Free The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II by David Marcum

loops and slant made it easy to identify.”
    â€œYou have a good eye, Inspector. What do you make of the box, Watson?” Holmes leaned forward.
    â€œI can see nothing about it that would lead to any conclusions,” I said. “It’s of simple construction, about the size of a small cigar box, and the address of the shop is in a man’s hand. The paper has been torn away rather savagely, and the twine is still knotted. Strange that the box wasn’t fitted with a hinge or panel, so the only way to open it is to destroy it.”
    â€œThere isn’t much to be gathered from the box, that is true, and unfortunately the postmark has been smudged. I can make nothing of it,” Holmes said as he took the box back. “However, there are a couple of minor points. The person who made it has little experience with carpentry, is right-handed, enjoys black sausages, and may have spent time in the Navy. The last point is purely speculative, I’m afraid.”
    I frowned at the box. “Once more I am at a loss about how you come to these conclusions,” I said.
    â€œAllow me to enlighten you. The box is made from scrap wood, unevenly cut, with nails much too large for this size box. They have caused the wood to split in one or two places.” Holmes pointed to cracks in the side panels. “Add to that the marks of a hammer from a right-handed man who missed his target several times, and you can conclude this was not made by an experienced woodworker. The paper and twine are types regularly used by butchers, and you can just smell the hint of sausage - a rather unique recipe, I might add. There were no contents in the box, so we must conclude that someone took them.”
    â€œAnd the Navy?” I asked.
    â€œAgain, this is pure speculation, but the type of knot used to tie the twine is called a figure-eight knot. It is used primarily by sailors, but can be found anywhere there are boats. I cannot see a sailor making the box, however, for that well-known nautical neatness of hand is contradicted by the shoddiness of construction.”
    â€œI’ll be, Mr. Holmes,” Chamberlain said, shaking his head. “I’ve heard of your abilities when it comes to reading things, but I’m glad to finally see it for myself.”
    Holmes eased back in his armchair.
    â€œCan you describe the dead man?” I asked. Holmes shot a quick glance and smile at me.
    â€œMid-forties, fifteen stone or so, about five and a half feet, with graying hair. Had a scar on his left cheek just below the eye. He was wearing working clothes, and his muddy boots were old. Certainly not the ones that made the footmarks. Blood had pooled on his back and ran down both of his sides. Mud caked his pant cuffs.”
    â€œWhat can you tell us about the home?” Holmes inquired.
    â€œQuiet place. Small. Country furniture. Local items. Nothing of any terrible cost.” Chamberlain again opened his notebook. “A kitchen table and chairs, a writing desk, a small fireplace, one large bed, wardrobe, and a couple of parlor chairs. One big room for everything. Sits on about an acre or so with a small barn in back. A few pigs and chickens. No signs of a wife or children. Simple, really. Rather fond of his own face, though. Had a painting of himself hanging on the wall. Scar and all. Nice frame, too.”
    â€œDid you look in the barn?” Holmes asked.
    â€œOf course, sir. Found some work clothes like the dead man was wearing hanging on a line in the loft, and a small unmade bed in there, as well. Curious as the one in the house was perfectly made. Looks like Collier preferred to sleep near his animals. Outside of that it was a standard barn. I should also add that there were no witnesses to the crime.”
    â€œWhat of the bookshop? Any footprints?” I asked.
    â€œSeveral in the store, but only one person’s behind the counter, Doctor. The light rain last night left enough mud to