The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 12: The Inventor

"You work your way, and I shall work mine. Perhaps we will come to the same conclusions in the end. Good day, Sheriff." With that parting shot, Holmes turned his back to Sheriff Sweet and looked to Lawler. "When today might we meet somewhere warmer so I may put a few questions to you?"

Lawler considered for a moment, then replied, "Why don't you come back to my shop with me now? It's always slower in the morning anyway."

We rode back into town with Lawler. His shop was a neat little place on the main level of a building nearly identical to the Hieman's store, and I supposed he likely lived in the upper story as well. Lawler led us through the front of the store and into the back room. The contrast was astounding; where the shop was tidy and clean and everything organised in logical ways, the shelves, chairs, and floor of the back room were coated in wood shavings, dirt, paper, odd pieces of wood and metal, and a number of half-finished objects, some of which I could identify and others I could not. As Lawler cleared the mess off three chairs and dragged them nearer together, I noticed a large object in the corner with a coffee-stained sheet thrown carelessly over it.

"Oh, that?" said Lawler with a chuckle, noticing Holmes and my curiosity as we seated ourselves. "Just a hobby of mine. I'm trying to speed up the process of picking corn. It takes so damn long. I always hated it as a kid, and one day it hit me: I could build a machine to do it faster. Of course, everybody around here thinks it's an insane idea—some of them even say I'm insane—but I keep working on it." He shrugged. "The way I see it, I could be wasting my time on worse things."

"Indeed," Holmes replied. "Perhaps you could show us this contraption sometime, but now we have more pressing matters."

"Of course," Lawler replied. "Fire away, and I'll do my utmost not to be too much of a windbag."

Holmes reclined in the small wooden chair the same way he would in his armchair back at Baker Street. I readied my notebook and pencil.

"How would you describe the late Silas Albright?" Holmes asked. "In a few words."

Lawler frowned. "Punctual, God-fearing man. Too nosy for his own good, and too careless with the hearts of women. Likes gambling more than his purse allows."

"What do you know about the state of Albright's finances?"

"Well, he and I always do pretty well here—don't know anybody who can sand and varnish as quickly or as well as he could—but he always seemed to be low on cash. Not that I make that sort of thing my business, but one notices these things."

"Of course," said Holmes. "You describe Albright as nosy."

"A bit too curious about rumours, other folks private affairs, you know. Nothing harmful, but he wasn't averse to eavesdropping or asking too many questions."

"I see," said Holmes. "How much do you know of his actions last night?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Lawler replied. "He left at his usual time—just before six—and I never saw him afterwords."

"Do you recall him mentioning his plans for the evening?"

"Not really." Lawler frowned.

"Anything unusual in his speech, actions, or manner in the last few weeks?"

"Well, he was quite emotional after poor Hugh's death, poor old boy. He never was too fond of him, stealing that lass Lena from him and all, I might even say they were rivals, but once Hugh was gone, I think he felt pretty cut up about the way he'd treated him."

Holmes nodded. "Of course. Is there anything else you would say caused Albright to give an uncharacteristic response?"

"One thing that did seem funny is that he had a late meeting with Marshall Reagan when he came into town. It was odd, because I had no idea how Silas would have any connection with the stolen diamonds, since he was off moping about how Alice Harrison, you know, the youngest of Mrs. Blomberg's sisters, was no longer interested in him when it happened.

"Indeed," Holmes replied, frowning. "For now, I ask only that you keep an eye out for anything suspicious and let me know if you recall something of interest at a later time." He rose, and I followed suit.

"Of course," said Lawler, standing as well and shaking Holmes' and my hands in turn.

"And I should like to know more about that contraption—" Holmes gestured toward the object under the sheet "—if you would be willing to share."

Lawler grinned. "I certainly would! If you ever find yourself free of an evening, I'm here working or at the tavern, and you're welcome to join me either place. Consider it an open invitation."

"Very kind of you," replied Holmes, and after wishing Lawler a good day, we took our leave.

"I didn't know you took an interest in farm machinery," I commented.

Holmes gave a short barking laugh. "I am afraid I do not, but I do have an interest in staying in the good graces of men who are both honest and brilliant."

That made more sense. We began walking down Main Street.

"I do have one question, Holmes," I said tentatively.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think Mr. Blomberg may have something to do with this? Last night, with that shotgun, and—"

Holmes shook his head. "No, I do not think he had any real intentions of killing Albright, as great as his distaste for the man may have been."

We walked in silence for a long moment, then I asked, "What do you think our next course of action should be?"

"We need an autopsy report from Dr. Mauer and to meet with Marshall Reagan about Silas, and to see if he has any information we do not about either of the cases—though, as I understand it, he is only technically here to investigate the burglary."

"Because young Hieman's death was considered an accident?"

Holmes nodded. "Despite this, I imagine he will share information with us more readily than the Sheriff would."

"Quite so," I agreed.

"Then we should also visit the neighbours of both the Blombergs and the Hiemans," Holmes mused. "And I should like to speak to the staff at the train station, and anyone who was on the train with young Hieman his last night."

This was beginning to sound like more than we could do in one day; morning was already passing swiftly, or I would have suggested we begin with late breakfast or early lunch. Time was short and food could wait.

"How do you propose we manage to do all of this?" I asked. "Might we be better off dividing the labour?"

Holmes was silent for a long moment. "I suppose I need not be present to learn the details of Albright's remains; you speak the language of doctors even better than I..."

"I should hope so," I muttered.

Holmes snorted. "Not by as much as you think, old fellow."

I refused to rise to the bait, and instead asked, "Might I also be trusted with speaking to some of the Blombergs' neighbours? There is enough distance between the homes there that it's unlikely they know anything of note, anyway."

"I cannot count on that," Holmes snapped.

"I take good notes," I said.

"Hardly," Holmes replied.

"Then I shall do better this time," I said. I tried to meet my friend's eyes, but he only stared at the snow at our feet, frowning.

We walked for half a block in silence, then Holmes finally spoke.

"The Blomberg home is bordered by a house on the Wall Lake side, a farm to the country side, and another house across the street. I need as much information as possible about Clara Blomberg's siblings, especially her brother and youngest sister, any connections to Hugh Hieman or Silas Albright. All of these events are connected and I must determine how."

I fished my notebook and pencil from my coat and scrawled a few words down so I would not forget my task.

"Pay attention to every detail, Watson. Do not fail me." His tone was serious, and I was certain he was as unhappy with this arrangement as I was eager to prove my usefulness.