The Case Of The Ebony Cane

.1.

Inspector Nicholas Crowley rested his muddy boots on the table. Across from him, his subordinate and the only officer who had bothered to turn up after the torrential rain the previous day, read the newspaper aloud.

"-yet another disappointing budget plan introduced by Sir Bradford."

"Right."

"Well, there's one about a farmer in Cornwall," Constable Hart started but swiftly looked elsewhere after hearing him groan. "And another police crackdown on a suffragist meeting in London-"

Suddenly, the door to the station banged open to reveal a scruffy stable hand, panting loudly. He spoke urgently between his short breaths.

"Ce-Cedar Manor. Lord Woolworth's been murd-murder'd!"

*

Cedar Manor was one of the oldest and largest mansions in Westbrook Wells, a little village about twenty miles from London. Set amidst sprawling grounds that went on for a couple hundred acres, the enormous mansion resembled a Gothic castle that looked as imposing as its late owner. Lord Francis Woolworth was well known in these parts as a retired General who'd spent more than thirty years in the Colonies. He was in his early sixties but retained the strength of youth and the formidable personality of a toughened soldier.

The door was opened by the butler, dressed in an immaculately pressed black suit which only brought out his  haggard, spectre-like face.

"This way, sirs," he murmured.

The police men followed him through the dim corridors across the mansion to a library. Stepping to the side, he opened the door to a large room through which the pale morning sunlight streamed in through a pair of French windows across from them. The quiet musky smell around the books stacked in the ceiling high bookshelves almost drew attention from the corpse sitting in the leather armchair.

Inspector Crowley strode across the room to the body. Its skin had turned blue and its eyes were bulging out of its deflated face. It was, overall, a grotesque sight. The Inspector gently removed the fingers from its neck to see what they were clutching at. On the skin of his neck, just under his jaw, ran two dull red bands.

"Constable, would you pass my little lens please?"

Taking the magnifying lens from him, Crowley placed it over the bruises. He noticed tiny abrasions around the marks as he traced it to the back of his neck where it crisscrossed again.

"Have you found anything sir?"

Looking up at the constable, Crowley replied, "I think it's safe to conclude that the late Lord Woolworth was strangled to death. An autopsy will have to be performed, of course, but right now, I want you to search the library for a thin strip of cloth, around three quarters of an inch wide. In fact, I'll be more specific. Look for a ribbon."

"A ribbon?" Hart repeated incredulously.

"Yes, a ribbon, Hart. Look at the uniformity of the bruises." Inspector Crowley got up and walked towards the windows. As he bent down to examine a bit of dirt on the curtains, he addressed the butler.

"Who was the first person to find the body?"

"It was one of the serving maids, Mrs. Knight."

"When was this?"

"Mrs. Knight had come to the library at seven today morning to clear away any glasses or bottles Lord Woolworth might have left from the previous evening."

"And is that her usual job?"

The butler hesitated a bit before answering. "I'm afraid not, sir. It's actually mine. I'm supposed to accompany my Lord throughout the evening and clear away everything only when he retires to bed."