Disclaimer: See Part 1.
*****
To my utter lack of surprise, I had to remain on the window-ledge for about five minutes, trying to convince the woman to unlock the sash and let me in, before Miss Cartwright - after sprinting up three flights of stairs upon seeing my predicament, she told me later - entered her bedroom and let me in herself. By that time my hamstrings ached ferociously and after Miss Cartwright helped pull me in - her grip was strong enough but she had to brace one foot on the inner windowsill - my legs fairly collapsed from under me as I reached the edge of the bed.
"Don't worry," she told the other woman, "He's fairly harmless. He's investigating the burglary."
"It seems to me he's trying to repeat the burglary," the woman huffed, "Though I expect he's a friend of yours, Emily."
Miss Cartwright smiled in the face of the other's suspicion. "Mrs. Weaver, may I introduce to you Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Jane Weaver, my tutor."
"Do you always enter houses through young ladies' bedrooms?" Mrs. Weaver asked sharply.
"I have my methods," I replied as Miss Cartwright returned my waistcoat and coat to me, "I am given to understand, Mrs. Weaver, that you were in here when Miss Cartwright departed for her bath the evening of the debutante?"
"What are you implying?"
I buttoned my waistcoat. "Merely answer truthfully."
"Yes, I was here. I was getting Miss Cartwright's gown ready for the ball."
"Did that include choosing matching jewelry?"
"Of course. I'm in charge of making sure Miss Cartwright looks like a proper lady. And before you ask, no, I didn't steal any of it."
"I didn't think you had. After all, Mr. Cartwright would not have hired you to tutor his daughter if he didn't trust you." I pulled on my coat. "Did you lock the jewelry box and put the key back in the drawer of the night-stand after you had finished?"
"Yes, I always do."
"And the window... was it locked then as I had found it just now?"
"I know it was closed, because of the rain. I didn't have time to check the lock because of the ball... and besides, what sort of a lunatic tries to break in through the second-floor window, especially in the rain?" This she punctuated with a significant glance at me.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weaver. Good day to you."
"You were a bit abrupt with her, weren't you?" Miss Cartwright asked, after Mrs. Weaver left, "After all, you must have scared the life out of her when you knocked on the window."
"You saw that, did you?"
"I figured there had to be somebody inside or else you wouldn't have knocked. I trust you found out what you were looking for?"
"Actually, I discovered several things while I was looking for only one. Whether they mean anything remains to be seen. And there are yet other questions that want answering."
"So what do you plan to do now?"
"I plan to go home."
"You *what*?"
"This has been a very fruitful day for the investigation. Now, I believe we both need time to rest, and to meditate on what we have discovered. I will call on you in the morning in order that we might look for this child, say, after breakfast?"
"My father won't be happy about this."
"I believe your father will be quite happy once we have recovered your jewelry."
"So you think we're on to something?"
"I am certain of it. But these things cannot be forced. Keep your notes with you, look over them, and we shall compare theories in the morning." I touched her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Try to get some rest."
*****
I settled back in the cab Leopold called for me (with a mere hint of overeagerness for me to be gone), resolving to meditate on the case between the Cartwright Estate and my own lair on Baker Street. To be sure, the very act of rifling a jewelry box two floors above a party, and possibly on the very same floor as the owner of the jewelry box, took patience, precision, and certainly chutzpah. But what of the watch?
I closed my eyes and reviewed the known facts. The debutante is scheduled to begin at eight o'clock in the evening. At 7.15, Miss Cartwright leaves her room to have a bath before getting dressed for the ball, leaving her tutor, Mrs. Weaver, in the room to lay out what Miss Cartwright would wear, both clothing and jewelry. Mrs. Weaver, after doing so, locks the jewelry box and placed the key in its usual hiding-place in the night-stand, and then leaves the room. This leaves a window of opportunity from approximately 7.20 until Miss Cartwright returns at 7.45 in which the burglar enters Miss Cartwright's room and steals the jewelry. But did that same person also leave the watch? How did the watch get into his possession, and why did he leave it?
At around 7.30, a maid escorts a small child to the lavatory. His role in this is as yet unknown. It is possible that he climbed from the lavatory window to the bedroom window directly above, and it is equally possible that he had the watch in his possession. However, according to Watson's account of the day he lost his watch, the pickpocket was a very large man, certainly too large to have fit through the window, and likely too conspicuous to slip into the bedroom by more conventional means.
My reverie was broken by the sensation of the hansom slowing to a stop. I opened my eyes, climbed out, and paid the cabby. As I headed inside, I murmured a greeting to Mrs Hudson. I asked if she had heard anything of Watson, and she replied in the negative. I wasn't surprised, but at the same time I worried about him. What must he be thinking? What was happening to him? I sighed, passed a hand across my brow, and climbed the stairs to the study.
I meditated further on the case for four hours, two pipes, and three chemical experiments, trying to fit the facts I currently had into a coherent picture. But of course it is difficult to solve a jigsaw puzzle that is still missing half the pieces. I will not bore the reader with a detailed catalogue of my thoughts that night, except to say that they eventually turned, with a patient inevitability, to the additional mystery of Miss Emily Cartwright herself.
Miss Cartwright was a puzzle in her own right, one that yet defied all attempts at solution. Moreover, she was hot-tempered, incorrigible, precocious, fiery, capricious, stubborn, and apparently determined to drive her father to an early grave with her sheer defiance.
I was looking forward to the morning.
*****
End of Part 9.
*****
To my utter lack of surprise, I had to remain on the window-ledge for about five minutes, trying to convince the woman to unlock the sash and let me in, before Miss Cartwright - after sprinting up three flights of stairs upon seeing my predicament, she told me later - entered her bedroom and let me in herself. By that time my hamstrings ached ferociously and after Miss Cartwright helped pull me in - her grip was strong enough but she had to brace one foot on the inner windowsill - my legs fairly collapsed from under me as I reached the edge of the bed.
"Don't worry," she told the other woman, "He's fairly harmless. He's investigating the burglary."
"It seems to me he's trying to repeat the burglary," the woman huffed, "Though I expect he's a friend of yours, Emily."
Miss Cartwright smiled in the face of the other's suspicion. "Mrs. Weaver, may I introduce to you Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Jane Weaver, my tutor."
"Do you always enter houses through young ladies' bedrooms?" Mrs. Weaver asked sharply.
"I have my methods," I replied as Miss Cartwright returned my waistcoat and coat to me, "I am given to understand, Mrs. Weaver, that you were in here when Miss Cartwright departed for her bath the evening of the debutante?"
"What are you implying?"
I buttoned my waistcoat. "Merely answer truthfully."
"Yes, I was here. I was getting Miss Cartwright's gown ready for the ball."
"Did that include choosing matching jewelry?"
"Of course. I'm in charge of making sure Miss Cartwright looks like a proper lady. And before you ask, no, I didn't steal any of it."
"I didn't think you had. After all, Mr. Cartwright would not have hired you to tutor his daughter if he didn't trust you." I pulled on my coat. "Did you lock the jewelry box and put the key back in the drawer of the night-stand after you had finished?"
"Yes, I always do."
"And the window... was it locked then as I had found it just now?"
"I know it was closed, because of the rain. I didn't have time to check the lock because of the ball... and besides, what sort of a lunatic tries to break in through the second-floor window, especially in the rain?" This she punctuated with a significant glance at me.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weaver. Good day to you."
"You were a bit abrupt with her, weren't you?" Miss Cartwright asked, after Mrs. Weaver left, "After all, you must have scared the life out of her when you knocked on the window."
"You saw that, did you?"
"I figured there had to be somebody inside or else you wouldn't have knocked. I trust you found out what you were looking for?"
"Actually, I discovered several things while I was looking for only one. Whether they mean anything remains to be seen. And there are yet other questions that want answering."
"So what do you plan to do now?"
"I plan to go home."
"You *what*?"
"This has been a very fruitful day for the investigation. Now, I believe we both need time to rest, and to meditate on what we have discovered. I will call on you in the morning in order that we might look for this child, say, after breakfast?"
"My father won't be happy about this."
"I believe your father will be quite happy once we have recovered your jewelry."
"So you think we're on to something?"
"I am certain of it. But these things cannot be forced. Keep your notes with you, look over them, and we shall compare theories in the morning." I touched her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Try to get some rest."
*****
I settled back in the cab Leopold called for me (with a mere hint of overeagerness for me to be gone), resolving to meditate on the case between the Cartwright Estate and my own lair on Baker Street. To be sure, the very act of rifling a jewelry box two floors above a party, and possibly on the very same floor as the owner of the jewelry box, took patience, precision, and certainly chutzpah. But what of the watch?
I closed my eyes and reviewed the known facts. The debutante is scheduled to begin at eight o'clock in the evening. At 7.15, Miss Cartwright leaves her room to have a bath before getting dressed for the ball, leaving her tutor, Mrs. Weaver, in the room to lay out what Miss Cartwright would wear, both clothing and jewelry. Mrs. Weaver, after doing so, locks the jewelry box and placed the key in its usual hiding-place in the night-stand, and then leaves the room. This leaves a window of opportunity from approximately 7.20 until Miss Cartwright returns at 7.45 in which the burglar enters Miss Cartwright's room and steals the jewelry. But did that same person also leave the watch? How did the watch get into his possession, and why did he leave it?
At around 7.30, a maid escorts a small child to the lavatory. His role in this is as yet unknown. It is possible that he climbed from the lavatory window to the bedroom window directly above, and it is equally possible that he had the watch in his possession. However, according to Watson's account of the day he lost his watch, the pickpocket was a very large man, certainly too large to have fit through the window, and likely too conspicuous to slip into the bedroom by more conventional means.
My reverie was broken by the sensation of the hansom slowing to a stop. I opened my eyes, climbed out, and paid the cabby. As I headed inside, I murmured a greeting to Mrs Hudson. I asked if she had heard anything of Watson, and she replied in the negative. I wasn't surprised, but at the same time I worried about him. What must he be thinking? What was happening to him? I sighed, passed a hand across my brow, and climbed the stairs to the study.
I meditated further on the case for four hours, two pipes, and three chemical experiments, trying to fit the facts I currently had into a coherent picture. But of course it is difficult to solve a jigsaw puzzle that is still missing half the pieces. I will not bore the reader with a detailed catalogue of my thoughts that night, except to say that they eventually turned, with a patient inevitability, to the additional mystery of Miss Emily Cartwright herself.
Miss Cartwright was a puzzle in her own right, one that yet defied all attempts at solution. Moreover, she was hot-tempered, incorrigible, precocious, fiery, capricious, stubborn, and apparently determined to drive her father to an early grave with her sheer defiance.
I was looking forward to the morning.
*****
End of Part 9.