Sherlock Holmes Stories of Edward D. Hoch by Edward D. Hoch Read Free Book Online Page A

identify.
    “Have you been employed here long?” Holmes was always gathering information, filing it away for the future.
    “Several years,” the driver replied. “Name’s Haskin. I’m just filling in with the carriage. My real job’s with the animals.”
    Holmes was suddenly interested. “What animals would those be?”
    “Sir Patrick maintains a small zoo at the manor. We bring back animals from his African safaris. Brought back a pair of fine lion cubs from his most recent journey.”
    Before long, we topped a hill and the manor house itself came into view. It sat alone on the plain below, a three-story brick house with a stand of oak trees on the left side and a large pond about a hundred feet from the front entrance. I could see a pair of swans gliding on the water.
    “Welcome to Stacy Manor,” Haskin told us, as he turned onto the long, pebbled driveway leading up to the house.
    The door opened as we approached it and a butler ushered us in.
    “Mrs. White will be with you in a moment.”
    Holmes and I waited in the front hall, with an elephant head visible through the doorway. Almost at once, we were joined by a handsome woman of about forty who carried herself with an almost regal air.
    “I am Elizabeth Stacy White,” she said. “And you would be Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
    “Correct.” He smiled and seemed almost to give a little bow. “This is my close companion, Dr. John Watson. I trust we can be of some service to your husband in this unfortunate matter.”
    “Has he given you the details?”
    “Not as yet.”
    “Pray be seated and I will give you the facts as we know them. My husband is an African traveler of some little renown. After each trip, he is in the habit of bringing home creatures from the Dark Continent to stock his private zoo at the rear of the house. You will see it later. After this latest trip, he returned with two lion cubs, and he invited a small number of friends to stay with us on a summer holiday. They arrived last Sunday and will be leaving us this Sunday.”
    At that point, she was interrupted by a large, bearded man who strode in and immediately took command of the conversation.
    “Excuse me for not greeting you upon your arrival,” he said, leaving no doubt that it was his house and he was in charge. “I trust my wife kept you amused in my absence.”
    “She was most helpful,” Holmes said. “You are Sir Patrick Stacy White?”
    “The same.”
    He gestured with a motion meant to encompass the entire house. “Every creature you see here, whether living or stuffed, was personally caught by me.”
    I wondered if the remark extended to his wife, Elizabeth. He was a man who would be easy to dislike. Holmes, however, took no notice of the boast and began questioning him about the killing.
    “The victim was my London publisher, Oscar Rhinebeck. He was one of six houseguests we’d invited for the week. I was planning to write a book about my recent African travels and we were discussing it Sunday evening, after the others had arrived. I left him alone in the library for a time, and when I returned, I found him dead. He’d been savagely beaten with a fireplace poker.”
    Elizabeth, who’d remained at his side through all this, broke in to add, “This time, we called the police at once.”
    “This time?” asked Holmes sharply.
    Sir Patrick seemed annoyed by his wife’s interruption.
    “There’d been a previous incident shortly after Rhinebeck’s arrival. I’d just shown him my zoo and we were walking back to the main house when a cornice fell from the roof and nearly hit him. When we mentioned it to Elizabeth, she was quite concerned and wanted the local police summoned at once. I told her that was nonsense and even went up to the roof to inspect it. The cornice had simply broken away, probably weakened by the wind.”
    “There was no wind last Sunday,” his wife insisted.
    “But there had been the previous evening.”
    I suspected they were two who might