They did not linger at the print shop. Holmes told the compositor not to recast the sorts swept into the river, and drew Watson into a cab. On Lombard Street the gaslamps were only halos in the fog.
The lock of the Crane firm's back door still shone with fresh oil. The watch-chain key turned, and the bolt slipped back without protest. The ledgers were still inside the safe—Watson had thought to find it empty.
Holmes drew out the thickest volume. From between its pages slid a thin sheet: not an account, but a scenery-painter's sketch of lamps. Four stood along the riverbank; the fourth was ringed black in charcoal. In the margin ran a trembling line, in the same hand as the E. Crane upon the work-order:
"No dummy tonight. This column must not see print before the delivery."
"So he destroyed the type to save no one," Holmes said, folding the sketch into his coat. "He came here only to read this cue. Watson, the fourth lamp is still burning—that is where the living man is to be handed over."
❦ To be continued.
Comments 0
No comments yet.