The Circus Murders

The Visitor

We arrived back at Baker Street to find the good Mrs. Hudson perfectly in her element, seated on the edge of Holmes' chair, across from our remarkable visitor. I found myself staring with unspoken trepidation at the fair haired, violet eyed beauty occupying the sofa.

"Mr. Holmes!" Cried Ms. Paltrow, rising to her feet in an instant, "What did you find?"

"Exactly what I expected to," said Holmes dryly. "But please do sit down. Do not cause yourself undue excitement."

"And what is it you expected to find?"

"The lack of something I dearly hoped to see, " answered Holmes, flinging himself down in the sofa and causing his dear landlady to flutter her arms like a startled bird and rise to her feet. He rested his elbow on the place previously occupied by Ms. Hudson and nestled his chin in the palm of his hand.

"I fear I don't understand."

Mrs. Hudson hastened to pick up the silver serving tray upon which Ms. Paltrow's teacup had rested.

"Don't trouble yourself," hastened Holmes. "Watson and myself will see to it later."

Our long suffering landlady had to muster all her will not to laugh, though she was a wise woman and gave a slight nod of understanding at her tenant's surprising request.

"Have you solved it?"

"I would not go that far," said Holmes thoughtfully. "But I am seeing the shape of it."

And the waters are dark, I wanted to add. It was impossible to suspect the coquettish Ms. Paltrow of anything approaching the bloodbath we had just encountered at the docks. I wondered if Holmes was coming around to this way of thinking, though I was certain he was still silently gathering facts.

"I fear the only course of action is to what. Ms. Paltrow, you can count upon hearing from me the instant things begin to clarify. Until then, put the matter completely out of your head, and into the hands of myself and Dr. Watson."

She frowned and then nodded assent. "Very well."

At Holmes' request she scribbled her address upon a sheet of paper so that we could be in touch should a development arise.

The second the door closed, Holmes leapt to his feet and was banging desk drawers near his chemistry set. He withdrew from one a little bottle of fingerprint powder, and a black, feathery brush, then began to dust both the teacup and the pistol in turn, until with a cry, he took the pistol over to his makeshift examining table and lay it under the most powerful lens he possessed.

"An exact match," he said, his excitement having not faded in the least, though I felt sick at heart as well as mind.

"I've let me sentimental feelings cloud my judgment again," said I, with a heavy heart. "Never would I have guessed that she was a murderess. She was too pure."

"I am not convinced of her guilt."

"What?" My heart beat faster, buoyed by sudden hope.

"You have just told me her fingerprints were on the gun and her story a lie. I don't see how even you can invent a solution in which Ms. Paltrow is innocent."

"Then you have very little imagination, dear fellow! I would have credited you with more, especially in light of those journal entries."

I made a mental note to myself to burn those journals as soon as possible...

"Her hand was forced..." I said slowly, "But Holmes, why would she come willingly to us in that case! Surely she would know you would tidy up the problem and find her a counterpart to the crime. Unless, of course, she was too shocked to do remember the course of events."

A knock sounded upon the door and my companion's features went very white. He nearly dropped the lens.

"Watson, pray tell me you still have your revolver."

I did.