"The port wine stains stay throughout life, although they do lose some of the intense colouring in later years; the strawberry naevi do not usually persist."
Holmes nodded. "Let us imagine that our killer believes the old tale that such signs are the harbingers of good fortune," he said. "It might follow that such a fellow could conceivably feel that to own more of these would be to improve the quality of his life. Someone, perhaps, whose life has not been particularly fortunate."
"You said 'more' of these," I said.
"Yes, I did. I would expect the killer to be equally marked and to have been told, perhaps by his mother, that such a marking meant that he had been touched by God. The fact that his life did not reflect such fortune caused him to think that further marks were needed to change his luck."
I looked across at Makinson. The Inspector seemed unconvinced. "That's as well as maybe, Mr Holmes," he said, "but how does the killer identify his victims? Apart from the teacher and the banker, these marks was covered over all the time they was on public show."
"Perhaps not all the time, Inspector," said Holmes, his eyes
flashing wide. "Tell me, do you have a municipal swimming bath in the town?"
Makinson shook his head. "No, nearest swimming bath is in Leeds.
Holmes smiled, and this time the smile did have traces of pleasure. "Watson," he said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "For what is Harrogate renowned?"
"Renowned? Harrogate?" I searched my brain for some clue as to what my friend had in mind. "Other than a cold wind that would not be out of place at the North Pole, I cannot imagine," I said at last.
"The water, Watson!"
"Water?" I still failed to grasp the significance.
"Harrogate is a spa town, famed for the so-called medicinal and curative properties of its water, taken from natural springs. Is that right, Inspector?"
"Why, yes it is, Mr Holmes," said the Inspector.
"And you have in the town a bath which enables people to bathe their bodies in these waters?"
"A Turkish bath and such, yes," said Makinson. "I've never been, myself, of course, but I believe as how they're popular with some people." He paused. "Run by a queer sort of fellow, they are," he added.
Holmes leapt to his feet. "Queer, you say? With a birth-mark?" Makinson shook his head. "No, no birthmark – at least none as is visible."
Holmes visibly shrank in size, the excitement evaporating almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Then why queer?"
"Well, he's…" Makinson seemed to be having trouble describing the fellow and I was about to prompt him when he added, "he's sort of big on one side and smaller on the other."
"That's it, Holmes!" I shouted. "Is one half of his body visibly larger than the other, Inspector? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, his head is mis-shaped and one arm is longer than the other. His leg is longer on that side, too, and he walks with a limp because of it."The Inspector shook his head at the thought. "Strange fellow and no denying."
I turned to Holmes. "Henri hypertrophy," I said. "Caused by an underlying brain haemangioma, beneath a port wine stain; it means an increased blood flow through the mark results in a disproportionate growth on one side of the body. He's our man," I said, "I'd bet my pension on it!"
"What is the name of this fellow?" Holmes enquired of the Inspector.
"His name is Garnett, as I recall, Frank Garnett. The spa baths stay open until ten o'clock in the evening," the Inspector said. He removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipped open the casing. "Five and twenty to nine," he said.
Holmes sprang for the door, grabbing his hat, scarf and coat on the way. "Come, Watson, Inspector… there's no time to lose."
Minutes later we were on our way by carriage, driven by a hard-faced Sergeant Hewitt through a blustery, moonless night.
The Pump Rooms in Harrogate are situated down Parliament Street and on the left towards the Valley Gardens, a scenic spot favoured in the daylight and early summer evenings by young couples and nannies walking their charges. When we arrived, Holmes leapt from the carriage and burst through the doors.
A matronly woman wearing a pince-nez and seated behind a desk in the foyer got to her feet, her hand to her throat.
"My apologies for our entrance, madam," Holmes began, "but I am with Inspector Makinson, here, and Sergeant Hewitt of the Harrogate police, and my colleague Doctor Watson, and we are on a matter of grave importance. Tell me, if you can," he said, "the whereabouts of your colleague, Mr Frank Garnett."
"Why, Frank's in the shower room," she said. "Whatever do you need him for?"
"No time to explain," said the Inspector. "Which way's the shower room?"
The woman pointed towards a double door to the right of the foyer. "Is it about his accident?"
"Accident?" I said.
"He's hurt himself. Bandages all over the place."
Makinson frowned and led the way.
Through the doors we were on a long corridor from the end of which we could hear the unmistakable sound of water running.
"You and Mr Watson stay back, Mr Holmes," Makinson barked. "Jim, you stick with me. But go gently now," he added, "we don't want this fellow to get away."
Holmes reluctantly stepped back to allow Sergeant Hewitt to take the lead with the Inspector. We reached the end of the corridor and stood before a door bearing the sign Showers. Makinson leaned his head against the door and listened. A faint whistling could be heard with the running water.
Makinson took hold of the handle. "Right, Jim?"
Sergeant Hewitt nodded.
"Right, gentlemen?"
Holmes nodded.
The Inspector turned the handle and rushed into the room.
Some fifty yards away from us was what seemed to be a tall man, standing in profile, brandishing a broom which he was using to sweep water across the floor and into an empty communal bath beside him. At the sound of our entrance, he turned to face us and I saw immediately that the other side of his body was noticeably smaller. His right wrist was tightly bandaged and one side of his face was covered in gauze, held in place by sticky tape. A further bandage was wrapped about his neck like a scarf.
"We need to talk to you, Mr Garnett," Inspector Makinson said.
Garnett hefted the broom and threw it in our direction. Then he glanced across to the wall for an instant, as though considering something, before turning quickly and heading towards a door at the rear of the room. He moved awkwardly and within but two or three steps he listed to one side, like a ship encountering stormy seas, and plunged head first into the empty bath. There was a single strangulated cry followed by a crash.
We ran across to the bath-side and looked over.
Garnett lay some seven or eight feet directly beneath us, on his back, one leg doubled up beneath him and his arms spread-eagled as though he were relaxing on his bed. A pool of blood was spreading beneath his head.
Without a second thought, I sat on the edge of the bath and lowered myself down until I was standing alongside Garnett. He had lifted one hand and was pulling back the bandage on his wrist. With a gasp of horror, I watched a piece of shrivelled flesh fall from beneath the bandage onto the bath floor. His eyelids flickering, Garnett then proceeded to undo the buttons of his shirt, beneath which I could see a further bandage.
I knelt down and took hold of the hand, feeling for a pulse. It was there but only weak and fluttery. Garnett's lips were already turning blue.
He pulled the hand free and, in one movement, tore the bandage from his face. Crosby's stained cheek flesh lifted with it for a second and then slid down to cover Garnett's mouth.