'Any bruises or lacerations?' inquired Holmes.
'A number. It was assumed at the inquest that Amos was on the shingle roof of the porch of his house. A slanting roof, by the way. A slip, followed by a slide down the incline and over the edge and . . .' Witherspoon spread his hands expressively. 'The drop was certainly great enough to break his neck.' The doctor regarded Holmes for a brief moment, then continued: 'But I did not answer your question. The body had a considerable abrasion on one leg. There were wood splinters indicating that it was caused by friction with the shingles. The top of Amos's head was badly lacerated and bruised, though not as much as might be expected. Possibly, the fact that his neck snapped cushioned the effect of the fall.'
Holmes was still regarding the medical examiner. Evidently, he did not feel this subject had been exhausted.
Witherspoon shifted uncomfortably in his chair and, after a pregnant pause, a sigh came from his lips. 'There was one bruise, Mr. Holmes, which puzzled me. Behind the right ear of the corpse. By its color it was made before death. I brought this to the attention of the authorities. However, we could draw no conclusions from it.'
'And the verdict of the inquest was accidental death,' concluded Holmes.
At this point, our waiter arrived. During the discussion we had regarded the menu and Holmes surprised me by ordering substantially. He seemed familiar with the specialties of the house and requested Eggs Flan with a side order of Potatoes Lyonnaise. Doctor Witherspoon settled on steak and kidney pie with some peas and a bottle of Bass ale. I chose Dover Sole with asparagus, along with a second draft of stout. As our orders were completed the table was graced by another presence.
'Ah, here's Constable Dankers,' said Witherspoon. 'This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes of London and his associate, Doctor Watson.'
As Holmes and I murmured greetings I sized up the representative of the local guardians of the peace. Dankers was a portly man with a grizzled face dominated by a thick moustache, which he obviously waxed. He regarded both Holmes and myself with a frosty glare and his manner was almost truculent, fairly shrieking that his territory did not need the aid of some consulting detective from London, famous or otherwise. Holmes, who had dealt with small town officialdom before, was most urbane.
'Do sit down, Constable, and join us in luncheon.'
Dankers gave no indication of accepting this invitation. 'I'm a very busy man, Mr. Holmes. My duties . ..'
He got no further for the open palm of Holmes's left hand fell flat on the table with a crack that made the condiment cruets jump.
'Surely this cannot be!' My friend's voice was as solemn as I had ever heard it, as though he were announcing the return of the black plague. 'Do you mean, Constable Dankers, that you have allowed the loose ways of the metropolis to invade this rural hamlet? What have we in this fair garden spot? Crime rampant in the streets?'
Dankers's ruddy color faded somewhat and he was regarding Holmes with startled eyes. 'Why no, sir. Nothing like that. A missing bicycle is a big thing hereabouts.'
Holmes's stern manner mellowed. 'Capital! With nothing but mundane matters on your mind, you will benefit by a moment of respite from your duties. Do sit down, Constable.'
His voice had the steely ring of authority and Dankers occupied a chair with commendable alacrity. His bluster having disappeared like air from a punctured balloon, he became quite deferential. Holmes signaled for the waiter, but Constable Dankers said he could not take any food at the moment. The waiter suppressed a smile and disappeared only to return shortly with a bottle of Guinness, which Dankers did not refuse.
'Doctor Witherspoon has been bringing us up to date on the death of Amos Gridley,' said Holmes.
'We've gotten as far as the inquest,' confirmed the medical examiner. 'Why don't you take it from there, Dankers?'
The constable obliged. 'Accidental death seemed pretty obvious, gentlemen,' he said. 'Amos's only relative is a nephew, Lothar Gridley, who is a sailor by trade.'
'And was at sea when his uncle died, I believe.'
'That's right, Mr. Holmes.
'Lothar Gridley is in line to receive five hundred pounds of insurance money,' stated Holmes.
Dankers rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'That's right, sir. A good thing, too. Certainly, the antique shop and goods don't amount to much in hard currency.'
Since the constable lapsed into silence, my friend also took a moment for reflection, which resulted in a nod of approval.
'I can see where you would abandon the thought of murder for gain. What about the deceased's relations with others hereabouts?'
'Well,' said Dankers slowly, 'I'd never accuse Amos of being popular. A loner, you see, and, generally, people distrust that kind. A bit gruff but not a mean or resentful man. Close with a shilling he was.'
'Of necessity,' interjected Doctor Witherspoon, 'as I've mentioned. I knew Amos as well as most. He was in hopes that his nephew, Lothar, would give up the sea and live with him here. He seemed to feel that a younger man around the shop might aid business.'
'Even had his cottage painted,' added the constable in a reminiscent manner. 'I've no wish to speak ill of the dead, gentlemen, but he hired Molton Morris for the job. The two of them had some arguments about price that might have been heard as far as Kensington. Finally, Molton refused to finish the job until he was paid the agreed sum. Old Amos came through eventually but Molton had to walk off the job to get him to pay up.'
'Bad blood between the two?' I questioned.
Witherspoon and the constable exchanged smiles. 'Mostly talk, Doctor. I think Molton has a mite of Arab blood in him somewheres, for he loves to haggle better than most.'
Dankers centered his gaze again on Holmes. ' 'Twas at the inquest that the thought was advanced that Amos might have done himself in. Lothar demanded to testify and brought out a strange thing.'
'The fact that his uncle suffered from acrophobia,' said Holmes, calmly.
Both the residents of St. Aubrey regarded the great detective with amazement and, despite our long association, I did as well.
'How did you know that, Mr. Holmes?' stammered Constable Dankers.
'You both told me,' was the reply.
Our meal arrived at this moment and while it was being served, Holmes pressed the constable to join us. After a moment, Dankers admitted he might try some 'bangers and mash.'
'You see,' Holmes continued, 'you established that Mr. Gridley was loath to part with com of the realm and yet he contracted to have his cottage painted, a job certainly not beyond his own abilities. When the painter, Mr. Morris, walked off the job, an argumentative soul like the deceased would surely have completed it, if capable. What made him incapable? A fear of heights.'
Dankers and Witherspoon were regarding Holmes with admiration,
'Well, sir,' said the constable, after a moment, 'when you explain it, the matter does seem obvious.'
'And leads us to another obvious thought. If Amos Gridley had acrophobia, what was he doing on the porch roof?'
As the constable's veal sausage dish arrived with another bottle of Guinness, Bankers shot a worried glance at the medical examiner.
Witherspoon picked up the conversational ball. 'An acute observation. However, Amos's nephew did prove that his uncle had sought medical aid for his phobia at one time, and to no avail,' he added, as an afterthought.
'Lothar Gridley would want to scotch any thoughts of suicide since that verdict would have removed any necessity of the insurance company making payment,' said Holmes.
'And he would have been out five hundred pounds,' commented Constable Bankers. 'But his information was correct for we checked it out.'
My friend's eyes were dancing. 'Here we have a type of oddment which frequently proves so fascinating. A man with a morbid fear of heights who seeingly goes onto a roof of his own volition. There was a ladder, I assume?'
A faint sheen of perspiration was evident on Constable Dankers's brow. 'Actually, no.'
