The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 4: Young Mr. Anderson

I followed Holmes out the door, no less confused than Mrs. Blomberg. "What on earth was that?" I asked.

"She is concealing something from us, friend Watson. Recall how she could recount to us everything in detail except the topics of dinner conversation, which she stopped herself from sharing.

"Perhaps she thought it unimportant," I suggested.

"No, no; even if she had, she would have been more specific than 'local gossip'. Something was being discussed that she desires to keep concealed. I have no doubt she is a skilled actress upon the stage, but every player has his—or in this instance, her—tell."

"I think you are mixing your metaphors," I said with a grin, but Holmes was already lost in his own thoughts.

We had walked perhaps fifty yards when I heard footsteps behind us. I looked over my shoulder and saw what might have been a furtive shape slipping into the shadows, but may have also been a squirrel. It was too dark to tell. A sudden anxiety crept over me, and I could not shake the feeling we were being followed, as unfounded as it seemed. I was loath to break Holmes' train of thought, but he had already noticed the noise.

"Have no fear, Watson," Holmes whispered. "I am well-armed, should our pursuer have intentions of doing us harm."

It was not simply paranoia. I was not sure if I felt better or worse about the situation.

We arrived at the inn without incident, but that was not the last we heard of our mysterious pursuer.

————

I was eager to stay in the light, warmth, and safety of the inn, but Holmes had other plans. I had just enough time to consume a hearty supper—much to my relief; such occasions were rather too rare while on Holmes' cases—before we set off to meet with our next client: young Anderson.

It was dark indeed when we arrived at the little farmhouse at the edge of town. It was small, but by no means squalid, and we sat before the fire in the sitting and dining room with reasonable comfort to speak with our client.

Ernest Anderson was a young man, nineteen years of age, I later learned, with a ruddy face, a shock of unruly ginger hair, and the most open, honest features one is likely to see in the face of another.

"Good evening to you, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson," he said quietly, looking with uncertainty between us.

"Sherlock Holmes, at your service," Holmes said.

"And I am Dr. Watson." I smiled warmly, hoping to put the young man more at ease.

"Pleasure to meet you both," said Anderson. "I don't mean to be rude, but could you keep your voices soft? My littlest siblings have gone to bed and it'll be easier on all of us if they stay that way."

"Of course, Mr. Anderson," said Holmes in a lower tone.

Anderson gave a smile. "No need to be so formal. I'll answer to Anderson or Ernie." He clasped his hands together. "Now, where do I begin?"

Holmes leaned forward, fixing our client with an intent gaze. "Tell us everything you know for certain about Mr. Hieman's actions on the day preceding his death, and any events previous that may have some connection to it."

Anderson shook his head. "Any way I figure, it all came out of the blue. But I know it was no accident."

"Provide me with enough information to prove it."

I fished my notebook and a pencil from the depths of a coat pocket.

Anderson paused to collect his thoughts, a troubled look sinking into his fresh face. "Hugh mentioned in passing a few days before that he intended to meet his fiancée, Lena Hallstrom, that day. When he did so before, he would always take the earliest train out of town and return by one of the latest ones. I've checked the train schedules to be sure, and this means he was leaving town by eight and would have arrived in Sac City around a quarter to nine. The last train back from Sac City leaves at half-past eleven, but it's likely Hugh returned by the ten-fifteen, in which case he would have arrived back at the Wall Lake station at eleven. His house is a five-minute walk from the station, and Mrs. Pattison, who lives down the street from Hugh, swears she saw Hugh out her window at eleven exactly, headed toward home. She says he was walking quickly, but it was a powerful cold night, so she didn't think it was odd, or see anything that seemed amiss.