Dust and Shadow by Lyndsay Faye Read Free Book Online

pocketknife, and proceeded to stab her chest, groin, and abdomen, presumably because he wasn’t sure he’d finished the job.”
    “I challenge you to show me another explanation that so closely covers the facts,” cried Lestrade. “We know nothing of this soldier, after all. For all we know, he may be an extremely perverse individual.”
    “Ha! You are right. He may indeed be. Can you tell me the whereabouts of the other witnesses, this so-called Pearly Poll and the second guardsman?”
    Sulkily, Lestrade shuffled through his file. “As far as Pearly Poll is concerned, not only is her address hardly permanent, but we’ve put her through two police lineups and she’s proven an utter waste of our time. As for the private—well, he has disappeared into thin air.”
    “One more question, if I may.”
    “Yes?” Lestrade replied, looking as though his good nature had been sorely tried indeed.
    “The constable did not happen to note the colour of stripe on the soldier’s cap, did he?”
    “It was white,” he snapped, “so of course he was a member of the Coldstream Guards. And now you’ll have no difficulty whatsoever in identifying the suspect that the entire force has had their eye out for.Just wire me when he’s found the culprit, will you, Doctor? Good day to you, Mr. Holmes.”
    When the door had slammed testily behind us, Holmes set off down the hallway which led to the front exit of the Great Scotland Yard building. Though few policemen were present with the leisure to stop and speak to each other, those who could spare the time were muttering in hushed tones as they attempted to make sense of the events. I little knew what my friend was thinking, but Lestrade’s explanation seemed to me to fall far short of the mark.
    “Holmes, surely Martha Tabram’s murder was an act too brutal for a brawl over a few pence?”
    “Agreed,” replied Holmes as we regained the street, surrounded comfortingly by leafy trees and solid red brick. “I haven’t the slightest doubt that whoever is responsible was in the grip of a powerful emotional force.”
    There was a brisk wind flowing through the Yard’s open spaces, and I welcomed its invigourating influence as Holmes hailed a cab and we made our weary way back to Baker Street.
    “I cannot make it out yet, Watson,” my friend mused, drumming his long fingers against the side of the hansom, “but I would not have missed it. It is a far queerer matter than it appeared on the surface. As Lestrade has been at pains to remind us, these murders are in no way linked. But consider that in the case of Nichols, we have a killer who is exceedingly eager to cut women apart after they are dead, and in the case of Tabram, a killer so dedicated to the idea that he puts away his murder weapon to begin coolly stabbing his victim.”
    “What can we do?”
    “I must consider the options at hand. After all, we do not yet know these women. Speaking with their friends and loved ones may prove very profitable indeed.”
    “We will at least learn more than we did this morning.”
    Holmes nodded. “It was most peculiar. We unearthed no immediate alleys which demand investigation. I suppose I shall have to invent my own.”

CHAPTER THREE
Miss Mary Ann Monk
    The next morning I completed my ablutions quickly, as I could just make out voices emanating from downstairs. When I entered the sitting room, I found Holmes leaning against the sideboard with his hands in his pockets as he conversed with a man whose general appearance spoke of neither good hygiene nor good spirits.
    “Ah, Watson,” cried my friend. “I was about to fetch you, as we have an important caller. May I present to you Mr. William Nichols of Old Kent Road, a repairman of printer’s machinery, if his fingertips had not already declared as much to you.”
    Our guest was a weathered fellow of middle height with sly blue eyes and bushy grey side-whiskers. A tremor in his strong, ink-stained hands informed me he was quite