The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(38)
“I smell nothing of the sort,” I said. Holmes nodded.
“Nor I,” said Gregson. “Perhaps she was in some danger, to bring a weapon with her. It must have been frightening travelling without escort on a merchant vessel, and with a child.”
“Perhaps it was to protect the child that she carried a gun,” I said.
“Protect the child from whom?” Holmes said. I peered over his shoulder as he went back to the articles on the table. Here was the remainder of her ticket stub for the Lady Evelyn, several worn and plain articles of clothing, including several bonnets and frocks for the little girl, three worn American dime-store novels, the stubs of several spent candles, and a small leather case that held a delicate pair of silver pince-nez. Holmes gave this last item his particular attention for a full minute, then he examined the luggage itself, both inside and out.
“Well,” he said at last. “Certainly this confirms her as an American.”
“We have already questioned the captain and mates of the Lady Evelyn,” Gregson said, “but we should question the rest of the crew and the other passengers, as well. They may know something of her story.”
“It is as well that we should leave no stone unturned,” Holmes said, “but I fear from the wax marks over these well-thumbed books that we shall find that these travellers kept pretty much to themselves during their voyage and likely did not spend much time with the crew or other passengers. Settling herself at a hotel near the Thames, which are generally less expensive, suggests that she did not have endless monetary resources. But there are certainly cheaper locations and this one boasts a bit more security than most. Most of her clothes show every sign of age and wear. A few articles are newly purchased, however, some of them quite well-made.” He indicated a pure white shawl that did indeed look much finer than the rest. “So she did not have money for quite some time, but recently came into a sum. Possibly just before, or during her trip.”
He indicated the pince-nez. “These were instructive, as well, so that we now know that Miss Lucja Nowak has a narrow face, is likely to be a careful and pretty woman, somewhat vain in appearance, and now seems to be loose in London without the pair of glasses that another person might want in a strange city.”
“Holmes!” I said. “That is extraordinary!”
“Hardly,” he said blandly. “The size and centre of the concavity indicates a narrow face, but somewhat larger eyes. The cork attached to these clips is far from new, but bears little sign of use. The same is true of the leather case. Both are of good, but not excellent quality, which again hints that her own prosperity was moderate before her recent windfall. If you will look through them, you will find that the prescription is quite strong and alters from top to bottom, so that we know she needed these for reading as well as for common use. Yet it seems she used these glasses remarkably little. Surely that implies some vanity? Very likely, they occupied a place at her bedside at home, and have only recently seen extra use during the long voyage from America. Do you follow?”
“Yes,” I said. “I see all that now.”
Holmes’s inspection next covered the floor and walls, which went quickly until he reached the window, where he opened it and examined both sides of the windowsill. “What’s this?” He pulled out a thread from the outside sill, then held it to the man’s coat to show us that it matched precisely.
“Caught on the windowsill when he was pushed out the window!” Gregson said. “Perhaps he had leaned way over, giving her an opportunity to push him out. Which would account for no shots being fired.”
“Perhaps,” Holmes said, “though catching on the bottom of the outside ledge… I wonder.” He lay on the ledge and leaned far out, applying his lens to both the bottom of the ledge and the outside wall. “Most singular,” he called back. “Watson, tell me what you make of this windowsill.”
Somewhat dubiously, since my sight in even clouded daylight was a poor substitute for Holmes’s, I leaned out of the window and looked out. I mashed my hat down on my head as best I could to keep the rain off, and squinted down at the wall.
“There are… marks on the wall,” I said. They were plain enough. Certainly Holmes had seen them just as easily as I.
Holmes stood next to me at the window, but even so, his whisper was so low that I nearly missed it.
“You’re wrinkling your nose, Watson,” he said.
I followed his example and spoke as quietly as I dared. “The Thames has a strong odour here, a particularly repugnant fish or frog smell.”
“Ah…” he said, and turned toward the door. “We shall leave you now, Gregson, but I feel it likely that we may have something for you before too long.”
Gregson was clearly unhappy with our departure. “I shall contact the American Embassy and see if they have any knowledge of a U.S. marshal here in England.”
“I should do so,” Holmes said, “but say nothing yet of his death.”
“Why not?”
“I am not yet convinced that our dead man was a U.S. marshal.”
“Well, that’s as clear as day, Mr Holmes!” Gregson said. “Haven’t we a body with his badge right on it?”
“Well,” Holmes said, “I have given my advice.”
“This is how I see it,” Gregson said. “This Lucja Nowak is some kind of fugitive from America, followed by this U.S. marshal. He tracks her down and surprises her in this room. Clearly, if she’s carrying a gun, she’s quite on edge and ready to do anything to evade justice.”