Free The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes by John Dickson Carr, Adrian Conan Doyle Page A

Whenever my rheumatics are bad, and they've been bad all this week, she gets
    up every blessed morning and comes to fetch me at seven o'clock—that's when I go off
    duty—so she can help me to a omnibus.
    "Now tonight, being worried about me—which she oughtn't to be—well, Nellie turned
    up only an hour ago, with young Bob Parsnip. Bob took over my duty from me, so I said,
    'I've read all about this Mr. Holmes, only a step away; let's go and tell him.' And that's
    why we're here."
    Holmes inclined his head.
    "I see, Mr. Baxter. But you were speaking of last night?"
    "Ah! Well, about the Room of Horrors. On one side there's a series of tabloos. Which I
    mean: there's separate compartments, each of 'em behind an iron railing so nobody can step
    in, and wax figures in each compartment. The tabloos tell a story that's called 'The History
    of a Crime.'
    "This history of a crime is about a young gentleman—and a pleasant young gentleman he
    is, too, only weak—who falls into bad company. He gambles and loses his money; then he
    kills the wicked older man; and at last he's hanged as fast as Charlie Peace. It's meant to
    be a—a—"
    "A moral lesson, yes. Take warning, Watson. Well, Mr. Baxter?"
    "Well, sir! It's that wretched gambling tabloo. There's only two of 'em in it, the young
    gentleman and the wicked wrong 'un. They're sitting in a lovely room, at a table with gold
    coins on it; only not real gold, of course. It's not a-happening today, you see, but in old
    times when they had stockings and britches."
    "Eighteenth-century costume, perhaps?"
    "That's it, sir. The young gentleman is sitting on the other side of the table, so he faces
    towards you straight. But the old wrong 'un is sitting with his back turned, holding up his cards
    as if he was laughing, and you can see the cards in his hand.
    "Now last night! When I say last night, sir, course I mean two nights ago, because it's
    towards morning now. I walked straight past that blessed tabloo without seeing nothing. Then,
    about a hour later, all of a sudden I thinks, 'What's wrong with that tabloo?' There wasn't
    much wrong, and I'm so used to it that I'm the only one who'd have noticed. 'What's wrong?' I
    thinks. So I goes down and has another look.
    "Sir, so help me! The wicked older man—the one whose hand you can see—was holding
    less cards than he ought. He'd discarded, or played a trick maybe, and they'd been messing up the
    cards on the table.
    "I've got no 'magination, I tell you. Don't want none. But when Nellie here came to fetch
    me at seven in the morning, I felt cruel, what with rheumatics and this too. I wouldn't tell
    her what was wrong—well, just in case I might-a seen things. Today I thought perhaps I
    dreamed it. But I didn't! It was there again tonight.
    "Now, sir, I'm not daft. I see what I see! You might say, maybe, somebody did that for
    fun—changed the cards, and messed 'em up, and all. But nobody couldn't do it in the
    daytime, or they'd be seen. It might be done at night, 'cos there's one side door that won't lock
    properly. But it's not like one of the public's practical jokes, where they stick a false beard
    on Queen Anne or maybe a sun-bonnet on Napoleon's head. This is so little that nobody'd
    notice it. But if somebody's been playing a hand of cards for those two blessed dummies, then
    who did it and why?"
    For some moments, Sherlock Holmes remained silent.
    "Mr. Baxter," he said gravely, and glanced at his own bandaged ankle, "your patience shames
    me in my foolish petulance: I shall be happy to look into this matter."
    "But, Mr. Holmes," cried Eleanor Baxter, in stark bewilderment, "surely you cannot
    take the affair seriously?"
    "Forgive me, madam. Mr. Baxter, what particular game of cards are the two wax figures
    playing?"
    "Dunno, sir. Used to wonder that myself, long ago when I was new to the place. Nap or
    whist, maybe? But I dunno."
    "You say that the figure with his back turned is holding fewer cards than he should.