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As my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, entered the shop, his
deep-seated, keen eyes immediately perceived that a man had hanged
himself from a hook in the ceiling. Following after him, I had the fact
pointed out to me.
"This case is of course lucid, but it does have some
interesting features", remarked Holmes.
"How do you mean?"
"Watson, I really would be at a loss what to do without you!
Your predictability is like the Rock of Gibraltar. Now, you do see that
this man's shoes have been newly blackened?"
"Yes."
"Furthermore, I notice that he has stood an excellent,
fastidiously rolled umbrella against the counter, as if waiting for the
proprietor to turn up."
"Yes. Where is the proprietor, by the way?"
"Really, Watson, I should have thought even you realized
that the proprietor's whereabouts has no bearing on to the case."
I apologized.
"Your apology is accepted, Watson. Have you noticed the
strange, flat object that adorns the floor under the unfortunate man's
shoes?"
I bent down and took up the object in question.
"It is just a copy of 'Strand Magazine'. I fail to see how
that can be of interest", remarked I.
"You do? Come, come. You know my methods, Watson; apply
them."
I looked at the magazine. It had been opened upon a learned
article by a well-known historian whose name had often been in the
newspapers lately, since his appointment as tutor to the young Duke of
Loamshire, a close kinsman of the Royal family.
"Apparently, he was reading 'Strand Magazine' while waiting
for the owner of the shop to turn up", said I.
"Excellent, Watson! What is more, he was reading the very
article your eyes are presently resting on; observe that his fingernails
have bored into the right-hand page, where this very learned article,
after having wended its long way across the opposite side, continues
before as it were going around the corner to the next page again."
"He must have been he victim of a strong emotion",
observed I.
Holmes smiled a bit sadly, as if his cold, strange intellect had
for once been impressed by reflections of a more compassionate nature.
"Indeed he was! How long is the article, Watson?"
I leafed through the magazine.
"It is eighteen pages long, more than all the other
contributions together."
"Quite so! And what is the subject of the article?"
It had not occurred to me to consider that matter before. Now I
looked.
"The article is called: 'Do Balrogs Have Wings, and Do They
Flap?', but I really do not understand..." I fell silent as an icy
emotion of terror permeated every inch of my body. I looked up at the
pathetic, silent frame hanging from the ceiling.
"He went out this morning, happy in his newly blackened
boots. Coming into this shop, he meant to while away the time waiting
for the proprietor by doing some reading, and then..."
Holmes nodded. "God help us!" he said. His face was
pale, showing that even he felt some of the dread that the situation
inevitably evoked.
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