Sherlock Holmes In Montague Street Volume 2 by David Marcum

believed it,” he assured Sherlock Holmes; “positively I wouldn’t have believed she’d have told such a lie, and with such confidence, too. There’s something deep and horrible here, I’m afraid. What does it mean?”
    â€œWe’ll talk of that afterwards,” Holmes replied. “Come now and take a look at that recess.”
    They went, quietly still, to the small staircase, and there, with a candle, closely examined the recess. It was a mere box, three feet high, a foot or a little more deep, and six or seven inches wide. The piece of oak framing, pivoted to the stair at the bottom and to a horizontal piece of framing at the top, stood edge forward, dividing the opening down the centre. There was nothing whatever in the recess.
    Holmes ascertained that there was no catch, the plank simply remaining shut by virtue of fitting tightly, so that nothing but pressure on the proper part was requisite to open it. He had closed the plank and turned to speak to Mr. Crellan, when another interruption occurred.
    On each floor the two staircases were joined by passages, and the ground-floor passage, from the foot of the flight they were on, led to the entrance hall. Distinct amid the loud clicking of the hall clock, Holmes now heard a sound, as of a person’s foot shifting on a stone step.
    Mr. Crellan heard it too, and each glanced at the other. Then Holmes, shading the candle with his hand, led the way to the hall. There they listened for several seconds - almost an hour - it seemed - and then the noise was repeated. There was no doubt of it. It was at the other side of the front door.
    In answer to Holmes’s hurried whispers, Mr. Crellan assured him that there was no window from which, in the dark, a view could be got of a person standing outside the door. Also that any other way out would be equally noisy, and would entail the circuit of the house. The front door was fastened by three heavy bolts, an immense old-fashioned lock, and a bar. It would take nearly a minute to open at least, even if everything went easily. But, as there was no other way, Holmes determined to try it. Handing the candle to his companion, he first lifted the bar, conceiving that it might be done with the least noise. It went easily, and, handling it carefully, Holmes let it hang from its rivet without a sound. Just then, glancing at Mr. Crellan, he saw that he was forgetting to shade the candle, whose rays extended through the fanlight above the door, and probably through the wide crack under it. But it was too late. At the same moment the light was evidently perceived from outside; there was a hurried jump from the steps, and for an instant a sound of running on gravel. Holmes tore back the bolts, flung the door open, and dashed out into the darkness, leaving Mr. Crellan on the doorstep with the candle.
    Holmes was gone, perhaps, five or ten minutes, although to Mr. Crellan - standing there at the open door in a state of high nervous tension, and with no notion of what was happening or what it all meant - the time seemed an eternity. When at last Holmes reached the door again, “What was it?” asked Mr. Crellan, much agitated. “Did you see? Have you caught them?”
    Holmes shook his head.
    â€œI hadn’t a chance,” he said. “The wall is low over there, and there’s a plantation of trees at the other side. But I think - yes, I begin to think - that I may possibly be able to see my way through this business in a little while. See this?”
    On the top step in the sheltered porch there remained the wet prints of two feet. Holmes took a letter from his pocket, opened it out, spread it carefully over the more perfect of the two marks, pressed it lightly and lifted it. Then, when the door was shut, he produced his pocket scissors, and with great care cut away the paper round the wet part, leaving a piece, of course, the shape of a boot sole.
    â€œCome,” said Holmes, “we