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

Freddie Eden-Summers frowned, and I sensed a certain belligerence.

‘Whoever killed Dillie will bear marks of the fight,’ said Holmes. ‘This can be done here, or more publicly at the police station, if you so choose.’

Eden-Summers’ jaw clenched, but he acquiesced and collapsed onto a worn velvet chair near the window, where I made quick work of the examination. In rapid succession I searched his hands, arms and torso thoroughly for signs of bruises, scratches, blood, or any indications that he had fought physically with the victim.

To my considerable surprise he did indeed bear the marks of a fight. He had a deep bruise under the left ribs, as though from a hard right punch, and, perhaps more telling, his own right knuckles were bruised and abraded, which I pointed out to Holmes. The young man angrily pulled down his tennis sweater and said, ‘I punched a fellow in the stairwell last night. A bit drunk, he wanted to barge into our private party.’ Holmes looked at him askance, and the boy added, chin jutting in anger, ‘This was seen by several of my Dalliers. They will vouch for me.’

‘What is this man’s name?’

Eden-Summers hesitated just a moment too long. He shrugged. ‘He had never been seen here before.’

Holmes and I exchanged a look. Undoubtedly prevarication. But before we could pursue this line of inquiry, the porter knocked crisply and opened the door without waiting.

‘Mr Eden-Summers,’ he said formally. ‘The police are downstairs. They wish to have a word.’

In a moment, Holmes and I had escaped down a back staircase and were outside in the late afternoon heat, keeping to alleys and vigilant for the police.

‘Your thoughts, Holmes?’ I asked.

‘Inconclusive. Those knuckles. And the odd story of the second ring. I wonder where it went?’

‘In the lock perhaps,’ I offered.

‘Even if his fisticuffs are verified, Eden-Summers has the financial means to have hired Dillie’s killer, if that were his intention. And his reaction was most odd.’

‘You told Eden-Summers you thought he was innocent,’ I said.

Holmes shook his head. ‘To put him at ease so that you could examine him. He is enormously entitled.’

‘That is putting it mildly, Holmes. Where next?’

‘We must see Leo Vitale before the police get to him.’

CHAPTER 31

Leo Vitale

Vitale was lodged in the second court at St Cedd’s not far from the Cavendish Laboratory. At the entrance to this large court, in which several buildings faced a plain green, we were confronted by a porter. A small, grizzled man, his upturned nose and large teeth putting me in mind of a hungry squirrel, he sat in a cubbyhole off the arched stone entrance. The porter set down the Illustrated Police News to demand our business. Intuiting instantly that the Wyndham name would not impress this man, Holmes mentioned that he was investigating an exciting murder, and time was of the essence! He explained that a young woman had been killed, implying that he was an official on the case, and that he needed to speak to Leo Vitale urgently.

‘Murder, you say! Well, that is fascinating. Leo Vitale! Now there’s a strange fellow. Well, these scientists are a queer lot. They are all clustered in staircase K and L, across the green there. Do you suspect him?’

‘No, but he may be a witness. Our business is urgent, sir! His room, please?’ said Holmes.

‘Odd, folks, these science fellows, I tell you. Strange smells. They set their rooms afire – exploding things. And always wanting coffee, coffee, coffee.’

‘His room, please?’ I said, before Holmes lost his temper.

‘Room Five. Top of staircase K. You’ll tell me what you find, then? So’s I can be prepared?’

‘Certainly,’ lied Holmes.

We found K and were up the stairs in a trice. By contrast to those of Eden-Summers’ lodgings, this staircase was dark and shabby, the wooden treads deeply scuffed, and the outer doors to all the rooms were all pockmarked and firmly closed. As we ascended, the heat grew oppressive.

The outer door to Room Five was ajar. We were in luck – Vitale, too, was in. Holmes knocked and opened the inner door to discover a single room, low ceilinged and dark.

Leo Vitale was seated at a desk, sweltering under the eaves, once again poring over a single sheet of paper, his head in his hands. He did not look up. Stacks of books, papers, and the odd bit of laboratory paraphernalia were piled high on every available surface. Two valises with a jumble of clothing and linens poked out from under the narrow bed, and the young man’s student gown, jacket and hat were hung from pegs all over the room. Even within the hallowed halls of Cambridge, our British class system made itself precisely known. Vitale looked up at us, his face devoid of expression. I noted dark circles under his eyes and a kind of sadness reflected there.

‘Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes. ‘Forgive the interruption. We are here on a matter of utmost urgency.’

The young scientist inhaled and sat up straight. ‘You again. What is this about now?’

‘A crime has been committed against a certain young lady. The police will be arriving shortly to question you,’ said Holmes.

‘What young lady? What crime?’

‘You are a suspect, Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes. ‘Now listen carefully. I am a scientist like yourself, and inclined to trust what you say. The police will look at you as an exotic bird, believe me, I know about this. There is evidence against you, and they will arrest you without hesitation.’

‘Be clear, sir! Arrest me for what?’

‘You were seen and heard outside the Cross and Anchor, having a shouting argument with Miss Dillie Wyndham at about two o’clock this morning.’

Two spots of colour appeared on the young man’s white cheeks.

‘How is that anyone’s business? What crime? Is Dillie all right?’

‘I need to know the subject of that argument.’

Vitale stared at Holmes. ‘Miss Wyndham has taken flight again? Is that it?’

‘Mr Vitale, tell me now, and I may be able to help you. What