A STUDY IN SCARLET Simplified Edition

Chapter 4 - WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL

Chapter - 4

WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL

At one o'clock, we left Lauriston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes took me to a telegraph office, where he sent a long telegram. Then he called for a cab and told the driver to take us to the address Lestrade had given.

"There's nothing like seeing things for yourself," Holmes said. "Even though I think I already know the case, we might learn something new."

"You surprise me, Holmes," I said. "Are you really sure about all the details you mentioned?"

"There's no mistake," he replied. "When I arrived, I saw that a cab had made deep tracks close to the curb. Since it hadn't rained for a week before last night, these tracks must have been made during the night. There were also horse tracks, and one hoof print was clearer than the others, showing it had a new shoe. The cab must have been there overnight, so it brought the two people to the house."

"That seems straightforward," I said. "But what about the other man's height?"

"Well, you can usually tell a man's height by his stride. I measured the stride on the clay outside and the dust inside. When a man writes on a wall, he writes at his eye level. The writing was just over six feet high. It's simple."

"And his age?" I asked.

"If a man can stride four and a half feet easily, he isn't very old. I saw the marks of boots on a puddle. Patent-leather boots went around the puddle, and Square-toes hopped over it. It's all clear. I'm using observation and deduction, as I discussed in my article. Is there anything else you're puzzled about?"

"The fingernails and the Trichinopoly cigar," I said.

"The writing was done with a finger dipped in blood. The plaster was scratched, showing the man's nails weren't trimmed. I found some ash on the floor. It was dark and flaky, like Trichinopoly cigar ash. I can tell the brand of any cigar or tobacco from the ash. It's the details that set skilled detectives apart."

"And the florid face?" I asked.

"That was a guess, though I'm confident I was right. I can't explain it now."

"I'm confused," I said. "The more I think about it, the more mysterious it becomes. How did the two men get into the empty house? What happened to the cab driver? How could one man force another to take poison? Where did the blood come from? Why was there no robbery? Why was the German word 'Rache' written on the wall? I can't see how to connect all these facts."

Holmes smiled. "You've summed up the situation well. I have most of the facts figured out. Lestrade's discovery was meant to mislead the police by suggesting Socialism and secret societies. It wasn't done by a German. Real Germans use Latin letters. This was done by a bad imitator. I'm not going to reveal much more. A magician loses his charm once his tricks are explained. If I show you too much, you might think I'm just an ordinary person."

"I'll never think that," I said. "You've brought detective work closer to science than ever before."

Holmes was pleased with my praise. "I'll tell you one more thing," he said. "Patent-leathers and Square-toes arrived in the same cab and walked together, arm-in-arm. Inside, they walked around the room. Patent-leathers stood still while Square-toes walked around, getting more excited as he went. Then the tragedy happened. That's all I know for now. We have a good starting point. Let's hurry; I want to attend Halle's concert and hear Norman Neruda this afternoon."

We traveled through a series of dull streets until our driver stopped at a narrow alley. "That's Audley Court," he said, pointing. "I'll wait here for you."

Audley Court was not appealing. The narrow passage led to a square with shabby houses. We walked through groups of dirty children and laundry until we reached Number 46, which had a brass nameplate saying "Rance." We were told the constable was in bed and were shown into a small room to wait for him.

Rance appeared, looking annoyed at being woken up. "I already made my report at the office," he said.

Holmes took out a half-sovereign and played with it thoughtfully. "We'd like to hear the full story from you," he said.

"I'll tell you from the start," Rance said. "My shift is from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven, there was a fight at the White Hart, but otherwise, it was quiet. At one o'clock, it started to rain. I met Harry Murcher, who has the Holland Grove beat, and we talked at the corner of Henrietta Street. Around two, I decided to check the Brixton Road. It was very dirty and empty. I saw a light in the window of the house, which was strange since the houses in Lauriston Gardens were empty due to drainage problems. I thought something was wrong. When I got to the door-"

"You stopped and went back to the gate," Holmes interrupted. "Why did you do that?"

Rance jumped in surprise. "How do you know that?" he asked. "I went back because it was so quiet and creepy. I thought it might be the ghost of the person who died of typhoid fever. I wanted to see if Murcher was around, but he wasn't."

"There was no one in the street?" Holmes asked.

"No, not a soul or even a dog. I gathered my courage and went back to the door. It was quiet inside, so I went into the room with the light. There was a red wax candle on the mantelpiece, and I saw-"

"Yes, I know what you saw," Holmes said. "You walked around the room, knelt by the body, tried the kitchen door, and then-"

Rance stood up, looking scared and suspicious. "Where were you hiding to see all that?" he asked. "You know too much."

Holmes laughed and handed Rance his card. "Don't arrest me," he said. "I'm just a detective. Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will deal with that. Keep going. What happened next?"

Rance sat back down, still puzzled. "I went back to the gate and blew my whistle. Murcher and two others came."

"Was the street empty then?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, except for a very drunk man. He was leaning against the railings and singing loudly. He couldn't stand or help."

"What did he look like?" Holmes asked.

Rance seemed annoyed by the question. "He was very drunk. We had to support him. He was tall with a red face, and his lower part was covered."

"That's enough," Holmes said. "What happened to him?"

"We didn't have time to look after him," Rance said. "I'm sure he got home okay."

"How was he dressed?" Holmes asked.

"A brown overcoat."

"Did he have a whip?"

"No."

"He must have left it behind," Holmes muttered. "Did you see or hear a cab after that?"

"No."

"Here's a half-sovereign," Holmes said, standing up and taking his hat. "You should have used your head better. You could have earned a promotion last night. The man you helped is key to this mystery. Let's go, Doctor."

We left, leaving Rance confused but uncomfortable.

"The foolish man," Holmes said as we drove back. "He had a chance to help solve the case but didn't take it."

"I'm still confused. The man's description matches the second person in the mystery. But why did he return to the house? Criminals usually don't do that."

"It was the ring," Holmes said. "He came back for the ring. If we can't catch him another way, we can use the ring to lure him. I'm sure we'll get him. Thanks to you, I found this fascinating case. Let's go for lunch and then to hear Norman Neruda. Her performance is superb. What's that Chopin piece she plays so beautifully?"

As we rode in the cab, Holmes sang cheerfully while I thought about the complexity of the human mind.