said.
“Not quite, old fellow, not quite. I have observed your habits for some time now, and in fact there is something there. Don’t you feel it? Come now, check again in your vest pocket.”
Again I put my finger in the pocket. Nothing was there except my old drawstring pouch. I said as much.
“Yes,” said Holmes, “only that. Please do take it out.”
I removed my little drawstring tobacco pouch and laid it on the table.
“But,” I said, “that is only my tobacco pouch. You can’t mean that-.”
“Precisely, old fellow, precisely. That is just what I mean.”
“But,” I said, “there is only tobacco in there. You aren’t saying that…but it’s dry, not wet. I don’t understand”
“What you say is quite correct,” said Holmes. “The material in your tobacco pouch is dry, and this specimen of tobacco I showed you is quite wet. But consider for a moment from where I obtained this wet specimen of tobacco.”
“May the Devil take it, just where did you get it from?”
‘It came from poor Mr. Fletcher’s teapot. From where he made the deadly brew that killed him. Did you not notice he had been served tea?”
“Yes, now that you mention it, I did see a tea service. That jailer was seemingly an accommodating fellow. Or did he poison Mr. Fletcher?”
“No, Watson, there was no reason for the jailer to do so. There was no motive for the jailer to kill Mr. Fletcher, and murder without a motive is as likely as a hen’s egg with hair. And, there was no attempt to conceal what happened. The tea service was left out, in plain sight. No doubt Mr. Fletcher poisoned himself. His death was a suicide.”
“But,” I asked, “how do you know for sure that Mr. Fletcher was not given the tobacco extract in his tea by the turnkey, or perhaps someone else, and drank it unknowingly?”
“Watson, Mr. Albert Fletcher could not drink tobacco extract in his tea unknowingly, because the taste is extremely unpleasant, it is very bitter. In his agitated state of mind he must have wanted to escape the memory of his terrible experience so badly, that death was preferable. He died of acute nicotine poisoning. A fact only
Holmes reflected on that for a moment, and then went on.
“At autopsy the brown liquid stomach contents will no doubt be passed off as tea, and with no signs of foul play, death will be certified as due to natural causes, and left at that. By now the teapot’s contents have been discarded, and it and the teacup are no doubt washed, and ready for service again. All the evidence other than ours has been destroyed. I was careful to leave some tobacco in the teapot, more than enough for identification, should the idea of looking there ever occur to the authorities. Oh, what fools they are! Watson, scientific crime investigation is still in its infancy.”
However I was not yet fully convinced, and gave voice to my doubts.
“How can you be sure it was tobacco, and not something else that killed Fletcher? And what induced you to look in the teapot?”
“Ah,” said Holmes, “I see doubt still lingers in your mind. Then let these facts put it to rest. Regarding the tobacco, there is no other leaf that merits the application of first large scale drying, and then expensive shredding machinery, in order to produce such fine, uniform shreds.” Holmes paused briefly, and then went on.
“The drying is by wood fire, rather than the more convenient and readily controlled natural gas, because the very large quantities involved make gas drying prohibitively expensive, and some in the industry believe drying by wood fire adds to the product’s flavor.
The shredding’s purpose is to increase the leaf’s surface area, so that when packed in a pipe or cigarette, it still accesses enough air to continue burning, that is, to be smoked.
On testing the leaf I obtained a positive test for nicotine. Nicotine, the natural alkaloid ingredient that gives tobacco its soothing and addictive properties. Nicotine, a deadly poison in quantity, the basis of the widely used, powerful agricultural insecticide Black Leaf 40.
With no signs of foul play on the body, I immediately suspected poison. He had pipe and matches, but his tobacco pouch, by the way bigger than yours, Watson, was empty. There was no tobacco on his lips, or in his mouth. Then I looked in the teapot, and there it was. Obviously the tobacco pouch’s contents had been emptied into the teapot, and with a little stirring the hot tea had efficiently extracted the deadly nicotine poison.”
I was fully convinced by Holmes’s detailed explanation, and proceeded to say so.
“Holmes,” I said, “I have never witnessed a finer piece of detective work. You have solved the case, and are to be highly commended for doing so.”
“Thank you, Watson,” Holmes said, “but I fear your heartfelt congratulation is a bit premature.”
Why premature? It came to me that there was still a question as to motive. Why did Mr. Fletcher kill himself? According to the information we received, he was a sober, steady man. What was the reason for his death? I must have been speaking out loud again, because Holmes immediately replied.
“Yes,” he replied, “the reason is somewhat puzzling, but not entirely so. For a man of sober and steady habits as Mr. Fletcher was, and a bachelor to boot, the experience he described must have been very disturbing. And then in addition, finding himself alone in the gloomy Cheltenham jail cell, may well have been enough, to make him decide to kill himself. Mr. Fletcher’s suicide is tragic, but no reason to keep the case open.”
“Holmes, you have indeed solved the case. And, if I may say so, brilliantly.”
It seemed to me everything that needed to be said had been said, and the matter was closed, to everyone’s satisfaction, including Holmes’s. Imagine my great surprise at the next words that issued from Holmes’s lips, words that I had never heard before, and that I hope never to hear again. Holmes first pursed his lips together, and then he spoke to me at once, with great force.
“Watson, there is a great mystery here, a mystery beyond solution!”
I was absolutely astounded. I was dumbfounded. In my entire association with Holmes, I had never heard him use the words “a mystery beyond solution.” Shocked speechless, I sat down and waited for what might come next. Holmes did not keep me in suspense, but began speaking at once, in slow, carefully measured words.
“Watson,” he said, “I bring to your attention the incredible circumstance of the great speed with which Mr. Fletcher transited from Woking to Cheltenham.”
I found my voice and replied.
“Great speed you say?” A distance of 20 miles, covered in one hour and 10 minutes. Any fast horse or coach can do that.”
“Not so Watson, not so. It is true the distance covered was only 20 miles. But the time, Watson, the time! The time required was not 70 minutes, but only 10 minutes.”
At Holmes’s request I had carefully verified the times involved. Mr. Fletcher was last seen in Woking by a reliable witness, shortly before 11:00 P.M., and on his own account, based on the church bell’s ringing, he was abducted at 11:00 P.M. According to the police report he was clocked into Cheltenham jail at 12:10 A.M. that same evening. I had personally checked both the church’s and the jail’s clocks, they were both correct, and more important, since a difference in time was involved, they agreed with each other to the minute.
“Only ten minutes Holmes? How can you say that? Upon my word, something is wrong with your mathematics.”
This just slipped out, I had not planned to be disrespectful, and besides I knew Holmes was an expert mathematician. I was never a whiz at mathematics, but it seemed perfectly plain to me, that one hour plus ten minutes later was 70 minutes. Holmes was an expert at mathematics, and I had never known him to be wrong, so while he waited I took paper and pen in hand, and wrote it down. One hour was sixty minutes, sixty plus ten was seventy, and 12:10 A.M. minus 11:00 P.M. was one hour and ten minutes, or seventy minutes. There it was, in black and white, and figures don’t lie.
My statement about his mathematics being wrong must have luckily run off Holmes like water off the proverbial duck’s back, because he immediately spoke on, in good spirits, without the least sign of annoyance.
“Right you are, Watson, right you are. Figures do not lie, but they can deceive.” He paused for a moment, and then fixing me with his piercing direct gaze, said this.
“Are you familiar with the concept of Daylight Savings Time?”
“No, I must say I am not. But I expect to be enlightened soon enough.”
