The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(3)
He jerked upright as each and every test tube turned a dull mahogany colour. “I really must thank you, Lestrade,” he said without lifting his eyes from the experiment on the table. “Already this case is showing an extraordinary number of interesting features. Some very interesting features indeed, including some I’ve never seen before. Perhaps a case unique in the annals of crime detection.”
“Indeed,” I said fervently. “I can hardly imagine a more cold-blooded act. What kind of monster could carry around such a thing the way another man carries cigarettes? It is barely imaginable.”
Holmes waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that is hardly exceptional. Recall, Watson, when the fifty-year-old spinster, Miss Susan Cushing, received a parcel in the post which turned out to contain two severed human ears packed in coarse salt and I think you will have to concede my point. No, it is the curious condition of the finger and the nature of the victim that interests me.”
“We must help her, Holmes,” I urged. The image of some poor woman maimed in such a fashion shook me to the core.
“I’m afraid,” Holmes said, not unkindly, “it is all too likely that this particular woman is beyond our reach to help, but possibly we can be of some assistance in punishing the criminals involved.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr Holmes,” Lestrade said, “but the woman may still be alive. I would hardly call that wound fatal.” He had taken his hat off and was currently worrying into a sorry shape in his idle hands while he watched Holmes.
“No,” Holmes said. “You wouldn’t, but I consider it the highest probability.” He held up a hand to fend off further protests. “You have your methods, Lestrade, and I have mine. Be assured that I will send you a telegram with any advice or information that I have, as soon as I am sure of my facts.” With that, he bent back over the gruesome piece of evidence, fishing out more test tubes for further experiments. Lestrade and I were clearly forgotten and dismissed from his thoughts.
Seeing it was no use to protest further, and that Holmes would not have any information coaxed out of him until he was ready, Lestrade gave a displeased grunt, crammed his hat forcefully back onto his head, and left.
Holmes spent the rest of the evening at work, completely ignoring the arrival of dinner. The parlour filled with an ever-increasing cloud of noxious smoke as he applied test upon test to his specimen. The miasma was augmented even further as he took more and more frequent breaks to sit and ponder, puffing away at his pipe until the haze became intolerable. It had gone past a three-pipe problem and well into a seventh when I finally gave up trying to read through the smoke and went to bed.
*
When I awoke in the morning, Holmes’s chemical experiments were still underway, and the darkened room was dotted in that corner with the little blue flames of multiple Bunsen burners going at once. Holmes was not at the table, but wandered about our quarters with an air of extreme agitation. He smoked the old clay pipe, the foulest of his collection and the room was wreathed in blue smoke.
“Aha, Watson,” he said at once. “Clearly this case goes deeper than I first suspected.” He pointed with the pipe. “Take a look at our unique evidence and give me your thoughts on it.”
Hardly knowing what to expect, I went to the table and bent over to look at the finger laid upon a Petri dish. The blood still glistened brightly at the severed joint without any sign of coagulation or clotting. Nor did it seem to show any signs of decomposition.
“Why, it looks as if it was freshly severed this morning!” I exclaimed.
“Exactly!” he said. “The blood has not dried or congealed, as we might expect. You may recall that I questioned Lestrade as to how long he’d had the finger in his possession. This was because it looked unusually fresh.”
“A haemophiliac?” I asked.
“My thoughts precisely, though this kind of bleeding is exceptional even for such a patient. Female haemophiliacs are nearly unheard of, as I’m sure you know. Also the blood has several other irregularities. You yourself saw that it passed the Holmes blood test I perfected the day we first met, just before we became involved with the affair of Major Sholto, of Upper Norwood.”
“I remember it well.” How could I not, having also met my wife during those events?
“But the blood from this finger does not seem to correspond to most of the other characteristics of human blood, nor does the flesh of the finger precisely correspond to normal flesh. Whatever disease could change this person’s chemistry rather thoroughly, so it must have been long-term, rather than something recently contracted. It is also curious that, though there is still some evidence of blood flow, the rest of the finger is quite desiccated, though it hardly looks it. I noticed this because the finger is much lighter than I should expect. It is also strangely resilient. There are indications that this may also be true in life, and that the disease dramatically alters the circulatory system as it progresses. This agrees with the differing characteristics of the blood. You will remember that I commented to Lestrade that the removal of a finger might, in this case, be fatal. Such is the nature of haemophilia.”
“I do,” I said. “To what characteristics of the blood do you refer?”
“Well,” he said with a sly smile. “There are several. But this demonstration is the most striking.” He took a small specimen knife and cut a portion of skin off the finger, adding this to a test tube that already had a clear liquid in it. He then sprinkled a small amount of a light grey powder into the solution and immediately a violent bubbling eruption occurred. In but a few moments’ time, the reaction had ceased and I was able to see into the clear liquid that remained. The skin sample was gone, quite dissolved into the solution.