"Let us tell you what is happening, Mr. Holmes," Lord Arundale said. "There have been six men murdered in London in the past six weeks. All gentlemen of the upper classes. All apparently murdered by the same hand while they were in their own home — in some cases in their own bedrooms. The police have been powerless to stop these attacks."
"It is difficult to stop what you are unable to anticipate," Holmes commented.
"Mr. Holmes," Lord Arundale said, "the people are getting restless."
"The people," Holmes said, "only know of five of the six killings."
"And a good thing, too," Count d'Hiver said.
"Considering how selective our murderer is," Holmes commented, "it is clear that the great majority of the citizens of London would be better off worrying about being run down by a horse tram. Unless one is a male, over thirty-five, has an income in excess of twenty thousand pounds a year, and has some pretensions to aristocracy, one is almost certain not to find himself on our killer's little list."
"The point is," Lord Arundale said, "that if a mysterious killer can take these six lives without our being able to stop him, then nobody in London is safe. And the people, even the common people who are admittedly not targets, are beginning to sense that. There is a certain nervous tension building in the city."
"I concede that," Holmes said.
"The last major riots in London were over twenty years ago,"
Lord Arundale said, "but this could provoke the sort of feeling that leads to riots."
Holmes tapped his finger on the desk. "The feeling that leads to riots," he said, "is more easily provoked by the sort of behavior the police are currently indulging in. At, I believe, the instigation of the Home Office."
"We must keep them busy," Count d'Hiver said. "Let them feel that they are accomplishing something. It is necessary for their morale."
"Rounding up everyone who has ever been arrested for a crime in the past fifteen years?" Holmes asked. "Scotland Yard doesn't have the manpower for that sort of job. As a result the people they are rounding up are bullied and harassed merely because the police do not have the time to do the job right. You are making the criminal classes apprehensive, which is not a good way to maintain law and order."
"Doubtless," Count d'Hiver said. "But expediency is not the best basis for a standard of law enforcement. Tell me, what evidence have you found that indicates to you that the victims of these murders share some specific connection?"
"Aside from the dramatic evidence of their common fate?" Holmes leaned back and laced his fingers together. "I'll tell you," he said, "but I warn you that you won't be as impressed by it as I am. It is a delicate skein, only seen by the experienced observer. And right now these clues are tentative, since I don't know where they lead. I need more time. I must have additional evidence."
"You think a few more murders will provide you with the evidence you need?" Lord Arundale asked.
"Most certainly, my lord. And since there is no indication that the killer is planning to stop, I imagine the necessary clues will soon be forthcoming."
D'Hiver frowned. "A heartless viewpoint."
"If I could catch the killer now," Holmes said, "I would. On the other hand, if he were to stop the killing now without having the grace to identify himself, I should consider that preferable to his committing the one last murder that traps him. I am not heartless, merely rational."
Lord Arundale sighed. "I am glad this doesn't seem to be a political crime," he said. "I would not like to be charged with deciding which of the great European powers is killing off the English aristocracy. I would enjoy even less having to take some action against such a power or accuse it in some public forum of such a vile act."
"Accuse?" Count d'Hiver snorted. "Talking never got anyone anything but hoarse. Retaliation, that's the key to international affairs. An eye for an eye." He tapped his cane impatiently on the hardwood floor. "Come now," he said to Holmes, "tell us your theory about the connecting link between the murders."
Holmes considered. "Certain similarities point in the direction of a common cause," he said. "For example, either the room or the body of each of the victims was searched by the murderer."
"That sounds perfectly normal," Lord Arundale said. "Not that I have any great knowledge of what is normal for a murderer; but I should think that if one is going to go to the trouble of killing someone, one would want to gain something out of it."
"Robbery was not the motive for any of these killings." Holmes said.
"Quite so," Count d'Hiver said. "That much is clear from the reports. Not the primary motive, certainly. But a quick search for some extremely portable wealth? I mean, a man who commits a murder is quite probably willing to steal."
"Lord Walbine had a pocket watch on his person," Holmes said, "crafted by Pronzini and Wilcox. The cloisonné inlay work on the case alone should have made it a national treasure. I can't think of anything more portable. Even the meanest fence would feel guilty at offering less than five hundred pounds for it."
"The villain, whoever he is, might have missed it," Lord Arundale said.
"Isadore Stanhope had a ruby stickpin the size of a robin's egg," Holmes said. "George Venn had fifty pounds in Bank of England notes on the table by his bed. Sir Geoffrey Cruikstaff had a solid gold cigarette case in his pocket and an extensive coin collection in the top drawer of his secretary. None of these was disturbed."
"Then nothing was taken?" d'Hiver asked.
"I believe," Holmes said carefully, "that something was taken. The murderer searched for and found some small object at the scene of each of his killings. That object is what he took away with him."
"What object?" Lord Arundale asked.
"That I don't know," Holmes said. "Inferential evidence suggests that it was small, unremarkable, easily concealed on the person, and of little intrinsic value."
"You say the killer took something from each of his victims?
What sort of thing do you suppose it could be?" Count d'Hiver asked.
"A key, perhaps," Holmes said. "Or a medallion or signet of some sort."
"Key to what?" Lord Arundale asked.
Holmes smiled. "I would welcome ideas as to that, my lord. The only thing I would suggest is that whatever the object is, it was an identical object for each of the victims."
Count d'Hiver stared silently at Holmes, his thoughts clearly somewhere else. Lord Arundale tapped his fingernails on the polished surface of his desk thoughtfully. "Some small object," he said, "taken from each of the victims, and identical in each case. Why do you feel that it's the same object in each case?"
"The murderer was certainly looking for some specific object," Holmes said. "Such insistence would indicate that the object, whatever it was, must be in some way part of the motive for the crime. Surely it would be stretching the bounds of credulity to suggest that it was a different object in each case."
"I don't know about that," Count d'Hiver said. "Perhaps our killer is some sort of fetishist. Perhaps he merely wants some small memento from each of his victims. Something to wear on his watch chain."
"Perhaps." Holmes stood up. "Is there any further way in which I can assist or enlighten either of you gentlemen at the moment? No? Then I shall get back to my investigations. It may be that with luck I can prevent another killing. But I am not sanguine, my lords. I am afraid that there will be more blood shed before we reach the bottom of this."
"Keep us informed," Lord Arundale said. "I shall, my lord," Holmes assured him.
FIFTEEN — A MODEST PROPOSAL