Inspector Morrish leaned forward and read the tea stained and fire blackened paper I had retrieved. Because it was wet from being hidden on the soaked person of the butler, it had not burned up completely. “But that is merely a shipping invoice for a bunch of shrimp!” the inspector exclaimed. “Yes, I know.” I commented. “And you knew it was there among Mr. Rawlings papers and it he was accidentally killed when he interrupted the butler’s search?” he asked incredulously. “Actually, I don’t believe he was accidentally killed, but I was indeed looking for something similar to what I did find.” I answered. “Why did you know to look for that invoice and why do you say you think the killing was deliberate? Why is in an invoice about shrimp worth a man’s death? What did you know coming into this case that I am not aware of?” the inspector quietly with tension in his voice asked. “I really do not know why this shipping invoice is so valuable, or rather keeping it from open examination. But I will take it with me for further assessment.” Which brought a low discomforting growl from the inspector. “I also cannot at this time disclose why I suspected I might find it here and it could be the cause for murder.” I declared. “What is going on here?” The inspector asked coolly. “And, I cannot reveal that at this time either,” I added. “You will have to confine yourself into locking up Crankers and investigating where he came from. Moreover, I will hazard a guess that you will find the traffic accident of the real butler was not an accident, but was effected to place Crankers into this house. I think you will also find that the murder weapon is the marble blotting cylinder on the desk, it is the right weight, shape and I saw a few small hairs with my magnifying glass on the ink stained felt covering.” “I smell high political intrigue involved in this,” Inspector Morrish chanced. “Give me clean criminal avarice and passionate lust for loot…” “I must leave you now, inspector,” I interjected,” I will get you a briefing when I can. And keep your suspicions to yourself; you have the criminal, murder weapon and possible burglary as a motive. You do not at this time need to mention this invoice. I do not think Crankers will be talking much about his real intentions, that would get him executed just as well.” I gazed back at the portly cook who was timidly looking at us, “At the inquest, do not have the cook questioned about this incident in the kitchen.” “I know nothing,” Shultz whispered to no one in particular. “This should suffice for your immediate report until we can get back to you.” I cautioned him. I carefully wrapped the invoice in butcher paper found in the kitchen and left a dedicated but disturbed officer and a frightened cook behind me.
Disappointing Dinner at the Diogenes Club My brother now is always at the Diogenes Club from quarter to twelve to twenty to eight, since it was just after six, I caught the Omnibus to Regent’s Circus. I walked down Pall Mall from the St. James’s end. I noted the foreboding door some little distance from the Carlton, with the name of my brothers club and the admonition not to enter unless invited, and cautioning to remain silent if allowed to enter. I quietly opened the door and was met by a staff member whose duty it was to intercept anyone audacious enough to enter this inner sanctum of London’s most unsociable and unclubable men in town. Having received my card, I told him it was not necessary to escort me, as I knew the way to the Stranger’s Room , where he could send my brother to meet me. Save in that room, no member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one, let alone hold coversation under any circumstances. Through the glass panelling as I walked the hall, I caught a glimpse of the large and luxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about and reading papers, each in his own little nook. I was totally ignored even when a few eyes straying over their books or papers chanced to see my form pass by. They returned their gaze to their serene activities. I found my way into the small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, where I knew could meet with my brother. I had a seat and looked out to the street as a score of different members of London’s social strata made their way to their appointed fates, unmindful and unknowing of what was to continue to be one of the most critical adventures to threaten their peace and safety. “Sherlock,” my bother welcomed me, “good to see you have solved the problem.” He said as he deduced from my countenance that I had been sucessful. My brother even more reminded me of a walrus as he waddled his mass into the room and motioned me with his corpulant hand that resempled a flipper to resume my seat. He plumped himself down on a couch. Even though his health had deteriorated with his age, he had preserved something of the sharpness of expression in his remarkable eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray, and still retained that far-away, introspective look that masked his same sharp obervation and deductive facility.