Chapter 512 - Handwriting (1/2)

Zhang Heng and Holmes entered the living hall, and 221 Baker Street was as Mrs. Hudson had described-unusually crowded.

Apart from the familiar faces of Gregson and Lestrade, even the deputy chief of police was there, and it was plainly written on his face that he was in a rotten mood. Seeing their chief pace back and forth by the window, none of the officers dared ensconce themselves on the settee either.

So, the whole group of men stood around the drawing-room. Though plenty of seating was available, no one dared to rest their b.u.ms. It was quite a funny sight, except that no one was laughing-every face in the room displayed an expression of grim and solemnness.

Only when Holmes walked in did the group unanimously let out an audible sigh of relief.

“It looks like none of you have been sleeping well these days,” said Holmes. “Lestrade, did you have oatmeal and omelet for breakfast?”

“It’s not the time for jokes!” the small, wiry inspector smiled bitterly.

The deputy chief looked up at Holmes like a drowning man clutching at a straw. He marched toward the private detective, offered a hand, and chriped cordially, “I’ve heard a lot about you! Lestrade, Hopkins, and the others often mentioned you, telling me that you’re the best detective London has ever seen, possibly even Europe! Also, we haven’t had the time to thank you properly for your a.s.sistance in the Thames case.”

“Oh, it is all but a minor matter.” Holmes returned the chief’s handshake before motioning his guest to take a seat.

Only when their deputy sat down did the rest of the Scotland Yarders finally rest their feet.

The deputy chief had apparently done his homework before coming to Baker Street. It was already informed of the Eastern detective who worked alongside Holmes—the reason why he made no comment on the matter and dove straight into the issue at hand. He looked at Holmes with eyes filled with antic.i.p.ation.

“I believe you are aware of the reason for our visit.”

“The Whitechapel homicide,” Holmes smiled, reaching for his pipe. “I saw it in the newspapers.” He paused for a minute, then continued, “Left-handed, male, between the ages 30 and 40, not the most steadfast of characters, unstable, is traditional and conservative.”

“How could you tell?” The deputy chief shook his head, looking stumped but impressed. “We haven’t even presented the case to you. Or, could you have covertly been to the scene? In fact, information published on the papers has been somewhat tweaked, not to conceal the truth, but to curb unnecessary unrest from brewing among the public.”