A New Mystery at 221 Baker Street

Chapter 39: Breadcrumbs

Episode Transcript provided by Ariane DeVere/Callie Sullivan

***

Sherlock and John arrived outside the front entrance of St. Aldate's School. As they got out of their vehicle, they noticed a crying woman on the hood of a police car.

"Miss. Mackenzie," Lestrade informed them as they walked in her direction, "Housemistress. Go easy on her,"

Sherlock nodded and walked up to the woman alone. "Miss. Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet this place was open last night under your care. What are you: an idiot, a criminal?"

Miss. Mackenzie looked at him tearfully, "All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their rooms last night. You must believe me,"

"I do, I just wanted you to speak quickly," Sherlock reassured before turning around to the police crew behind him. "Miss. Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now,"

Lestrade led Sherlock and John into the dormitories.

"Six grand a year, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe. You said the other kids had left on holiday?" John asked as Sherlock looked around the room.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor. And before you ask, there is no sign of a break-in, Lestrade explained. "The intruder must have hidden inside someplace,"

Sherlock looked inside the wooden trunk. Among the items was a copy of 'Grimms's Fairy Tales' in an opened envelope with a red wax seal. "Show me where the brother slept,"

The three stood in a smaller room. "The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source: the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door," Sherlock said, motioning to the door with a frosted glass pane. "So if someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognize, an intruder..." Sherlock began to recreate the kidnapping. "...what would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them?" He walked around the bed and looked at the boy's possessions, "This little boy; this particular little boy who reads all those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John suggested. Sherlock sniffed the empty bottle of oil that he found from under the bed.

"Get Anderson,"

Sherlock looked around the now darkened rooms with a handheld ultraviolet light. On the wall next to the boy's bed were the words HELP US.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock observed. He shined his ultraviolet light onto the floor, revealing sets of illuminated footprints leading towards the door.

"He made a trail," John observed.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them,"

John looked at the smaller set of footprints. "On his tiptoes?"

"Indicates anxiety," Sherlock explained, "A gun was held to his head," He began to follow the trail until the footsteps disappeared a few yards away. "The girl pulled along beside him, dragged sideways. He had his arm around her neck,"

"That's the end of it," Anderson said. "We don't know where they went from here,"

"Wonderful deduction Anderson, really wonderful," Sherlock replied sarcastically. "We have nothing except for his shoe size, his height, his gait, and his walking pace," He reached to the closest window and tore down the blackout material, letting the light flood back into the hall. Sherlock scraped the dried linseed oil from the floor and into a lidded Petri dish.