Prompt from W. Y. Traveler: Clock
The Mystery of the Stopped Clock
According to my notes, the murder of Mr. Steven Carlson was brought to the attention of Mr. Sherlock Holmes on 14 December 1901. As it was a Saturday, I had no rounds to make, and because a good deal of snow had accumulated, I was content to remain indoors beside the fire and peruse my medical journals. Holmes was at his writing desk composing a letter to a Danish apiculturist on some of the finer points of a new hive design. A knock at our door drew both of us from our pastimes.
"Come in Mrs. Hudson," called Holmes and rose, closing the lid of his desk.
"A gentleman to see you, sirs," Mrs. Hudson said, pushing the door wide to reveal a lean, middle aged man in a light grey frockcoat holding a snow dusted Homburg in his hands.
"Inspector Hill?" said Holmes and smiled as he crossed the room to greet the man.
"Yes, sir," said Hill. "I'm surprised you remember me, sir."
"Well, it is not that long ago that we met," Holmes replied kindly. "You've been out in the weather for some time. Please do come in and seat yourself beside the fire."
"Shall I send Wynona up with tea?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"That would be kind of you, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you," Holmes replied, taking our visitor's coat and hat and ushering him to the settee. Turning his attention to me, Holmes said, "Watson, this is Inspector Hill of Scotland Yard. He and I met during that business of the Borgia pearl last year. You recall?"
"I remember Lestrade mentioning you, Inspector," said I, extending my hand. "How do you do?"
"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor" said he, shaking my hand. "Lestrade brought me into that case because I am familiar with Saffron Hill and the Italian Quarter. The area is a sort of specialty of mine."
Mrs. Hudson must have already had the kettle on for it was at that moment the maid arrived with the tea and we were obliged to wait while she set out the cups and poured for us.
"Now, Inspector, I can see you have something troubling you," said Holmes. "How may I help?"
"You are right, sir," said the inspector. "I wouldn't trouble you with this, only that last year, in spite of Lestrade and myself being on the right track with that Beppo character, I felt quite foolish for not seeing the real crime."
"Now, now, Inspector," chided Holmes. "Murder is a real crime."
"The motivation, then." Hill waved it away. "At the moment I find myself in a similar situation."
"You mean there is a crime but you do not know why it was committed?" I asked.
"Just so, Doctor," said Hill.
"I am all attention," Holmes said and settled back in his chair, lighting his pipe.
"Well, it's like this, sir," Hill began. "Three nights ago, that would be Thursday, I was called to the room of one Mr. Steven Carlson. He was a mechanic working in Shadwell Basin. It seems that he had not been at work that day and his foreman called round to his rooming house to learn if Mr. Carlson were ill. Mr. Carlson had worked for this man for over two years and had always been reliable, you see. Well, when Mrs. Abernathy, the landlady, knocked on Carlson's door, she got no answer. She used her key but the door was unlocked, so she entered with Mr. Danbury, that's the foreman's name. What they found was Mr. Carlson dead and the room in disarray. An overturned table and chair, the fire poker on the floor near the victim's hand, a broken clock and a scatter of newspapers."
"Excuse me, Inspector," interrupted Holmes. "Was anything missing?"
"The landlady says no." Hill rubbed his chin in thought. "I'm not sure that means anything, though. She could not know for certain. For instance, what if Carlson had a cache of money. Or there might have been a small, valuable object she was ignorant of."
"Quite right," Holmes agreed, nodding with an air of approval. "Please go on."
"When I arrived, I naturally inspected the body and searched the room," Hill said. "The victim had been stabbed three times in the chest, in and around the heart. Best I can determine the murderer used a knife with a six- or seven-inch blade. There was no bruising around the wounds. The coroner says that indicates the stab to the heart was almost instantly fatal, which tells me the three wounds were deliver rapidly."
"Were there any other wounds?" I asked. "Bruising to the face, perhaps?"
"No, Doctor," said Hill. "I think the attack must have come unexpectedly. Probably, Carlson knew his murderer. Very likely it was someone Carlson was comfortable with."
"Was Carlson fully dressed?" asked Holmes.
"Yes sir. In his work clothes."
"Were his hands clean?" Holmes asked.
"They were, but there was grease or something under his fingernails."
"That does not surprise me," Holmes said. "Most mechanics have grease under their nails no matter how clean their hands."
"I suppose that makes sense, Mr. Holmes," Hill said, nodding. "His clean hands suggest he had either washed them upon returning from work and was subsequently killed or that he was killed in the morning before he departed for work. I believe it was the former."
"Oh? Why is that?" asked Holmes.
"The clock I mentioned had been broken during the struggle. It was stopped at ten minutes after eight and Carlson, according to his foreman, was due at the docks at six in the morning."
"Does the landlady know if Carlson had any visitors?" Holmes asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"He had one," said Hill. "A Mr. Ambrose Miller accompanied him home. They worked together and were close friends. Miller was to be Carlson's best man at his wedding, in fact."
"Carlson was to be married?" I asked.
"In January," Hill said. "Engaged to Miss Harriet Wilson. I've spoken with her, also. Terrible thing, but my duty. She is understandably distraught. Quite a shock to her."
I nodded sympathetically. Too many times, I have had to inform families of the deaths of their loved ones.
"What time did Mr. Miller depart?" asked Holmes.
"Shortly after seven of the evening," Hill said. "The landlady was in her kitchen and heard him say goodbye to Mr. Carlson. Miller waved to her as he showed himself out."
"Carlson's room was on the ground floor?" asked Holmes.
"Yes. In the back of the house."
"And he had no other visitors?"
"As far as the landlady knows, Miller was the last person to see Carlson alive," said Hill. "She keeps the doors locked after dark. It could be, and I think this is likely, that Carlson let someone in when Mrs. Abernathy was not about. Her rooms are on the first floor above Carlson's room. When I asked if she had heard a knock on the front door, she said she had not. She explained, though, that Mr. Carlson's friends were in the habit of knocking on his window to get his attention and then he would let them in by the front door so as not to disturb her. His window, you see, looks onto a narrow alleyway and anyone can get to it quite easily."
"Could someone have entered via the window?" I asked.
"I think not, Doctor," said Hill. "There was a thick layer of snow on the sill and that would have been disturbed if someone had entered that way."
"You say Mrs. Abernathy's rooms are above Mr. Carlson's," said Holmes. "She did not hear the struggle? Is the house particularly well built? Is she deaf?"
"No to both, sir," said Hill. "And she was still awake at eight. It's most puzzling."
"Was Mrs. Abernathy there in the morning?" I asked.
"No. She went to market at about seven and had some errands. She returned around half past nine."
"Did you observe tracks in the snow?" asked Holmes.
"The alley is quite narrow and commonly used as a shortcut." Hill shook his head. "There were many tracks and if someone had stopped at the window, the traffic had obliterated any sign."
"You do not suspect Mrs. Abernathy," said Holmes.
"She is getting on to seventy, sir," Hill said. "I doubt she would have the strength to kill a young man. As far as I have been able to determine, she was on good terms with Carlson, besides. His rent was paid up until January, at which point he and Miss Wilson were to move in with Miss Wilson's mother, a widow. What's more, Mr. Carlson had already arranged to have one of his friends take the room once he moved out. So there was no motive at all for the landlady to murder him."
"You are quite certain the clock stopped when it was damaged?" asked Holmes.
"The face was stove in and the minute hand bent. I shook it and there was no movement of the works. It could not have been ticking, sir."
"What of the grate?" I asked. "Was there a fire? Or was a lamp burning?"
"The grate was cold. I touched one of the andirons and it was as chill as the room. The only lamp was out. There was virtually no oil left in it, but that tells me precious little as there is no way to know how much oil was in it to begin with."
"So," said Holmes, setting aside his pipe and steepling his fingers before his face. "The murder was committed between seven of the evening Wednesday when Mr. Miller departed and half past nine of the morning Thursday when the landlady returned. You believe it was done on Wednesday evening because the clock stopped at ten minutes after eight. The room was in disarray with an overturned table and chair. However, the landlady heard no struggle, which suggests she was not present in the house at the time. And, according to the foreman, Carlson would have needed to leave his room considerably before six in order to be at work on time. That suggests the visit from the murderer was unplanned and very early, otherwise Carlson would already have departed. Yet can we believe it occurred at eight? Would Carlson have allowed anyone to delay him so long? I presume no raised voices were heard, either."
"Not to my knowledge," said Hill. "Given that no struggle was heard, though, is it likely Mrs. Abernathy would have heard raised voices?"
"No," said Holmes. He rubbed his palms together, his expression one of intense concentration. "Quite the puzzle, Inspector. And you have no motive? What of Miss Wilson? Could the killer be a scorned suiter?"
"I looked into that this morning, Mr. Holmes," said Hill. "There was no other suiter. Not recently. She and Mr. Carlson have been courting for nearly two years. They met through mutual friends at a church Christmas ball. Mr. Carlson and Mr. Miller attended, and both danced with her and several other young women. For a short time, Miss Carlson went out with both men alternately. Both seemed inclined towards her, but she decided on Mr. Carlson. At first, Mr. Miller continued to pursue her, but eventually accepted the situation with good grace and has been seeing other young women since. Indeed, we must assume he and Carlson remained fast friends, given that Miller was to be Carlson's best man."
"And yet, as far as we know, Mr. Miller was the last person to see Carlson alive," Holmes said. "Inspector, has the scene been maintained?"
"It has," Hill said. "I cautioned Mrs. Abernathy to leave everything as it was and to lock the door so that no one could disturb the room."
"In that case, we should have a look at it," said Holmes, rising. "Watson, care to brave the cold and accompany us?"
I readily agreed and soon we were whisked away by a four-wheeler to the residence of Mrs. Abernathy and her late lodger.
The rooming house was typical of a working-class establishment in a working-class neighborhood. Mrs. Abernathy had apparently set aside a ground floor parlor as a bedroom and there were no other tenants than Mr. Carlson. The alley was as described and there was no doubt about it being a shortcut from one thoroughfare to another as the snow had been tread most thoroughly, leaving little more than a fringe of snow near the walls and some cat ice on the cobbles.
Inspector Hill knocked and the door was soon answered by a grandmotherly little woman who appeared to be in some distress. It was obvious to me that she did not like that a murder was done under her roof. Regardless, she greeted us politely, inquired whether we would care for some tea and handed Hill the key to the room in question.
"This is it, Mr. Holmes," Hill said, pushing the door open and stepping aside. "Looks to be as I left it."
Holmes stood in the doorway, peering about with that detached expression with which I was so familiar. His eyes roamed over everything for several minutes before he turned to me.
"Watson, would you go to the middle of the room and close this door?" said he. "If Mrs. Abernathy will be so good as to permit it, Inspector Hill and I will go up to her room and listen while you strike the floor with your walking stick and perhaps speak in a raised tone as if you were in some sort of argument."
Mrs. Abernathy was very willing to oblige Holmes and a moment later, I banged the floor several times with my stick and then recited a few lines of Homer in a raised voice. Hill called down the stairs, saying they could hear me quite well enough, though they were unable to make out the words.
"That's one question answered," said Hill to Holmes when they rejoined me in Carlson's room. "What next?"
"Let us see if a struggle actually took place," said Holmes, going to the overturned table and chair. "This is quite heavy and made of oak. A sturdy table. The floor is in good condition but made of pine. Even so, the table has left no dent in the softer wood."
"Could the table dent it just by falling over?" I asked.
"I have seen such floors damaged by lighter objects, Watson," Holmes replied. He shifted the table an inch or so and ran a finger over the floorboard. "The wax is not even scuffed here. No. I would say this table was laid on its side, Inspector."
"Not knocked over in a struggle, then?" Hill said, stepping closer to have a look.
"I should say not," said Holmes. "And these pages of newspaper scattered about. Why?"
"I do not know," I said, looking to the inspector.
"I found that curious, also," said Hill and rubbed his chin in thought. "I suppose to make it look as if there had been a struggle. If they'd been on the table, they surely would have fallen to the floor and been otherwise undisturbed. And, if they had been on the bed, they likely would have remained there for it is still made and untouched."
"If there was no struggle, Holmes, how did the clock get broken?" I asked.
"A good question, Watson," said he, stepping to where a small mantel clock with a plane wooden body lay on the floor. "Another good question is how did it get damaged?"
After inspecting the clock face, which was stove in as Inspector Hill had described, Holmes cast his gaze about, finally alighting on the fireplace. Smiling, he set the damaged place on the clock against the ball of one of the andirons.
"Someone intentionally damaged the clock," Hill said.
"It would seem so," purred Holmes and he shook the clock eliciting a rattle. "Things become clearer and clearer. A moment, gentlemen."
From his pocket, Holmes drew his clasp knife and turned the clock so that he could see the brass plate on its back. Using the blade of his knife, Holmes removed three screws and pried the brass plate off.
"Eureka!" said Holmes, turning the clock so that Hill and I could see its works. "I dare say this clock could not have been ticking for some time, Inspector."
I blinked, not seeing what Holmes evidently had. Inspector Hill frowned and shook his head, as confused as I was.
"The spring, gentlemen," said Holmes, indicating the mechanism in question. "It is wound tight. Too tight, in fact. Note how the works are frozen with dirt? This is what comes of not maintaining delicate gears properly. A mechanic should have known better."
"Mr. Holmes, are you saying the clock was not even working at the time of the murder?" Hill asked.
"It could not have been, Inspector. Allow me to demonstrate," said Holmes. He turned the clock face up and moved the bent minute hand with his index finger. The hand moved without resistance. "You see? If this hand were holding the spring tight, it would have taken a good deal of pressure to move it. Therefore, the spring is the problem. Or rather, the dirt in the gears is the problem."
"Do you think the murderer overtightened the spring, Holmes?" I asked.
"I do not think so, Watson." Holmes said, considering. "I think it probable that the murderer did not know the clock was stopped. Perhaps Carlson wound it while the killer was here. That might have drawn the killer's attention to the clock. It is difficult to say. I suspect he set the hands to their present positions and then deliberately struck the clock on the andiron in hopes of putting an investigation off his scent."
"There's only one person we know was in this room prior to Carlson's death," Hill said, his voice grave.
"Miller," said Holmes.
"He was Carlson's friend, though," I objected.
"He was Carlson's rival, Watson," said Holmes.
"Rival?" said Hill. "For the hand of Miss Wilson? That's thin, Mr. Holmes. Carlson and Miss Wilson have been engaged for nearly a full year. Miller, as far as I know, has shown no further interest in the young lady."
"How likely is it that someone entered this room and slew Carlson so quietly that Mrs. Abernathy did not hear him?" Holmes asked coolly. "Why stage the scene in this manner? As you said, Carlson must have been comfortable with his murderer given that there were only three wounds inflicted so suddenly no others were in evidence. No bruises. No scrapes or other cuts."
"Unusually coldblooded," Hill said. "Hard to believe the man waited so long before acting."
"And to kill his best friend in such a calculated manner," I said.
"Crocodiles are coldblooded, Inspector," said Holmes. "They lie patiently in wait until need and opportunity align. Then they strike hard and fast. Rare is the victim that escapes them."
"Miller is the only one with any motive," the inspector said, rubbing his chin. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I'll have him brought in."
The following day, Inspector Hill returned to our flat.
"We got him, Mr. Holmes," said he without preamble. "We caught up to him at the residence of Miss Wilson and her mother."
"I congratulate you, Inspector, and please be seated," said Holmes, relaxing back in his chair and loading his briar pipe.
"Indeed," said I, offering Hill a cigar from my box.
"Thank you, Doctor," Hill said, selecting one and snipping the end. "Apparently, Miller had arrived with the intention of expressing his condolences to Miss Wilson. I got the impression he was there for other reasons, too."
"Other reasons?" I asked.
"Miss Wilson told me the cad had already suggested the two of them renew their relationship," he explained. "And, though she had not previously told me so, Miller had sought to dissuade her from marrying Mr. Carlson on a few occasions, suggesting he would suit her better as he was more likely to get promoted to foreman than Carlson and would therefore be earning a higher wage."
"Monstrous," I said, shaking my head in disgust.
"Sadly, Watson, all too typical of such creatures," said Holmes. "Well, inspector, at least you got him off the streets. We may be able to nothing for poor Steven Carlson, but his death, at least, will not go unpunished."
"Poor Miss Wilson, though," I said. "Very tragic for her."
"She's young, Doctor," Hill said philosophically. "We've removed Miller from her life, and that's something."
Miller's trial was somewhat controversial due to the evidence. There was no one to place him on the scene excepting Mrs. Abernathy. The defense made much of the stopped clock and things were looking grim for the prosecution until Holmes recommended three experts that could testify regarding the model of the clock. One went so far as to bring in an identical clock and with permission from the presiding judge demonstrated how striking the face in the manner in which the clock at the crime scene was struck did nothing to stop it from ticking. Miller was convicted and soon thereafter was removed from not only Miss Wilson's life, but everyone's.