Chapter Three
~~o~~
While the skull and I stared at each other for another moment, Holmes rummaged through his own pockets to produce a small sheet of notebook paper and a pencil, and then indicated that I should lay the watch down upon the table.
Quickly he used the pencil to make a rubbing of the engraving, and when he was done, there was no question that the skull and crossed swords depicted in pencil could be anything else than a representation of the Jolly Roger.
"Holmes, what..."
"No time for that now, Watson," Holmes said, replacing the items back in the box quickly, except for the earring, that is. "If we hurry, and if indeed you don't mind sacrificing your lunch for the moment, we might have time for a visit to the museum before our train."
"The museum?"
"Of natural history," Holmes said, dangling the tooth suggestively before slipping it into his pocket. Upon seeing the look of disbelief on my face, he took me by the arm and ushered me back out of the morgue. "Our good friend Lestrade will never miss it, as he deems it irrelevant to his investigation," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I do, however, plan to return it as soon as we find out what it is."
"Which you hope to do at the British Museum, Natural History," I replied, catching up with him at last.
"Yes, I may be a little optimistic in hoping they can identify the former owner of this," Holmes replied, "but it can't harm anything to ask, and yet it may help a great deal to find out."
~~o~~
The entrance to the B.M.N.H. was a grand and elegant affair of terracotta through which Sherlock Holmes and I hurriedly passed. We quickly learned the wing we needed from a helpful curator, and that the man we most assuredly wanted to speak with was a Dr. Hastings.
Walking through several great halls full of preserved specimens from around the globe, we passed through the one displaying a large variety of reptiles, and came to the door the curator had told us was the office of Dr. Hastings, chief authority in the matters of identification by means of bone, or hair, or tooth.
Holmes knocked, and we waited several minutes without reply; once more he rapped on the door, a bit less patiently than the first time. With no answer upon the third attempt, I could see that my compatriot was visibly disappointed.
"Bad luck, Watson, bad luck," he said. "It would make all the difference to know where this comes from, but I suppose we shall have to try back later."
We had just turned away from the office, when we each heard the click of the latch, and the door swung open halfway to reveal a woman standing on the other side. She peered over her wire-rimmed spectacles at us with intelligent eyes the colour of pewter, and despite her rather bookish appearance, she appear to be, beyond the glasses and the haphazard bun her cinnamon coloured hair had been pulled into, quite a singularly attractive woman.
"May I help you?" she asked, her gaze going from Holmes to myself and then back.
"Ah, we had thought no one was here," Holmes replied.
"I'm so sorry," the woman responded. "I sometimes get caught up in my work and don't notice things like a knock at the door right away. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long?"
"Not at all, Miss Hastings," Holmes replied, "it is we who should be apologizing to you for disturbing your work. We came to ask a question of your father."
"Please come in," she said pleasantly, opening the door to let us pass. We entered a large room with high windows on one wall, and every other inch of wall space covered in tall shelving containing hundreds of books and manuscripts. Through a door in the wall to the left was another room full of similar shelving, upon which were countless specimens of bone, and skulls, and partial skeletons, all arranged systematically and labelled.
"My father is away for several days, but I would be glad to help you. If," she added with a delightful smile, "you tell me how it is that you knew I was his daughter. I don't believe we've ever met before."
Holmes graced her with a charming smile of his own. "I must beg your forgiveness once again already," he said, turning to indicate me as he spoke. "This is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson," he informed her as we exchanged pleasantries, "and my name is Sherlock Holmes."
The young lady shook hands with him once she had let go of mine. "Well, that would certainly explain why you knew who I was," she remarked with another smile, "but do indulge me as to how. Most people simply assume I'm his secretary."
Holmes tapped the hollow of his throat with one long finger, causing Miss Hastings to appear slightly puzzled, and then to catch on to what he'd been indicating about the same moment I did. We both glanced at the necklace she wore bearing a delicate, stylised 'H' on it.
"A gift from your father, I believe," Holmes explained.
"It was a gift, yes, but he could have been my husband," Miss Hastings replied evenly, an elfin smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth as she challenged Holmes's theory.
Holmes gave her an indulgent smile. "True, but you wear no wedding band," he added in support of his presumption.
Miss Hastings, apparently, was not yet satisfied with my companion's explication. "Perhaps I remove it during the course of my work."
"Perhaps, but then the mark would remain upon your finger," Holmes answered, calmly holding his ground.
"It might have been that I am newly married, and so no mark has yet been created," she continued, a spark of mischief in her eyes.
I had to admit that I was impressed she had risen to the challenge that far, and I turned from her back to Holmes to see how he would answer.
"Possible," Holmes conceded graciously, "but it would therefore mean that you had married a man at least twenty-five years your senior, for I saw the portrait of the good Dr. Hastings in the gallery."
A definitive answer, I recalled thinking, amused at the woman's pluck, but confident all along that Holmes would prevail. Until her next statement, at which even Holmes raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps I had married his son."
Holmes gestured dismissively. "Impossible."
"Why do you say that?" she asked, clearly intrigued as to what he would say.
"Dr. Hastings's only son and, I believe, your elder brother, was killed amidst most unfortunate circumstances some years ago," Holmes replied very gently. "My belated condolences, Miss Hastings."
"Thank you," she said quietly, her hand still on her necklace. "You are, however, mistaken on one point."
"Which is?"
"The necklace was a gift from my brother," she replied.
"I would have then argued," Holmes remarked, " that you bear a striking resemblance to both your father's portrait, and your late brother."
Miss Hastings looked to me in askance.
"Mr. Holmes was consulted unofficially by Scotland Yard in the case of your brother's murder," I explained, knowing as Holmes did, that credit rarely fell at the feet of he who truly deserved it. "He has an unrivalled capacity for recalling names, faces, and any particulars of a case you should happen to require."
"I see." Miss Hastings was quiet for a moment while we waited, and then she seemed to regain herself. "So, what is it that I might do for you, Mr. Holmes?"
Holmes explained why we had come. "We had hoped to consult your father on a matter of identification."
"Of?" Miss Hastings asked.
"A tooth," I replied, "and a very large one at that."
"Well, gentlemen, I am confident that I can provide you with the answers you seek; my training has obviously been with the premiere expert in this field."
Holmes did not hide his dubious expression well at all, and it was apparent the perceptive girl could see that he still appeared a little reluctant to settle for Hastings's protégé, even if she was his daughter.
"I assure you, Mr. Holmes, I am most qualified to assist you," the young woman said, an amused smile gracing her features again as she peered at Holmes over her glasses and held out her hand expectantly.
At last Sherlock Holmes took the earring from his pocket. "Can you tell us where this came from, Miss Hastings?" he asked, depositing it upon her outstretched palm.
"Oh, and I thought you were going to have a challenge for me," Miss Hastings said with a fetching laugh. "It obviously came from your pocket."
While Mr. Sherlock Holmes did not immediately laugh, I caught the fact that the young naturalist was teasing him even before she shot us an impish wink and took the earring with her behind a large desk. She moved aside a skull she had obviously been categorizing, and placed the earring upon a dark cloth as she examined it with a magnifying lens for some moments.
"This comes from a very large carnivore, although I shall confidently venture it is not a dog or other canid...possibly felid, but I don't think so..."
She pulled a pair of callipers from a drawer and began a series of measurements of the specimen we had presented her with, and then she paused in thought. "May I ask where you got this? It might help me to narrow it down quicker for you."
"Another man's pocket," Holmes answered dryly, causing Miss Hastings to laugh.
"Touché, Mr. Holmes, but might I ask if this is the only tooth in your possession?"
"It is," he replied.
"That makes it more difficult," the young woman said, frowning. "It would be much simpler if I had a few more teeth or a section of the jaw. There are measurements which would be helpful: the distance between teeth, the angle of the muzzle...but alas, it will be slow work trying to pair this single tooth with a match."
"I would be greatly indebted to you if you might make an attempt at identification," Holmes replied. "That knowledge might facilitate the unravelling of a mystery that Dr. Watson and I are currently involved in."
"It is I who am indebted to you, for helping see that my brother's murderer was caught; I am at your service, Mr. Holmes," she replied graciously. "Let me see what I can do today."
"If you need to get in touch with me you may wire me or send a note," Holmes said in parting, giving her the particulars of our address.
"I will let you know as soon as I have any information for you," Miss Hastings replied as she rose from behind the desk to see us out. "Good hunting, gentlemen," she added, shaking each of our hands before rolling up her sleeves and returning to the mystery we had left in hers.
~~o~~
We had managed to just board our train before it headed westward out of the station, and I sat in my seat across the compartment from Sherlock Holmes, who, eyes closed, was obviously lost in deep thought. I knew better than to disturb him until his line of thinking had come to its conclusion, and I waited patiently for him to speak first. When he opened his eyes and met mine, I finally ventured to ask him what he had been considering.
"So what have you been contemplating all this while?" I inquired of him.
"Several things, Watson, several things," he replied absently, "including Miss Hastings."
I admit my ears perked up at this statement from him. "Really?" I asked, doing my very best not to sound too eager.
"Yes."
"Lovely girl, isn't she?" I asked, daring to probe a little deeper.
"Quite."
When a minute had passed with no further comment, I could stand it no more, and endeavoured to continue my line of questioning. "I must say, Holmes," I continued, affecting a degree of nonchalance toward the subject, "that it really is a shame about her brother."
"Tragic."
I tried again. "She's quite charming, really, don't you think?"
"A most agreeable sort, I admit."
"She seems to be remarkably bright," I persisted, trying to find the right avenue to get some sort of more detailed response from him. It took him a moment to realise that I had spoken again before he answered.
"What's that? Oh, certainly, certainly. A quick intellect and great capacity for detailed analysis. Most commendable traits," he said in agreement.
"She's certainly not unattractive," I said, waiting to see if he would comment.
"Hmm?"
"Honestly, Holmes!" I said, frustrated at last. "You notice that blasted 'H' half buried at her collar and the lack of a subtle indentation on her finger within ten seconds of meeting her, but yet you don't even notice that...oh, nevermind!"
Exasperated, I threw up my hands a little, folded my arms across my chest, and watched the English countryside roll by the window.
"That the dress she was wearing showed her excellent figure to its best advantage?" Holmes responded. I'm quite sure my expression at that moment revealed my astonishment at such a statement coming from the man seated across from me.
"Just because I am absorbed in the particulars of a case and preoccupied with catching a murderer, my dear Watson," he continued sternly, clearly bothered, "does not mean that I take no note of such things.
"I am not dead, you know," he added with only slightly less annoyance. "However, there are much more pertinent matters at hand than Miss Hastings's admirable attributes, and with as well as you know me, my dear fellow, you certainly understand that I must sieve through all the facts presented and retain only those most relevant to our investigation."
"I know, I know," I muttered, relinquishing the topic.
"I have determined, however, after deliberating over the matter, to call upon her again tomorrow," he said, once more on an even keel.
"Really?" I asked, trying not to let my manner appear too incredulous.
"For certain, Watson," Holmes replied in earnest, "I can see no other course of action."
"Ah, well that's...well..." I found myself quite at a loss as to what to say.
Holmes drew out his pipe, lit it, and puffed along contentedly for a moment. "I do hope that she arrives at the museum promptly. She strikes me as an early riser, and I want to get an early start."
"Ah, so breakfast instead of lunch?" I asked, quite taken aback at my friend's sudden eagerness to meet with the young woman again so soon. "Might it be best to wire the lady an invitation to give her some notice? And a chance to decline of course, should she be otherwise engaged."
"Hmm, what? Yes, yes, I suppose that would be proper," Holmes replied, still apparently mulling over some detail or other. "I shall wire her the moment we get to Sandhurst, but I have no doubt she'll come; I daresay the lady is just as fascinated as I am."
Would that I had ever had the same unwavering confidence as to a lady's reciprocity of interest as Holmes apparently felt. It seemed as though his immense powers of observation had afforded him an advantage that the rest of his gender so sorely lacked.
"When we arrive, I shall go straight to the local constabulary to inform them that I will be visiting Mr. Matthews's home, and if you would be so kind, I shall have you send a wire to Miss Hastings asking her to meet me in the morning. Nine-thirty should do, I think."
"Very good," I replied, unable to disguise my delight at Holmes having apparently found the pretty naturalist intriguing enough to want to spend more time in her company. Such a thing I had previously thought out of the question. "And where shall I tell her to meet you? The Walsingham perhaps?"
Holmes then gave me a look that said he was trying to be infinitely patient with me. "Watson, please, we haven't time for that."
"You haven't time for breakfast?" I asked.
Holmes waved me off. "Perhaps after, but..."
"After what?" I interrupted him. "Where exactly is it you would like me to wire her to meet you?"
Holmes heaved a sigh of great proportion. "Why, Watson, quite obviously the morgue, my dear fellow."
"The what?"
"Morgue, Watson, the morgue. Where Henry Matthews is," Holmes elaborated, and then he frowned. "You don't think she'll be put out, do you? It doesn't strike me that a woman of science such as Miss Hastings would be put off by a cadaver...after all, he's merely been dead a shorter period of time than most of her specimens."
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the beginnings of a headache that was setting in. "Please let me understand this correctly, Holmes. You want me to wire Miss Hastings on your behalf, and ask her to meet you at the morgue at nine-thirty tomorrow morning."
"Yes, precisely."
"And why do you wish the young lady to join you at the morgue of all places?" I asked, fearing that I really didn't quite want the explanation.
"Why, so she can examine the imprints of the teeth on Matthews' right arm and leg!" he said, as if it should have been quite clear from the start. "It's perfectly obvious, Watson, and I only wish that I had thought of it sooner. She said that if she could have the measurements of the width of the jaws and the characteristics of several other teeth, then it would facilitate her endeavours to categorize the beast."
"I should like to see her endeavour to categorize you," I said under my breath, fully disheartened as I realized that Holmes had not deviated from his characteristic lack of interest in the fairer gender.
"What was that, my dear fellow?" Holmes asked absently.
"Nothing."
I left him to his pipe and his thoughts while I wondered just what poor Miss Hastings was going to think when she received an invitation from Mr. Sherlock Holmes to join him at the morgue.
~~o~~
A/N: While we meet Miss Hastings in this chapter, who will play a role in the plot, I must inform readers that there will be no romance in this story. Just mystery and fun. :)