A Study in Terror by Ellery Queen

Perhaps they would like to see the chapel and the kitchen.”
    â€œCertainly. This way, please.”
    Dr. Murray hurried away in the direction of the morgue, and we followed Miss Young. But only for a short distance. Before we reached the door, Holmes said abruptly, “Our time is limited, Miss Young. Perhaps the tour can be finished during another visit. We are here to-day for professional reasons.”
    The girl seemed not to be surprised. “I understand, Mr. Holmes. Is there something I can do?”
    â€œPerhaps there is. Some time ago you pledged a certain article in a pawn-shop on Great Heapton Street. Do you recall?”
    With no hesitation whatever, she replied, “Of course. It was not so long ago as that.”
    â€œWould you object to telling us how you came by the case, and why you pledged it?”
    â€œNot at all. It belonged to Pierre.”
    I thought this startling news, but Holmes did not move a muscle. “The poor fellow who has lost his wits.”
    â€œA pitiful case,” said the girl.
    â€œA hopeless one, I venture to say,” said Holmes. “We met him a few minutes ago. Could you enlighten us as to his background?”
    â€œWe know nothing about him prior to his arrival here. But that arrival, I must say, was dramatic. I came through the morgue late one night, and found him standing beside one of the corpses.”
    â€œDoing what, Miss Young?”
    â€œHe was doing nothing whatever, merely standing by the body in the confused state you must surely have noticed. I approached him and brought him to my uncle. He has been here ever since. The police were evidently not seeking him, for Inspector Lestrade has shown no interest in him whatever.”
    My opinion of Miss Sally Young went higher. Here was courage indeed. A girl who could walk at night about a charnel-house, see a gargoyle figure such as Pierre’s standing over one of the corpses, and not flee in terror!
    â€œThat’s hardly a criterion,” began Holmes, and stopped.
    â€œI beg your pardon, sir?”
    â€œA random thought, Miss Young. Please proceed.”
    â€œWe came to the opinion that someone had guided Pierre to the hostel and left him, as unwed mothers leave their infants at the door of a sanctuary. Dr. Murray examined him, and found that he had once sustained a terrible injury, as if he had been brutally beaten. The wounds about his head had healed, but nothing could be done to dispel the mists that had permanently settled over his brain. He has proved to be harmless, and he is so pathetically eager to help about the place that he has made his own berth. We of course would not dream of sending him back into a world with which he cannot cope.”
    â€œAnd the surgeon’s-kit?”
    â€œHe had a bundle with him, containing wearing apparel. The kit was buried in their midst, the only thing of value he possessed.”
    â€œWhat did he tell you of himself?”
    â€œNothing. He speaks only with effort, single words which are hardly intelligible.”
    â€œBut his name—Pierre?”
    She laughed, an attractive touch of colour coming into her cheeks. “I took the liberty of baptising him. What clothing he carried bore French labels. And there was a coloured handkerchief with French script interwoven in the cloth. Thus, and for no other reason, I began calling him Pierre, although I feel sure he is not French.”
    â€œHow did you happen to pawn the case?” asked Holmes.
    â€œThat came about quite simply. As I have told you, Pierre brought virtually nothing with him, and our funds at the hostel are severely allocated. We were in no position to outfit Pierre properly. So I thought of the surgical-case. It was clearly of value, and he could have no need of it. I explained to him what I proposed, and to my surprise he nodded violently.” She paused here to laugh. “The only difficulty was in getting him to accept the proceeds. He wanted to