The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 26: Hidden Missives

The sky that morning was clear and blue and the temperature as moderate as I had experienced since our arrival in Iowa. While on the second train of the morning to Wall Lake, Holmes turned to me with a sly, self-satisfied smile and spoke with a low voice. "While you were busy sleeping last night, I was continuing our investigation."

"Well, one of us has to sleep for both of us," I replied with a grin.

"Ha!" Holmes laughed. "Quite so."

"What did you learn?" I asked.

"I have found and learned much," replied Holmes, leaning back in his seat and placing his arms behind his head.

"Specifically..." I prompted. He was enjoying piquing my curiosity far too much.

"This," said he, retrieving a necktie of a garish shade of green from a coat pocket.

I gasped. "The one that snagged on the Hieman's house?"

"Precisely," Holmes replied, setting it aside.

"From the house Wright occupied?" I asked, wincing as the locomotive jarred my injured side.

"Naturally," Holmes replied.

"And it is not even the best of what I discovered."

"Out with it, then," I urged. "What else did you find?"

"Letters," said he, producing a bundle of papers from beneath his coat.

"How on earth did you find these?" I asked. "Or even know to look for them?"

"Observation and deduction," said Holmes. "I heard Wright concealing something before I broke down the door. It must have been near the back wall, for he was out of the window before I was one step into the room. Therefore, I checked under the floorboards and found these."

"That is not so complex," I replied.

Holmes shrugged and smiled. "I'm sure it would have seemed more impressive had you seen it in person."

"Have you made any deductions about them?" I asked.

Holmes lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "The contents are most instructive, but we must not speak of them here, in case of unwanted listeners."

I nodded mutely, wondering what was contained in the letters.

"The paper and ink were of some little interest," said Holmes.

I raised an eyebrow. "How is that?"

"They are written on stationery with the letterhead cut off, rendering the paper more squarish than is usual. The ink, however, is quite plain."

"Strange," I replied.

Holmes nodded but said no more.

My curiosity about the letters caused the train ride to seem to drag into hours or perhaps days or weeks of unending dim sunlight and insatiable curiosity. At length, we arrived back in the little town and found ourselves back at Holmes' room at the inn.

"Well, out with it!" said I.

"There are six letters here," Holmes said, "from someone with the initials P.T.C. to J.C.W., to Wright."

"It is certain he had an accomplice, then," I replied.

"No, Watson," said Holmes. "Wright was the accomplice."

"You do not mean to say there is someone more brilliant and dangerous than Wright behind all of this?" said I with no little amount of exasperation and disbelief.