Sherlock Holmes and the Unexpected Inheritance (1)

"The bird's circling for the third time Watson," Holmes said.

 

As was often the case on a Sunday afternoon, the one day a week I was blessedly free from patients, I had spent the last hour fully engrossed in the Sunday Times, where I had just been reading an article speculating that within a century man might travel to the moon, a journey that Holmes would, no doubt dismiss as a waste of effort, money and scientific energy better spent developing the science of detection to astronomical levels.

 

"Bird Holmes, I never knew you to take an interest in ornithology."

 

"Ah, but this bird is interesting, Watson. I suspect it will be nesting with us long before man ever makes it to the moon."

 

I refused to rise to Holmes' tease, he was always able to determine the nature of the article I was reading, even if he had yet to read the paper himself, indeed he once claimed to have gathered all of the day's news from the series of expressions on my face, even correctly guessing the perilous health of the Queen's prize horse from the way I scratched my moustache.

 

"Metaphor Holmes, I always thought you favoured cold, hard fact over the distraction of metaphor."

 

Holmes smiled, acknowledging the accuracy of my aside. 

 

"Which bird are you watching?" I said, standing beside him and peering at the mass of people pouring down Baker Street.

 

"That man," he pointed, "the one in the grey coat. Three times now he has walked up and down the street, each time casually glancing at our window, ever so subtly."

 

"A client you think?"

 

The answer came not from Holmes, but from the urgent ringing of the bell-pull.

 

Since Mrs Hudson's recent fever she was not really 'doing stairs', so it was Tom, the boy who helped with the chores, who brought the gentleman up.

 

"Mr Holmes sir, a man to see you sir."

 

"Kenneth Blackwell," the gentlemen said, holding out his hand in greeting.

 

"Take a seat Mr Blackwell," said Holmes and tell us your story in your own time. I take it you're happy for Dr Watson to observe the consultation?

 

"Oh yes, I'm a big fan of your works Dr Watson, I find your stories most amusing."

 

"Amusing?"

 

"Yes, the way you pretend to be surprised by the most elementary deduction. "Do your stuff on me, Mr Holmes, what can you tell from my appearance?"

 

"There is very little to say, other than the obvious that you were raised by strict parents, that you have recently begun a new job in the city but that you are still living in Southwark."

 

"And how have you reached those conclusions?"

 

"Very simple, I observed watching you walk up and down the street that you are left-footed, when you stopped and started again you always led with your left, yet you are right-handed. The vast majority of left-footed people are also left-handed by nature, suggesting that your left-handed nature has been disciplined out of you."

 

"It was beaten out of me, Mr Holmes, though by my teacher rather than my parents. He believed that left-handedness was a sign of the devil. My parents, on the other hand, were most liberal in my upbringing."

 

"My apologies," said Holmes, "I am not infallible."

 

"Oh but Holmes, that was a reasonable assumption and on everything else you were spot on. My new job, you observe my new suit I assume."

 

"A new suit, old shoes, old hat, indicating that you have recently enjoyed a considerable rise in status but that your wardrobe is still catching up with the fact. Added to the apparent long distance of your commute and the assumption becomes a certainty."

 

"Indeed Mr Holmes, and how could you be sure of that?"

 

"I could draw you a map of London from mud-stains, you have the mud of Southwark on your trouser bottoms, but this has dried and there are fresh splashes of city mud on top. You are dressed for work, therefore the latter is where you work and the former is where you live."

 

"Brilliant Holmes, I have clearly come to the right man."

 

"Ah, here we come to the gist of the case Watson.  Tell me everything Mr Blackwell, in as much detail as you can recall, trust my mind to filter out the irrelevancies."

 

"The gist, Mr Holmes, is rather simple. I received a letter, it was waiting for me when I returned from work yesterday. I went to my office this morning, to consult a colleague who I know to work Sunday for he a man of the atheist persuasion who gives preference to money and profit over god."

 

"But before you entered your office you changed your mind and came here instead, this much is obvious Mr Blackwell, I can read your trousers. The letter."

 

"It is a London postal mark, you will note, but it purports to be from Nigeria, and the paper resembles African paper and the ink and hand echo that."

 

Holmes glanced at the paper and nodded agreement. "African ink is like a different blood group from European variety and I would stake my best hat on that being the product of Nigerian Fine Paper Company. And it reads...?"

 

"It reads thus, Mr Holmes.  'Dear Misser Blackwell, I am writing to you with the sad news that your great uncle, Samuel Nahanda Blackwell, passed away recently. In his will he left you a considerable selection of share and other monies. If you supply me with the details of your bank account I will transfer your inheritance forthwith."

 

"Is that it?" Holmes said, dumbfounded.

 

"It ends, 'Mr Peter Umgali, Sahari & Thurn Solicitors, Nigeria'. Well Mr Holmes, what do you think?"