The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

were therefore both effected by a left hander, and both by the postmaster. Voila tout! The steps in this reasoning are so elementary as to be facile, but the induction itself may prove of the utmost importance. Why? Because this postmaster has faced the letter's sender across his counter. He may, even now, be able to recall and identity her.'

'Holmes,' I ejaculated, after a moment, 'this is yet another of those occasions when I feel an overwhelming urge to rise in embarrassment and to knock my head against our ceiling in sheer frustration!'

'Worry not, friend Watson,' replied Holmes with a smile. 'Levity is not your forte! Do you gravitate to the post office and let us see what the high principles of deduction, allied to some common sense research, can produce.'

'I will do so at once,' I replied, laughing, as I turned to the door.

'Thank you.You are as a crutch to a cripple. Please, my dear fellow, indulge my infirmity by handing me my briar pipe and some shag tobacco before you go. This little problem requires thought.'

I was able to report to Holmes within three hours. One of the staff of the Baker Street Post Office, an avid admirer of Holmes and his methods, gladly and enthusiastically threw himself into the task of helping us. Despite approaching closing time he transmitted without a moment's delay over the spans of the Atlantic Ocean and the vastness of the Americas to far away Barkerville. The eight hours time difference he explained ensured that our message would arrive at the Barkerville office as it opened its doors for the day's work. He even promised to wait for the reply. The Canadians, despite the unusual nature of our urgently-worded enquiry, checked their records immediately; the letter to Musgrave had indeed been dispatched from their office and, they reported, duly appeared in their ledger in its proper place. The entry however, they were embarrassed to

inform us, had been tampered with: the name and address of the sender had been obliterated. Their postmaster, William Topping – and yes, they confirmed, he was left-handed and he was on duty that day – denied any knowledge of the erasure or of the sender of the message. It had been done cunningly and deliberately, he said, by some mischiefmaker, taking advantage of the distractions of a busy office.There was no question of the ledger's having been out of the station's possession – a serious breach of regulations – but it was not unusual for it to lie open on the counter. Neither Mr Topping nor his aides could recall any particular registrants, female or otherwise, on that day. The illicit erasure, they regretted, left them with no means of identifying or locating the sender. As I returned to Baker Street I reflected that Holmes was faced with an adversary armed with more than mere cunning; that an astute mind of high calibre was challenging, perhaps even threatening, us from the Americas.

'She must have tampered with the postmark at the same time, Holmes,' said I, as I reported this unwelcome news. 'She has taken as much care in falsifying it as in concealing her identity.'

'Indeed! And she still leaves us with two puzzles: why does she wish to communicate with me, and what is her message?'

'The first I can fathom,' said I. 'From your account of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual it seems that these Musgraves are not an over-bright lot. It seems clear that she intends to communicate with the family by an intermediary who is familiar with the events that arose from the ritual and intelligent enough to divine her message's true import. You qualify on both counts, Holmes.'

'You may be right, Watson. I believe that you are right. It follows then that this mysterious sender knows the Musgrave family well. We progress! It now remains only to read her message.' He picked up the envelope and studied it again with minutest attention. Laying down his pipe he picked up a pencil and opened his notebook.

'Bah!' He exclaimed. 'Trysor, the Welsh name for treasure, can be extracted from 'Report Sy', but what of that? We have no indication whatsoever that the message's sender is a Welsh woman, or that treasure is involved. To the contrary, our correspondent is evidently a resident of Canada and our bullion

mere blank paper. I get nowhere. What make you of report Sy,' Watson?'

'Sy is an identifying code perhaps?' I suggested. 'Or an abbreviation for Sydney, in Australia? Or for 'symbol'?'

Holmes deliberated. 'All three are possibilities. Let us consider a fourth: system. 'Confidential Films' or if there has been a slip of the writer's pen, 'Confidential Files', implies some form of orderly arrangement. 'system' would answer to both. Dare we take it as a working hypothesis and see where it leads us?'

'You are probably correct,' I responded. 'The word does suggest itself.'

'Very well. report system it is, until further data proves otherwise. Now, what of 'confl films'?'

It was my turn to scribble. 'coffins!' I cried. 'The word `coffins' can be extracted from it, Holmes!'

'Good for you, Watson! 'Coffins' sounds promising; the word has a pleasing ring. That leaves us with mll. It is evidently a Roman date. M of course is 1000 and L is 50. 1000 ad plus two 50s.' He thought for a moment. 'But the Romans never wrote LL to express 100. Its symbol was C. So our second L is suspect. It is ambiguous. It is 'extra'. What date – or what message – is this sender trying to convey to us? 1050? 1100? Some date in between? What significance could such a date have on an envelope intended for us but addressed to Norman, or Newman, Musgrave?'

'I can think of none,' I confessed.

Holmes rose to his feet. 'I have it, Watson! I believe I have it!' His face glowed with excitement. 'Reginald Musgrave, that devoted custodian of his ancient feudal keep, told me years ago that his estate's ancient oak tree was probably in situ at the time of the Norman Conquest. The Norman Conquest, Watson! 1066, as we were taught at school, when the feudal system was at its height. This is the explanation for the deliberate change of name from Newman to Norman! It is another of the sender's tricks. She grows more interesting hourly! She is directing us to that labyrinth of catacombs, crypts and ancient dungeons of which I told you before. Yes, my boy, the solution to this pretty puzzle lies in the ancient coffins of the Musgraves' manor at Hurlstone!'

I felt my blood quicken with excitement. 'You have reasoned it out marvellously,' said I.

'Well, if you will be kind enough to select an early train tomorrow to western Sussex I will send a telegram at once to Nathaniel Musgrave, the new squire, to tell him of our arrival. I have no doubt that he will be glad to see us. It will be a pleasure to introduce him to you, Watson.'

'I look forward to it,' said I heartily. 'Reginald Musgrave was a man in whose family story, and your part in it, I found great interest. That fresh developments are now expected adds special appeal. The game is evidently afoot once more!'

'Indeed it is, old friend, and a 'grave' one it may prove to be,' said Holmes with a chuckle. He was, as always, in good spirits when his brain was grappling with an intellectual challenge. At seven the next morning a first class smoker from Waterloo found us bound for Hurlstone. We arrived at the pleasant country station to find a two- wheeler waiting. The driver greeted us cheerfully.

'Mr Sherlock Holmes? Dr Watson? I am from Hurlstone, sirs, sent by Mister Nathaniel to meet you. I trust you had a good journey?'

'Thank you, yes.'

Holmes glanced at me, then addressed the man again.

'Sir Reginald and I were friends for a good many years. Tell me, how did this tragedy happen?'

'An inexperienced house guest at a shooting party was the cause of it, sir. He was following Sir Reginald out of a copse to meet the beaters and failed to unload his gun while climbing over a fence. The triggers were caught by brambles. Sir Reginald took the full charge of both barrels in the back. We thank the Good Lord that the master did not suffer. It was all done in a flash.'

'A tragedy indeed,' responded Holmes, after a pause.

'Yes, sir. His death was a great loss. He had many friends in the district – very many. It was standing room only in St Mary's at the memorial service. He represented our district right well in Westminster, too.'

On arrival at Hurlstone we were greeted warmly by Nathaniel Musgrave, a pleasant, courtly young man of aristocratic mien. Expressing our regrets at the calamity, we were ushered into the new wing of his ancient manor.

'Hurlstone appears to generate mysteries,' remarked Holmes, as he seated himself in a proffered arm chair in Musgrave's study. 'On my previous visit, as you know, I was summoned by your cousin to look into the disappearance of two members of your staff. I come now bringing my own puzzle: it developed yesterday in London in connection with a Mr Newman, or Norman, Musgrave, who died several years ago and who may, or may not, be related to you.'

'Ah!Yes! Newman! He worked in a publishing company, did he not? He has certainly been to Hurlstone. I never