Hello there, next part is up and once more I would really appreciate it, if you could leave me a little feedback.

I am terribly sorry that I have not yet replied to your reviews, but this last week has been really busy and I did not have the time to do so and consequently do so here now. Thank you ever so much for your encouraging words. Yes, kfatica, the lady is a piece of work. Realy, to ask yuch a question. We'll se what Harriet has to say about it, once she finds out ;). Well, it is a nice counterbalance to the grimness of the crimes, Iris - or so I think. And at any rate, I am glad you like it.

A needle in a haystack - Part 5

Harriet:

I dug through the papers Doctor Bell had given me, but just like him, I could not find anything that suggested Mr Saunderson had died from anything other than natural causes. At least not at first glance. I had made notes however and when I looked through them again, one thing struck me as odd. I reached for the other file which contained the police report and where the circumstances of how he had been found were written down and at last, I could not help but agree, that the Superintend had every reason to doubt the man's death had been a natural one.

As I finished my report the second body the doctor had spoken of was brought in. It had obviously been dragged out of the river, for the sheet covering it was frozen stiff after it had gotten wet and the two policemen who brought him in clearly belonged to the river squad.

"What took you so long?" Bell asked the men carrying the plain wooden stretcher.

"He was literally wedged between a towed boat and the embankment, Sir, and we could not find the captain. Presumably sits piss drunk in the one or other tavern." the man blushed slightly when his eyes fell on me.

"Well, well, put him over there, I am almost finished. Are you done, Doctor?" Bell had turned to me and I nodded.

"Good, why don't you start with the external examination? There's a leather apron hanging behind the door of my office."

I went to get it and under the surprised glances of the two police constables pulled off the stiff sheet from the body they had just brought in. To my surprise, a stark naked man in his middling years was revealed.

"Do you know who he is?" I enquired, and the astonished men shook their heads in unison.

"Thank you." I smiled, beginning my work.

The body had obviously not been lying long in the water, and yet long enough to have completely cooled out. Yet aside from the rigor mortis there were no signs of decomposition, though considering the cold, that had not much to say. Long in the sense of something as eternal as death was a relative term after all. But in this instance, he certainly had gone into the water sometime during the winter and not when it was still warm.

He was a tall man, neither lean nor particularly chubby, but decidedly not in good shape. His muscles were rather on the weak than the strong side and his shoulders were rounded as if he had spent a considerable amount of time bend over a desk. A faint ink-stain on his right thumb almost washed off by the Thames water and yet still distinct enough to see it clearly, also gave testimony to my assumptions as did the smoothness of his hands. His nose bore two slight indentations on either side, showing that the man had been in the habit of wearing a pince-nez. All in all, aside from that he wore no clothes, he gave the impression of an honourable member of society. His hair was closely cropped, his moustache and goatee carefully combed, while the rest of his face was cleanly shaven. However more I could not determine as his jaw was firmly locked in place for the time being and his eyes were frozen shut.

With the help of Mr James, the assistant, I turned the body around to reveal the cause of death. A clean wound on his left side between his fourth and fifth ribs showed he had been stabbed in the heart from behind, presumably never seeing his assailant. At least nothing indicated he had been fighting the attacker off. There were no bruises on either his arms nor torso, aside from some scratch marks on his back. - But what I did find were some dark fibres in the wound indicating that he had been dressed when he was killed and only afterwards been stripped, presumably as to not give any hint about his identity. I made a mental note to check whether a sharp knife would drag the fibres so deep into a wound or if the murder weapon had rather been blunt. It would be an interesting study.

"Anything of any interest?" Doctor Bell asked me as he had at last finished with his first autopsy.

I told him of my findings, though not about what I had concluded so far.

"Good, then I would say you are done for today, Doctor Holmes. I'll see you on the morrow. This fellow first needs to thaw, I fear. I had no idea he had lain in the water."

"When do you want me to come in?"

"Whenever you like. It'll take some time till he's defrosted."

He did not need to add that technically I was not employed there.

I hung back the apron, put on my coat and went to the lower part of town to buy a few old scarves and a pair of woollen trousers at a dingy looking slop shop, and finding they had an array of thick blankets as well, I also got eight of them, one for each of Sherlock's little street arabs.

xxx

Sherlock:

When after another half hour Sir Frederic had still not turned up, Gregson and I decided to pay him a visit at his house, which fortunately was situated in Kensington and so well within our way to Baker Street or respectively Clapham, where Gregson lived. But when we arrived there we found that the bank director wasn't at home either and had not been the whole of last night. His wife, a plain little creature, appeared distraught and worried and I could not help wondering what had become of the man. Had he fled? Or had something happened to him because he knew too much? At this point, I could not possibly tell as both options were equally likely.

Ever more sure that my theory had been right, but still unable to determine who was behind the crime I went to pick up Harriet, only to find that she had left a while ago. When I returned home, however, she was not there yet and I had an inkling of what she was up to. And sure enough, half an hour later my wife appeared laden with clothes for my troupe of irregulars.

"You just cannot help it, can you?" I smiled, taking some of the things from her.

"Can you?" she asked.

"No. I cannot quite help feeling responsible for their well being either." I admitted.

"Have you found out anything?"

"Not as much as I would have liked. But at least now I know who the mysterious client is – Lady Metcalf."

"Well, that was unexpected," Harriet remarked looking taken aback.

"Why, because a woman cannot possibly commit such a crime? Or have such a substantial amount of money at her disposal?" I teased.

"No, by no means. But honestly, I don't like that woman. I had the displeasure of meeting her once several years ago when she was still Miss Marsh, oldest daughter of Lord Broughton. Dear me, what a piece of work!"

At that I had to laugh, admitting that I had not liked her either.

"She is taking arrogance and rudeness to a whole new level." I chuckled. "Though she admittedly is a very beautiful woman."

"Yes, but then she opens her mouth." Harriet agreed, adding thoughtfully: "But she has a knack for making men do whatever she wants from them."

"Certainly not with me, my dear!"

My wife laughed, looking at me affectionately.

"No, not with Mr Sherlock Holmes."

The doorbell rang and a moment later the Baker Street irregulars minus one assembled themselves in front of us.

"I dunno where Peter is, but the rest of us have not found anything, Sir. Shall we continue our search?" MacRae asked, shivering slightly from having been out in the cold all day long.

"Yes, please…" I was interrupted by yet another ring of the bell, which brought the missing boy, out of breath and decidedly excited.

"I've got it, Mr Holmes. I found the cart."

All of us stared at him expectantly.

"You said you were looking for a cart from the City Police and I thought about where the best hiding place for a Black Maria would be and thought that if I had to hide one, I would do so at a police station. And sure enough, I found it at the police depot in Leadenhall Street and it got the right number. Funny no-one noticed."

"That is because no-one has really been looking for it. Very well done, my boy! Very well done!" I cried out, paying each of the boys two more shillings and Peter double before I called for Tom to bring up the soup.

The eyes of the children lit up at the sight of the steaming hot food and without much ado, they depleted all that had been prepared. Well, growing boys were always hungry, if I remembered it correctly, and this bunch hardly ever got enough to fill their stomachs. After twenty minutes our dining table resembled a battlefield, but one look into their happy and content faces made up for that.

As they piled out of the room again, Harriet handed each of them a blanket and those who had been lacking a shawl were handed one likewise while Peter also got a new pair of trousers – or rather a pair of trousers that were not threadbare.

"We just have to be careful that we don't make them dependent on us, my dear. We cannot save them all."

"I know. I know, Sherlock, and it saddens me." Harriet remarked and I could see that once more tears were threatening to come.

Smiling I pulled her into my arms.

"You know, my dear, you are beautiful inside and out, while Lady Metcalf's beauty is only skin deep. And that is why I love you so much."

Taking my face into her hands she pulled me down so she could kiss me, replying smiling that she loved me, too.

xxx

After our own dinner, I told Harriet about my conclusions and she listened interestedly and in complete silence till I had finished.

"It sounds the most probable, for sure," she remarked when I had at last finished. "And I could certainly not put it past Lady Metcalf. Though dislike, in general, is not a good advisor – after all, I have been seriously mistaken in Charles Atwell and his father. I am still incredulous that the son, as little as I like him, is a truly honourable man, while the father was such a blackguard. But anyway, how are you going to prove it?"

"In confronting Sir Frederic, and by finding the money."

"Why not this Peabody?"

"He is not missing. And that I currently find highly suspicious."

"Sir Frederic Belmont is missing?" Harriet asked, her face all astonishment.

"Yes." I was puzzled but then realised that I had only told Harriet that we could not get hold of him anywhere, not that he had not been seen since last night.

Something seemed to trouble her and after a few moments she asked: "Could you give me a description of Sir Frederic?"

I could not, as I had never met the man.

"Would this Inspector Gregson know?"

"Yes, of course. - What are you up to?" this time it was on me to be astonished as I watched my wife open my desk drawer and pull out a telegram form.

"Leave a message for the inspector to have a look in the morgue at Scotland Yard. Today a man was brought in who might be your missing man."

She recited her findings and I could not but agree with her. There was a good chance that it was the missing director who had made his way into the police morgue.

Putting on my coat I sent a telegram to both Gregson's office and his home address before setting off towards Scotland Yard myself, Harriet by my side, even though she looked tired and worn once again. We spoke little on the way thither and even less while we waited for the inspector.

Walking over to the slab with the covered body on it, Harriet pulled aside the sheet and Gregson gasped.

"Bugger me! That indeed is Sir Frederic."

At least that was settled. What was also settled was, that he had not done himself any harm, but that he had been murdered.

"Well, this changes everything," I remarked when we were back on our way home. "I think we have been taken in by a signature from a man who is used to signing a lot of papers over the course of the day, when in fact it has been someone else altogether who holds all the strings in hand."

"Lady Metcalf?"

"Yes, but not on her own, my dear. You yourself said she has a knack for making men do whatever she wants."

"The clerk?"

"No, he only did his job, nothing more."

"Then who?" Harriet cried out impatiently and not with little exasperation.

I smiled pensively but did not reply. I did not dare do so unless I had definite proof and that as yet I was lacking. I needed to find the gold, but at least now I had a good idea as to where it might be – and it was not, other than I had first thought, back at the Bank of England.

Pulling a little face my wife looked at me and I was almost sure she would tell me once again how impossible I was, but instead, her face broke into a smile and she kissed me heartily.

xxx

When we arrived home we went straight to bed. Tomorrow would be a long day for me and I needed to be wide awake for what I had to do. But for tonight I was perfectly happy to be just a loving husband. The case was solved, but I still had to convict the man behind it all and that would be tricky. Very tricky!

"Do you know, what Lady Metcalf has asked me?" I mumbled as I made myself comfortable in bed next to my wife, meaning pulling her closer to me so I could hold her better.

"No."

"She asked if there is truth in the assumption that men with large noses have also large, well you know what..."

"She didn't!" Hattie turned around, her expression amused and at the same time incredulous.

"She did," I affirmed.

"And what did you answer?"

"Nothing. I did not want to make her jealous as she would not get to see any of it. Ever!"

"You, Sherlock Holmes, can be very naughty at times! Poor woman, to leave her in the dark regarding, you know what." Harriet replied laughing, then whispered into my ear: "Especially as I think it might be true."