a look around upstairs?'
'Certainly. I'll join you as soon as MacLeod and the boys get here.'
Sherlock Holmes turned to me,'Would you care to accompany me, Mr Mookerjee? There may be questions to be asked and my ignorance of Hindustani will certainly create difficulties in that event.'
'It would be an honour, Sir, if any of my trifling abilities could prove to be of service to you.'
I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once plunge into a study of the mystery, but nothing appeared to be further from his intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under the circumstances, seemed to border upon affectation, he ambled slowly up the staircase. On getting to the landing he gazed vacantly around him at the ceiling, the bloodstained floor and walls (which were like those of a slaughter house). Having concluded his rather perfunctory scrutiny, he loped noiselessly over to the left corridor, following an unmistakable trail of clear red footprints and large splotches of blood.
About five rooms down the corridor the footprints ceased, and only a few drops of blood spotted the carpet. Holmes tested the two doors on either side of this point in the passage, but only the door on the right, the one for Room 289, was open. The key still in the keyhole. Holmes pushed open the door of the room and peered in.
'Humm, it seems empty enough.'
'Are you expecting to find anybody, Sir?'
'Why do you ask?'
'Well, Sir, if the individual of enquiry is contemplating any untoward act of violence, I would not like it to occur as an unexpected incident. My nature is averse to any such shocks.'
'So you think our victim was murdered.'
'What other explanation is there?'
'Dozens. Still it is a cardinal error to theorise without sufficient data. Hulloa! Who's that?'
At the end of the corridor an old bhangi appeared, carrying his short-handled broom.
'He is only a sweeper, Sir, most probably an employ of the hotel'
'Get him here for a minute, will you?'
'Most certainly, Sir. Bhangi! Idhar aao, jaldi!'
The old man padded softly forward on his bare feet, and, approaching us, saluted Mr Holmes.
'Namaste, sahib.'
'Ask him if he saw anything unusual a short while ago.'
'Listen thou, old man,' I asked in the vernacular. 'Hast thou seen anything not of the usual a litde time before?'
'I saw nothing, Babuji but yes,' his ancient visage lighted up, 'I heard a loud scream, like that of churail.'
'All whom God has given ears heard that,' I interrupted impatiently. 'Now listen well, servant of Lai Beg (the god of the sweepers). This tall sahib is a sakht burra afsar of the police. A man is dead. Yes, that was what the screaming was about, and the sahib is investigating. If thou desirest to retain thy nowkri at the hotel, tell me everything.'
'Hai mail' he wailed. 'What zoolum. I saw nothing, Babuji. Nobody came this way. Only another Angrezi sahib was leaving by the rear staircase.'
'Is it normal for sahibs to use the rear staircase?'
'Nay, Babuji. That is for the servants of the hotel.'
'Gadha! Why did thou not say so in the first place?'
I paused to explain to Mr Holmes what had transpired between the sweeper and myself.
'Now then, old man,' said I, fixing him once again with my stern gaze, 'how did this sahib look, and when did he leave?'
'Babuji,' he wailed again, 'all Angrezi sahibs look alike.'
'You may find yourself in a nizamut,' I said sternly, 'if you don't start remembering, jaldi!'
'Babuji, all I saw was a thin sahib, not so young, with funny whiskers and a long nose. He looked very frightened when he ran past me.'
Sherlock Holmes's thin lips tightened when I told him this.
'Ask him when exactly the man left.'
'He says, just now, Sir, just before we called him.'
'By thunder! Where's that staircase?'
'The sweeper says it is at the end of the corridor, Sir, and that it leads down to the trade entrance.'
Holmes ran through the corridor and down the narrow staircase, leaving me no alternative but to follow him. We came out in a rush through the back door into a narrow alley. But obviously our prey had flown, for there, about a hundred yards ahead of us, an ecca ghari rattled furiously down the dark empty lane. As the ghari turned the corner into the main street, it came for a moment under a street lamp. The occupant happened to rise in his seat just then and turn around to look back. It was the ferret-face!
'I fear we are a trifle late,' observed Mr Sherlock Holmes, slipping a large revolver back into his coat pocket. 'You did not, by any chance, observe the licence number of the carriage?'
'No, Sir, but I did see something else.' I told him about ferret-face as we climbed back upstairs.
'Quite so, quite so. He was probably a confederate,' he remarked as we reached the corridor. 'I should have anticipated something like this. Why hullo, here's Strickland. The police force must have arrived.'
'Mr Holmes, have you discovered anything?' enquired Strickland eagerly.
'I could only make a cursory inspection of the scene of the crime, before my attention was diverted by another incident.' Sherlock Holmes proceeded to tell Strickland of the old bhangi's tale and our fleeting encounter with the mysterious ferret-face. 'So now with your permission, I will commence my examination.'
As he spoke, he whipped out a powerful lens and a tape measure from his pocket. With these two implements he moved noiselessly about the corridor, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling and once lying flat on his face. He stopped at one point and beckoned to Strickland and me. 'What do you make out of this?' he asked, pointing to something on the floor.
'It looks like a large clot of blood,' Strickland replied.
'Mmm… a possibility; still, if you could lend me a handkerchief.'
I proffered mine. He took it and wiped the red lump of blood with it. Underneath it was grey.
'Why, it is a piece of India-rubber,' I exclaimed.
'You think so?' Holmes remarked. 'Well, I think that's all that can be got here. Let us now proceed further.'
Holmes entered the Room 289 and there devoted himself for fifteen minutes to one of those laborious investigations which form the solid basis of his brilliant successes. It was a memorable experience for me, to view, first hand, the actual modus operandi of a man whose incomparable achievements were famous throughout the world. The look of keen interest on Strickland's face showed that his feelings were much the same as mine. At the time I could not help but be slightly amused at the way Mr Holmes muttered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations and whistles suggestive of encouragement and hope, and the occasional groan or sigh which probably indicated otherwise.
Near the large bed he stopped and exclaimed, pointing at the floor. 'Well, well. What do we have here?'
'It looks like marks left by the legs of a chair,' suggested Strickland.
'Table, my dear Strickland, definitely a table. The impressions are too wide apart for a chair. The table is not normally placed here, for the impressions would be appreciably deeper and there would be a slight difference in colour from the surrounding carpet. Also the table was removed from this position only a short time ago. Observe the tufts of carpet-pile slowly springing back into place.' He straightened up and looked around the room. 'And there we have the very article.'
'But there's another one just like it on the other side of the room,' I interjected.
'Ah. But the probability of this one being the right table is higher. It is just a matter of convenience. One normally uses what is closer at hand.' He walked over to the table and inspected it. CI perceive I am correct. Observe these heavy scratches on the varnish. Dear me, what a way to treat such a fine piece of furniture. Obviously someone has stood on the top of this table. Someone wearing heavy boots. Humm. Now let's see how we can fit it all together. Could you lend me a hand here?'
Mr Holmes and I lifted the table over to the bed and set it down carefully so that the base of the legs matched the indentations on the carpet.
'A perfect fit, Mr Holmes,' said I, in satisfaction. But Sherlock Holmes was already on the table and reaching out
