than a year, since her hands had yet to develop the calluses and chapping that come from exposure to the detergents used in such work. She was painfully shy, which suited her role as the invisible servant quite well but our investigative purposes not at all.
Eventually we learned (once Miss Cartwright assured her that she was not going to be arrested for borrowing some of the good tapers for her own use) that she had indeed been the one to take a small child to the washroom, and she waited outside the door until he was done. She did notice that it took him a very long time, as he had sought her out when it was nearly time for her break and she was impatient for him to finish. She did remember speaking with Mrs Matthews, and she confirmed that it had been twenty minutes before the theft was discovered.
Bearing in mind that Miss Cartwright's room was on the second storey, I asked Lora to show us the specific washroom to which she had taken the boy. As the entire ground floor was occupied by the party, she reported, she took the child to a washroom on the first floor [a.n.: By the English system, the first floor would be the level just above the ground floor]. The washroom in question was unremarkable, save for a small window near the ceiling by the commode. It was eighteen inches high by two feet wide, and it hinged inwards. It was too small for an adult to fit through, of course, but a child...
I took out my magnifying lens and examined the window-frame, balanced precariously as I was with my knees on the edge of the porcelain sink.
"Don't worry," I heard Miss Cartwright say to Lora behind me, "He does this all the time, and I don't *think* he's mad."
I smiled at her tongue-in-cheek affidavit of my sanity, just as my lens picked up a few textile fibers caught in the window-hinge. These I retrieved with an impressive feat of balance, a whispered prayer, and a pair of forceps, managing to tuck them in an envelope before my right knee lost its purchase and I dismounted ungracefully from the sink.
"Someone has passed through this window," I announced to the two women, "By necessity, it was someone small, but they were quite agile indeed."
"But, assuming it was the boy, where could he have gone from there?"
"Out, of course," I replied, "And from there..." I paused. The only way the child could have made any progress from there would be if he climbed. And unless he was an insect, that meant... "Miss Cartwright, this is the rear wall of the house, correct?"
She nodded. "It overlooks the back lawn." I saw the light flash in her eyes. "And that entire face is covered in ivy. He could have used that for purchase."
"Only if it was strong enough to support his weight," I countered, "And there's only one way to test its strength."
"As I said," Miss Cartwright said to Lora, "I don't *think* he's mad."
*****
One of the features that distinguished in my mind Miss Cartwright from all other members of her sex was her persistent use of cool logic in stressful situations, such as when she discovered the theft of her jewelry. I expect that most women would be hysterical at such a discovery, or at least they wouldn't have the presence of mind to take such an active part in the investigation.
The unusual presence of reason was probably why she stayed firmly on the back lawn, holding my coat, while I clung to the ivy one-and-a-half storeys up the rear of the Cartwright estate in my shirtsleeves. Likewise, I was beginning to feel that I had proven the strength of the roots more than sufficient to bear the weight of a small child, by proving them reasonably capable of bearing a grown man of considerably greater weight.
"I already told you the ivy is strong enough to support at least 130 pounds," she called up to me as I clung motionless for a moment to catch my breath. She sounded irritated.
I had my own theory about how she calculated this figure, of the sort that would also account for her ability to leave the house unescorted. But scientific method did not allow one to simply take another's word for it. I kept my eyes on the white handkerchief that Lora had hung out of the washroom window and hoped I didn't try to put too much of my weight on a random patch of loose roots or crumbling masonry.
As I drew level with the tiny window, I took care not to disturb any of the ivy immediately surrounding it (which made getting a close look fairly tricky), but instead examined the leaves themselves. During my own climb I observed that my passage tended to leave the foliage looking a bit abused, and after a bit of searching I found similar signs around the window. The trail of crushed foliage was clear once I knew what to look for, and it led up to the second floor, terminating at the window directly above the washroom.
After a few more moments to rest (for my fingers were beginning to cramp), I followed the trail to its terminus and found myself looking into Miss Cartwright's bedroom. Through the sheer curtains I could see a woman moving about. She was perhaps in her forties, married at least once but likely widowed. I waited until she had hung a dress in Miss Cartwright's wardrobe before I rapped lightly at the windowpane and nearly gave the poor woman a coronary.
"I believe," I said through the closed window, "I have discovered how the burglar gained entry into this room."
*****
End of Part 8.
*****
"I trust you have some idea of which maid we should focus on?" I asked Miss Cartwright as we rode a hansom back to the Cartwright Estate.
"There are three maids on staff who have blonde hair," she replied, "It should be a simple matter to find her."
"But first, how does Mrs Matthews' testimony fit in with the timeframe we've already established? Does a gap of fifteen to twenty minutes allow enough time for you to leave your room, take your bath, and come back?"
"I should say so. I was out of my room for perhaps a half hour. You're assuming, of course, that this child has anything to do with it."
"I never assume anything. This is merely conjecture, and may or may not be part of the final solution."
She leaned back in her seat with a sigh, and it was then that I noticed that our exertions that morning had taken their toll on her, though she did not appear to be a creature of an especially delicate constitution. I remembered our earlier agreement and wondered idly if she was merely being heroic in coming this far.
"I expect we will be spending some time at the scene of the crime," I said mildly, "So you should have time to rest your feet. I expect they must hurt by now."
Her gaze, which had been drifting out the window, returned to me. "Are you trying to be gallant?"
"Perhaps I am."
She favoured me with a smile. "We *have* been walking for most of the morning. Of course my feet hurt." I opened my mouth to propose that she wait in the parlour during the next stage of the investigation, but she overrode me. "But you're not getting rid of me that easily. By the time we get home they should be feeling better." She reached across and patted me reassuringly on the hand, and I half expected a spark to leap across as she touched me.
*****
The maid in question was named Lora, short for Loralee. She was a slender wisp of a girl of eighteen who probably hadn't been in the role of domestic for much longer than a year, since her hands had yet to develop the calluses and chapping that come from exposure to the detergents used in such work. She was painfully shy, which suited her role as the invisible servant quite well but our investigative purposes not at all.
Eventually we learned (once Miss Cartwright assured her that she was not going to be arrested for borrowing some of the good tapers for her own use) that she had indeed been the one to take a small child to the washroom, and she waited outside the door until he was done. She did notice that it took him a very long time, as he had sought her out when it was nearly time for her break and she was impatient for him to finish. She did remember speaking with Mrs Matthews, and she confirmed that it had been twenty minutes before the theft was discovered.
Bearing in mind that Miss Cartwright's room was on the second storey, I asked Lora to show us the specific washroom to which she had taken the boy. As the entire ground floor was occupied by the party, she reported, she took the child to a washroom on the first floor [a.n.: By the English system, the first floor would be the level just above the ground floor]. The washroom in question was unremarkable, save for a small window near the ceiling by the commode. It was eighteen inches high by two feet wide, and it hinged inwards. It was too small for an adult to fit through, of course, but a child...
I took out my magnifying lens and examined the window-frame, balanced precariously as I was with my knees on the edge of the porcelain sink.
"Don't worry," I heard Miss Cartwright say to Lora behind me, "He does this all the time, and I don't *think* he's mad."
I smiled at her tongue-in-cheek affidavit of my sanity, just as my lens picked up a few textile fibers caught in the window-hinge. These I retrieved with an impressive feat of balance, a whispered prayer, and a pair of forceps, managing to tuck them in an envelope before my right knee lost its purchase and I dismounted ungracefully from the sink.
"Someone has passed through this window," I announced to the two women, "By necessity, it was someone small, but they were quite agile indeed."
"But, assuming it was the boy, where could he have gone from there?"
"Out, of course," I replied, "And from there..." I paused. The only way the child could have made any progress from there would be if he climbed. And unless he was an insect, that meant... "Miss Cartwright, this is the rear wall of the house, correct?"
She nodded. "It overlooks the back lawn." I saw the light flash in her eyes. "And that entire face is covered in ivy. He could have used that for purchase."
"Only if it was strong enough to support his weight," I countered, "And there's only one way to test its strength."
"As I said," Miss Cartwright said to Lora, "I don't *think* he's mad."
*****
One of the features that distinguished in my mind Miss Cartwright from all other members of her sex was her persistent use of cool logic in stressful situations, such as when she discovered the theft of her jewelry. I expect that most women would be hysterical at such a discovery, or at least they wouldn't have the presence of mind to take such an active part in the investigation.
The unusual presence of reason was probably why she stayed firmly on the back lawn, holding my coat, while I clung to the ivy one-and-a-half storeys up the rear of the Cartwright estate in my shirtsleeves. Likewise, I was beginning to feel that I had proven the strength of the roots more than sufficient to bear the weight of a small child, by proving them reasonably capable of bearing a grown man of considerably greater weight.
"I already told you the ivy is strong enough to support at least 130 pounds," she called up to me as I clung motionless for a moment to catch my breath. She sounded irritated.
I had my own theory about how she calculated this figure, of the sort that would also account for her ability to leave the house unescorted. But scientific method did not allow one to simply take another's word for it. I kept my eyes on the white handkerchief that Lora had hung out of the washroom window and hoped I didn't try to put too much of my weight on a random patch of loose roots or crumbling masonry.
As I drew level with the tiny window, I took care not to disturb any of the ivy immediately surrounding it (which made getting a close look fairly tricky), but instead examined the leaves themselves. During my own climb I observed that my passage tended to leave the foliage looking a bit abused, and after a bit of searching I found similar signs around the window. The trail of crushed foliage was clear once I knew what to look for, and it led up to the second floor, terminating at the window directly above the washroom.
After a few more moments to rest (for my fingers were beginning to cramp), I followed the trail to its terminus and found myself looking into Miss Cartwright's bedroom. Through the sheer curtains I could see a woman moving about. She was perhaps in her forties, married at least once but likely widowed. I waited until she had hung a dress in Miss Cartwright's wardrobe before I rapped lightly at the windowpane and nearly gave the poor woman a coronary.
"I believe," I said through the closed window, "I have discovered how the burglar gained entry into this room."
*****
End of Part 8.