The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

on your clothes, send your friend away, and call up for coffee at once, if you know what is good for you,’ barked Holmes.

‘Oh, I seldom know what is good for me,’ slurred Eden-Summers.

‘And when he does …’ came an even blurrier voice from the floor.

‘It matters not a whit!’ said both in unison, then laughed.

‘Mr Eden-Summers, pull yourself together. You may talk to me or to the police.’

‘My word!’

Holmes nodded to me, indicating ‘Larry’. I helped the boy up with a touch more force than he clearly was used to, and handing him his shoes, ejected him into the hall. As I returned, Frederick Eden-Summers was just fastening his trousers.

‘Sit down, young man,’ said Holmes sternly. ‘Where were you last night between suppertime and this morning at six?’

The boy flopped into a chair and looked about for his shoes. ‘I do not like the sound of this. What has Dillie done exactly?’

Holmes was silent.

The boy’s face went grave. He stood up. ‘Something is wrong, isn’t it?’

‘Again, I ask, where were you?’

‘Right here. The Dalliers. Our bi-weekly game.’

‘Tell me about the Dalliers,’ said Holmes.

‘A club I started. We … er … we gamble, dine, drink and generally carouse. It’s a small group. We are dedicated to bringing a special touch of levity to our otherwise quite dreary studies. We study the law. Before the wig, before the bar, we … drink. And gamble.’ He smiled charmingly. I could see the appeal he would have had for a young woman. Rakish, and rich beyond compare. Even his dishevelled clothing probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

‘Will anyone vouch for you besides your inebriated friend?’ Holmes asked.

‘Several. Although I think they wandered off at various times. Must have been this morning, though. I recall losing big at five-thirty.’ He nodded to one wall, where a grandfather clock, another unusual component of student lodging, stood bedecked with a variety of coloured socks. It did, however, read the correct time, three-thirty p.m.

The porter knocked and entered with coffee. He brought only one cup, handed it to young Eden-Summers, who leaped up and, as a parched desert traveller might grab a drink, took the cup and gulped it down. The porter retreated.

The young man shook his head, then met our eyes. ‘Sir, I see you are here on serious business. What?’

‘Sit down again, Mr Eden-Summers, and put that cup on the table.’

‘I prefer to stand.’

‘Very well. Miss Odelia Wyndham was found drowned some four hours ago.’

The boy dropped the cup with a clatter. His face went white.

‘Dillie! But … but I was with her just yesterday. She …’ His voice trailed off as he focused on an image which seemed in the far distance. His face clouded, and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and gave a long, shuddering sigh.

Holmes glanced at me in frustration. After a moment, Eden-Summers opened his eyes and stared at Holmes, all traces of the night’s debauchery gone. ‘Has her body been … er … are they sure that it is her?’ he asked in a new, serious voice.

‘Yes,’ said Holmes.

‘Found by whom?’

‘A baker passing the location.’

‘Where?’

‘You tell me.’

‘What? You think that I—? Why would—?’ Eden-Summers scowled. ‘My father will have something to say about this!’

‘Threats will get you nowhere, Mr Eden-Summers. The police are soon to arrive and will take you in for questioning. They’ll be considerably less patient than I.’

‘How do they know this drowned … person … is Dillie?’

‘Watson attended the post-mortem and confirmed the identity,’ said Holmes.

‘It was she,’ I said.

Eden-Summers nodded. ‘My God. That is a shame. A shame and a loss. She was—’ Here he paused. ‘She was … a fine girl. A very fine girl indeed.’ I saw no trace of tears. And an odd turn of phrase for one’s fiancée, I thought.

Holmes smiled. ‘I will need the names of your “Dalliers”. Everyone who was here and could vouch for you. I will, of course, have to confirm your presence here during the time of her death.’

‘Then you believe it was murder!’

Holmes said nothing.

‘You must believe so, else why be here? What makes you think it was a murder and not some kind of terrible accident? You said “drowned”. Where? Might she have fallen into—’

‘Fallen in? No.’

‘Dillie was an adventurous girl.’

‘There were marks. She struggled with someone.’

The boy shook his head. ‘But Dillie was a formidable young lady. Strong. Unafraid. I cannot imagine her being easily overcome.’

‘She was not easily overcome.’

These words hit their target. ‘Oh, my God! Dillie! I must wire my father. He – he – he will be …’ The boy paused. ‘But my mother will be relieved, I suppose.’

‘Relieved that your fiancée was murdered?’ I could not hold back this exclamation.

‘Then it was a murder! No, of course not relieved about that. But relieved that the wedding is off. She did not like Odelia. Our marriage was my father’s idea.’ He paused, his eyes going glassy once more. ‘Although no one would have wished … Dillie,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, Dillie.’ He looked up sharply. ‘And the scandal. What of the ring? The ring I gave her?’

‘There was no ring on the body,’ I said.

‘No ring! Perhaps in her rooms?’

‘No. What did it look like?’ asked Holmes.

‘A … an enormous diamond. Several smaller ones, and two serious emeralds. My aunt’s ring. Family heirloom. My father will have my head.’

‘Why your aunt’s ring, and not your mother’s?’

Eden-Summers shook his head, attempting to clear it. He looked up suddenly at his interlocutor with a new resolve. ‘Because she is still wearing it, old boy. What of my other ring? Gold. No jewels but a simple golden arrow? I gave it to her a month ago. Though she never wore it.’

‘No ring of any sort was found.’

The boy’s face fell, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Dillie.’

Holmes stared at him a moment, then said to my surprise, ‘I believe you are innocent, Mr Eden-Summers. Let us help to prove it. Dr Watson can examine you in private and confirm