The House Of Silk by Anthony Horowitz Page A

none of the fogs of Baker Street had followed us here. At this time, there were parts of Wimbledon which were still very much akin to being in the country. We could see sheep huddled together on a hillside beside a grove of ancient oaks. There were but a few houses dotted around us and we were both struck by the tranquillity of the landscape and the strange quality of the light which seemed to throw everything into sharp focus. ‘This is a wholly remarkable case, do you not think?’ he exclaimed, as we made our way towards the lane.
    ‘It strikes me as quite trivial,’ I replied. ‘The sum of fifty pounds has been taken along with an antique necklace. I can’t call this the most testing of your challenges, Holmes.’
    ‘I find the necklace particularly fascinating, given everything we have heard about this household. You have already arrived, then, at the solution?’
    ‘I would suppose that it all hinges on whether the unwanted visitor to this house was indeed the twin brother from Boston.’
    ‘And if I were to assure you that he was almost certainly not?’
    ‘Then I would say that, not for the first time, you are being thoroughly perplexing.’
    ‘Dear old Watson. How good it is to have you at my side. But I think this is where the intruder arrived last night …’ We had come to the bottom of the garden where the drive met the lane, with the village green on the other side. The continuing cold weather and the well-tended lawn had together created a perfect canvas on which all the comings and goings of the preceding twenty-four hours had been, in effect, frozen. ‘There, if I am not mistaken, goes the thorough and efficient Lestrade.’ There were footprints all around, but Holmes had pointed to one set in particular.
    ‘You cannot possibly know they are his.’
    ‘No? The length of the stride would suggest a man of about five foot six inches in height, the same as Lestrade. He was wearing square-toed boots, such as I have often seen on Lestrade’s feet. But the most damning evidence is that they are heading in quite the wrong direction, missing everything of importance – and who else could that be but Lestrade? He has, you will see, entered and left by the gate on the right. It is a perfectly natural choice for, on approaching the house, it is the first gate that you come to. The intruder, however, surely came in the other way.’
    ‘Both gates seem identical to me, Holmes.’
    ‘The gates are indeed identical, but the one to the left is less conspicuous due to the position of the fountain. If you were to approach the house without wishing to be seen, this is the one you would choose and as you will observe, we have only one set of footprints here with which to concern ourselves. Halloa! What have we here?’ Holmes crouched down and seized hold of the butt of a cigarette which he showed to me. ‘An American cigarette, Watson. There is no mistaking the tobacco. You will notice that there is no ash in this immediate area.’
    ‘The stub of a cigarette but no ash?’
    ‘Meaning that although he was careful not to be seen, he did not linger long. Do you not find that significant?’
    ‘It was the middle of the night, Holmes. He could see that the house was in darkness. He had no fear of being noticed.’
    ‘Even so …’ We followed the tracks across the lawn and round the side of the house to the study. ‘He was walking at a steady pace. He could have paused at the fountain to make sure that he was safe but he chose not to.’ Holmes examined the window that we had already examined from within. ‘He must have been a man of uncommon strength.’
    ‘The window would not have been so difficult to force.’
    ‘Indeed not, Watson. But consider the height of it. You can see where he jumped down when he was finished. He has left two deep imprints in the grass. But there is no sign of a ladder, nor even a garden chair. It is just possible that he could have found a toehold on the wall. The mortar is