I turned to Watson and told him what Holmessaid.
Doc shifted in his chair. “Well, not exactly.I do have his last name, which is Parton, but I’m waiting for theservice to give me the rest. The public really isn’t supposed tohave access to these things, but hackers have done it and somecompanies also sell the information.”
Holmes turned about and did more pacing. “Isee.”
I took a final gulp of tea and spoke toHolmes. “Even if we get an address, we won’t necessarily want to gothere. Or even tell the authorities.”
“I quite understand.” He turned and gave me aself-satisfied look. “If the American crime investigators areanything like the British ones, they will use information to theirown advantage and claim to have discovered it themselves.”
He paced again, gaze unfocused, as if, in hismind’s eye, he remembered a different place and time. “I recall anincident in which Inspector Lestrade accused me of murdering adetective because his superiors assumed I had given him informationand then held a grudge because he failed to give me credit for it.”He snorted. “What rubbish!”
“I believe I read that in one of the storiesSir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote about you.”
“Personally, I do not care who solves crimes,so long as they are solved. However, since you found thisparticular bit of information, it’s up to you to decide if you willshare it with the authorities.”
I removed the cups and dishes from our placesand put them on a tray at the edge of the table. “I don’t care,either, but, in my opinion, we don’t really know this man is themurderer, or even if a murder occurred at all.”
“You mean because of the lack of sufficientblood?” Holmes said.
“Exactly. You and I both remarked on it lastnight. Tessa having found bloodstains on her skirt after sitting onthe hearth fender, along with the few stains I found on the rug,made me wonder. I lay awake for a time last night thinking aboutit.”
I turned to Watson while I explained. “Surelyif the dead man had been shot there should have been a lot ofblood.”
“Yeah, according to the television and moviecrime shows I’ve seen, there would be.”
“Yet,” I continued, “Mr. Kostich, thelandlord, claimed the neighbor reported ‘a gun shot,’ not ‘several’gunshots.”
“Aha,” said Holmes, drawing near. “That issignificant. And, in my experience, even a single shot can causethe victim—Mr. Andrews, you say?—to bleed copiously.”
“But suppose Andrews had fallen,” I said,“perhaps during a fight with the other man, and struck his head onthe marble fender, thereby leaving a small amount of blood, some ofwhich Tessa found on her skirt.”
Holmes stared at me with a serious look. “Canyou get into that flat again? Will Mr. Kostitch allow it?”
I knew exactly what he proposed. If Andrewshad not been shot at all, the bullet from that gun must besomewhere else. “When Tessa and I went there the evening before, wehadn’t seen a bullet or bullet hole, but the room being so dim, wesaw very little. Without my magnifying glass, I might not even havenoticed the small patch of blood on the carpet.”
“Take a torch this time,” Holmes said. I knewhe meant flashlight, “and search for a bullet in the fireplace orpossibly the wall next to the fireplace.”
“If he won’t let me in...“
Watson interrupted.“I just happen to have apass key.” He smiled. “Because he’s one of my customers.”
I frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea tojust sneak in without permission.”
“What if he doesn’t give permission?” Docsaid.
“Well, in that case, maybe.”
“But we’d have to do it at night.”
“What do we have to do at night?” Thequestion came from Tessa who had entered, as usual, withoutknocking first.
“We’ve been talking about going back to themurder scene and looking for a bullet or bullet hole.”
“Goody. I’ll go too. And it will be at night?Even better.”
“You won’t be coming with us this time,” Itold her. “Watson and I will do it.”
She groaned. “How can I be useful if youwon’t let me go?” With a sigh, she sank into an armchair.
Holmes had settled in the chair by thefireplace again and stroked his chin. “In the meantime, what otherleads do you intend to pursue toward the solution to thispuzzle?”
I took the tray into the kitchen, giving metime to think about what so-called leads we had. When I returned tothe sitting room, I had one idea at least.
“That newspaper clipping. The ChicagoTribune is a well-known newspaper and it’s possible librariescarry copies of it in their microfilm files.”
Tessa got to her feet. “I can do that. I’mvery familiar with our library. Heaven knows I used those oldmicrofilm files for research many times. That was before Google.”She looked toward Holmes, as if he knew what she was talkingabout.
“Yet, do they have the exact newspaper wewant to see?” Nevertheless, I decided to take her up on her offer.“All right, you can come with me. You’re familiar with the libraryfiles, so it will save time, and I know what to look for in thenewspaper.”
Holmes spoke up. “And I? What am I allowed todo? I don’t even know what you are talking about. What is amicrofilm file and why is it in a library?”
“You know the word “micro” and you know“film,” so microfilm is a small reproduction of a piece of filmproduced by a photograph. It’s a method to store thousands of pagesof newspapers, and other material, without taking up acres ofspace.” I paused. “While Tessa and I are gone, Watson can explainit to you.”
“Oh, no,” Watson said. “While you’re doingthat, I’ll go check on Mrs. Foster and make sure the cleaning squadI sent over last night has done its job.” He almost galloped towardthe door.
“Relax in your room,” I told Holmes, “andwatch an old film from the 1930s. It’s time you started to catchup. And if you get tired of that before we return, play the violin.It’s daytime and no one will complain.”
He grumbled and disappeared down the hallwayto his room. Tessa and I put on coats, gathered our purses, I putmy notebook into mine, and we headed off for the library.
Tessa quickly found the same newspaperarticle
