Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,19

inspector would kill in self-defense, or in the defense of others, if he must. But I can’t see him killing with premeditation. If he was dealing with malfeasance of any kind, he’d let the law handle it. After all, he is an enforcer of the law; his words would carry weight.”

But what about where the law did not legislate? What about matters of affection, of husbandly possessiveness?

“We just read about a small notice,” said Holmes, “that would seem to indicate that Inspector Treadles would have arrived at Cold Street already in an inflamed state of mind.”

“I heard about that, but Inspector Treadles doesn’t read the small notices, as far as I know. And in any case—” Sergeant MacDonald again scratched his chin. “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn. I’ve known the inspector for a while. I won’t say he doesn’t get angry, but he isn’t a man who lashes out in anger. He pulls in, if you take my meaning.”

Lord Ingram did. He also “pulled in,” so to speak.

Holmes nodded and changed the subject. “I believe Inspector Treadles enjoyed a stellar reputation at Scotland Yard. Yet despite his good name and his good work over the years, he was arrested for these murders. Should we take it as indication that his guilt, at the moment at least, appears overwhelming?”

Sergeant MacDonald sighed. “After I saw Mrs. Treadles, I went to the nearest two stations to Cold Street and got the gist of the story. A bit after three in the morning, I was told, a pair of bobbies were coming back from their patrol. A fog had rolled in. Because of that they changed their route to Cold Street, a shortcut back to their station house.

“The fog was dense. But with the light from their lanterns they could still see, when they passed before 33 Cold Street, that the front door was open. They went for a closer look, and saw that the house was unoccupied—cold interior, furniture covered, etc. Their first thought was burglary, possibly one in progress. They heard some noises coming from an upstairs room and climbed up, thinking to catch the thief red-handed.

“What they found was a room locked from the inside. They rattled the door and heard no response. They identified themselves as the police and still received no answers. So they forced open the door—and saw Inspector Treadles inside. He’d barricaded himself behind the bedstead, his service revolver pointed at them. Nearer to the door were the two dead men and a fair bit of blood.”

The sergeant’s recital was matter-of-fact, but Lord Ingram heard the catch in his voice at the end. His own stomach tightened. He could almost smell the pungency of fresh blood and feel the inspector’s terror at the pounding on the door.

Holmes took the kettle off the spirit lamp and poured hot water into the teapot. “Had the victims been shot?”

Sergeant MacDonald took a swallow of the whisky he’d been given earlier—and took a deep breath. “Yes, they were.”

“Had anyone heard the shots?”

“I asked the same question. Apparently there was a problem with miscreants setting off fireworks in the area. Some coppers blame Italian immigrants—word is, in some Italian cities, Christmas fireworks are a tradition. Others say there was once a tavern nearby that set off fireworks at Christmas and people are just nostalgic.” Sergeant MacDonald shrugged. “In any case, the residents are annoyed by pyrotechnics going off at night. The news has even made the papers, but no one has been apprehended.”

Holmes passed him more cake. “I see. Please continue.”

Sergeant MacDonald accepted her offer with a grateful smile. “Right. Now where was I? Oh, the constables didn’t have firearms, as they were patrolling a generally safe district. But one fought in Afghanistan and wasn’t daunted by either the carnage or the sight of a man holding a gun. He simply told Inspector Treadles to hand over the revolver and submit himself to the authority of the police.

“There are different versions of what happened next, but most of those I spoke to agreed that Inspector Treadles questioned the men in some detail about their station house, their superiors, and their duties, which they answered earnestly enough, given that they still had a revolver pointed at them. And then Inspector Treadles gave his name and rank, and surrendered the firearm and himself.”

Lord Ingram exchanged a look with Holmes. Whomever Inspector Treadles had dreaded would crash through the door, it hadn’t been the police.

“Once the inspector was handcuffed, one constable stayed