Death on a Pale Horse - By Donald Thomas Page 0,58
would have been pointing downwards. Of course I have not, as you correctly say, made an adequate survey of the premises. I cannot be more precise for the moment.”
He dropped to one knee and smoothed his hand across the polished floor.
“And I cannot help thinking that this desk has very recently been moved. Quite innocently moved, perhaps, for the purpose of sweeping or polishing the linoleum. But it has surely not been moved back again.”
Still poised on one knee, he took the edge of the rug beyond the desk and turned it back.
“It is as I supposed. Look just here. We have uncovered two small round blemishes on the linoleum forward of the desk. I believe we shall find that they are the matching patches, made by the pressure of the two forward casters of the desk over a period of months or years. They will prove a perfect fit when we move the desk forward; you may depend upon it.”
“Meaning what, Mr. Holmes?”
Holmes stood up. “Suppose those casters now stood where they formerly did, on the two marks in the linoleum. The desk would have to come forward to accomplish that, would it not? A rough calculation in trigonometry, made from where I stand, tells me that as the victim then sat at the desk, his head would have been beyond the aim of a gunman on the far side of the street. The projecting corner of the window embrasure over here would have made such a shot as you describe quite impossible.”
“Ifs and buts!” Lestrade exclaimed. “Who says that the desk was not moved for sweeping and then not put back?”
“Who says it was not moved after our poor friend was shot by a gunman confronting him in this room? Who says, my dear Lestrade, that you are not thinking at this instant precisely what the killer wishes you to think? One moment, please.”
Sherlock Holmes crossed to the further sash window, which appeared to be tightly closed. Then, using the white cotton handkerchief from his breast pocket and extending his considerable height, he stretched upwards to the topmost glazing bar and carefully dusted it. The level was well beyond the unaided reach of a chambermaid. Next he raised his arms and gently pulled the window frame down as far as its two security bolts would permit. Returning to the nearer window, he repeated the process.
He walked back and offered two patches of debris on the handkerchief for the inspector’s examination.
“I daresay it means nothing, my dear Lestrade, but you know better than anyone what a clever barrister might make of such a thing in court. Do borrow my magnifying lens, if you feel it will assist you. The further window, which is shut tight, now yields a deposit of street dust and soot, sufficient to require a constant passage of contaminated air to carry it into this room. It must certainly have been left open at the top for weeks, months, even years, but is now shut.”
Lestrade stared morosely at the evidence on the white cotton as Holmes continued.
“Now consider the nearer sash. It yields only the amount of dust that might come from internal domestic sources. However, it also has several specks of dried white paint. These have surely been deposited since the surface was last dusted.”
“In other words.…”
“In other words, my dear fellow, this nearer one is a window which was ‘painted shut,’ as slovenly tradesmen say, when the room was last decorated. It has been crudely and recently prised open. You may also see a little roughening of the white paint on the sash-frame itself. The fragments have parted from the rim of the wood. If you will step across to it, you will also notice that the further sash is painted but dusty. The nearer frame is cleaner but unpainted.”
“And what is that supposed to tell us, Mr. Holmes?”
Holmes stood at the window and stared across the street.
“It has been clear to me since the moment I first entered this room that the shot must have been fired within these walls and not from across the street.”
“Meaning what, again? They forced one window and shut the other?”
“Meaning that it suited the assassin for the police to believe that the shot came from the other building, though the porter has seen nothing out of the ordinary this morning. Let us leave that for a moment. From what I can see, there is also a curious punctiliousness about the arrangement of objects in this room. An