Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the
Dead Professor
Holmes had just returned to our abode on 221b Baker Street around 9 o'clock in the morning from his morning stroll when the knock came. They always start this way, but I had a queer feeling that this time it would be something different, something rather unusual.
"Watson, please get the door for me," Holmes said placidly, as he always did.
I moved toward the door in a firm demeanor and erecting my posture I turned the brass knob and faced a man I had never seen before. His appearance was grand; he had a tall, looming, figure, a handlebar moustache, and a balding head.
"Good day, sir, I am Sir John Whittaker, professor emeritus at the University of Kent. Is Mister Sherlock Holmes present, and if so, may I speak with him?"
Holmes set down his violin, which he had been holding in mid-air getting ready to play when the knock came. He had obviously not expected so grand a visitor. I showed the man in to the red sofa and busied myself with tea and crumpets.
"Holmes, I have pressing news for you regarding a very respected person in the eyes of our institution." Whittaker said in his rich baritone voice, "Dr. William Covens has been found dead mysteriously in his home."
My friend's expression darkened considerably. "I have heard of Dr. Covens, he was responsible for giving the biannual grant to a certain department of your university, correct?"
"Yes, that is right. His wife came home from shopping to find her husband dead on the floor, with no physical injuries. An autopsy has found nothing apparently wrong with him. It is quite unlikely he died of natural cause however, being only 48 years old," The man looked ruefully at the ground. "He was one of my dear friends."
"Then we must investigate this promptly, Watson, we are departing."
I respected my friend greatly, but one thing that rather disturbs me is his rush to do things, no tea or crumpets or thinking ahead of time, just an up and at 'em attitude. Our hansom arrived at the Covens Estate on 31 Thames Boulevard to a scene of disarray. The Scotland Yard had arrived to my dismay, and with them Detective Lastrade. The neighbors, looking bewildered and confused had gathered at the front gate inquiring of the Yard how Dr. Covens had died.
"No, no...it wasn't a heart attack, ah Holmes!" said Lastrade in a lofty tone, "I was just about to make a conclusion on the matter of Covens' murder death." There seemed to be an air of triumph about him as he said this.
"No, Lastrade, a closer investigation must be conducted in order to correctly determine both the cause of death and the one responsible for it, if one such person even does exist." Holmes looked satisfied with his statement, "Now we must procure the necessary information."
We strolled into the house and into the dining room. There, on the floor beside his seat at the head of the table was the body of Covens. He appeared to have no physical injuries whatsoever and appeared to be in a stupor, but we knew he was dead.
"What happened right before he died?" Holmes implored.
"Covens had just sat down to eat a meal with his wife at dinner and had just eaten a few bites of pork and a sip of wine before he died suddenly," an inspector said dryly.
"Does his wife drink?"
"No, Holmes, I don't," the dreary face of Mary Covens appeared.
Just then Lastrade strolled in, "Yes, Holmes, the time has come to announce the murderer was indeed his wife." Holmes looked indignant to this statement and said, "No, we must further investigate."
He took a photograph of the crime scene with his imported Kodak and the wine glass as well. He had the wine glass boxed up carefully so no spilling would occur and put the photograph and glass side by side in the hansom and we rode to the laboratory. When we arrived at the lab, Holmes uttered a cry of dismay that quickly turned to a chuckle.
"Well, well Watson, we know how he died." Then Holmes remained silent for a moment and then said, "Come, I have no more need of the lab, we must go to the University of Kent."
It was growing night when we arrived at the stately building at the scientific and mathematics department. The secretary greeted us cheerfully and attempted to stifle a yawn. We proceeded to the office of Sir John Whittaker, with whom we had previously encountered.
"Sir," Holmes said in businesslike fashion, "Do you have in your possession here at the university, any radioactive materials?"
"Why no, we don't Holmes." The man still looked dejected from the loss of his colleague. "But we might have some in shipment, you should ask the secretary."
The secretary said none were in order, and then Holmes asked about recent withdrawals from the universities treasury. "Yes, just three weeks ago, Professor Moriarity withdrew a substantial sum from the geological department, although he is in the mathematics department."
Holmes then, gave no explanation, and said, "Watson let us call it a night. I need to sleep on this one."
As we left something caught my friend's eye in the trash can, he picked it up and made a noise of triumph. I saw something that said Miller Rare Earth Co. New York.
The next morning Holmes roused me at quite an ungodly hour and whispered urgently, "We are going to Covens' funeral and the luncheon afterwards by invitation of Whittaker. It is there I will reveal the truth of his murder."
The hansom pulled up to Brompton Cemetery on Fulham Road at 10 o'clock sharp where the tintinnabulation was ringing in my ears. The priest read the Psalms and we stood in grave silence until the luncheon. There, many professors and friends of Covens ate in silence. This silence was broken by Holmes' voice.
"Friends, it is time to reveal the true identity of the murderer of Dr. Covens."
A mixed reaction ensued from the gathered. Some looked eager, others looked angry, Mrs. Covens drew back into the shadows.
"I knew from the start that this was a murder, not a death of natural causes because of the lack of symptoms, he had dropped dead quite suddenly with no pain. I discovered, since his wife did not drink wine and that they had both eaten the food that night, the wine was the cause. I took a photograph of the crime scene and boxed up the wine glass. I unwittingly left the two things together in the hansom ride. When I developed the photograph, it was fogged. This must have meant the poison in the wine was radioactive. I know this thanks to the discoveries of the renowned Marie Curie. I then needed to know what poison this was and what the perpetrator was. I suspected that since the murderer had access to radioactive material, he had to be some either quite rich or with access to substantial amounts of funds. The University of Kent, to my dismay, did not possess any radioactive materials nor did they have any in order. The secretary told me that Professor Moriarity had withdrawn a large amount of money from the treasury for educational purposes. This proved nothing for me, however, and I readied myself to leave and call it a night when something caught my eye in the rubbish bin. It was a telegram to Prof. Moriarity. It said, 'Dear Professor, We thank you for doing business with Miller Rare Earth Co. in your ordering of five grams of thorite. Your shipment should arrive by May 14th.' This telegram was dated April 29th, and the date of the murder was indeed three days ago, May 16th, 1907. I can undoubtedly say that Moriarity is the killer."
At this, Moriarity tried to stand hurriedly, but instead Lastrade came strolling in and handcuffed my friend's archnemisis. Moriarity had finally been outwitted.
"This is how it happened," Holmes continued with renewed fervor alight in his eyes, "Covens was responsible for giving out the yearly grant at UK, however, Moriarity felt he was cheated by him because it was the eighth year running that the mathematics department had been deprived of the grant. Moriarity placed an order for thorite after taking money from the treasury from a New England company that sold rare earth compounds. The compound in question was thorite, which is 79% thorium. He saw his opportunity when Covens invited him over for a discussion on finances and responsibility with funds. While Covens was away from the lounge, Moriarity slipped a grain of thorite into the decanter of wine. Moriarity departed and Covens sat down for another glass of wine, put he was doomed. One sip and he died right there within seconds."
A stunned silence followed Holmes' findings. Moriarity was led out of the room saying, "It took you long enough Holmes."
I will write no more, as nothing else pertains to this case. But throughout this investigation Holmes has once again proved to be extremely witty and a competent man. Now we must wait for the next knock on the door.