The Three Locks Bonnie MacBird (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📖

fellow now?’ I asked. ‘And where is Hadley? I would have thought the police would be here by now.’

Holmes stiffened suddenly and looked up from his own boots. ‘The shoes.’ I followed his gaze to the armoire. ‘Watson! The shoes!’

‘What about them?’

‘There are three pairs there! Three pairs are all he owns. I noticed on our last visit: two there, and one pair on his feet. Wherever Buttons is, he is barefoot. I fear for the young man. If he is not the killer, he is perhaps dead as well.’ Holmes stood abruptly and continued to scan the room. ‘Why? And where would he go without shoes … in this pouring rain?’

Thunder cracked and a flash of lightning flooded the room for a brief moment.

My eyes closed and a flash to my childhood trauma came unbidden. A pair of ladies’ shoes, lined neatly up by the river, under a tree. Green, with ribbons. My mother’s shoes.

‘Swimming,’ I said.

Holmes stopped moving and stood perfectly still.

‘My God, Watson, sometimes you surprise me!’ He ran to the window and looked out. ‘Of course! Look!’

I joined him at the window. Through the sheets of silver rain, barely lit by the new moon, I looked across the field to the dark, rushing Cam. Silhouetted in front of it was a ghostly white shirt only dimly visible against the black of the glittering river, and seeming to float in the air was the figure of a man. He moved, and a halo of light curly hair was caught in the glow of a streetlamp.

Deacon Buttons.

CHAPTER 37

The Sinner

We were out and rushing through the muddy fields in seconds. As we approached, we could see that it was indeed young Buttons, standing poised on the wooden footbridge over the Jesus Lock, staring down into swirling dark waters.

Was he Dillie’s killer, returning in guilt and horror to the site of his transgression? Perhaps to the exact spot where he had dumped her, still alive but unconscious, and where she had met her watery end.

The rush of the river and the hiss of the late summer downpour masked our footsteps, and the boy heard nothing as we approached. We came within ten feet and Holmes put his hand on my arm to stop me. With a finger to his lips, he shook his head.

As we watched, Buttons leaned over the railing, mesmerized by the churning current. Lightning flashed again and lit up the scene for a brief flickering second. A moment later came the boom of thunder.

We had not made a sound, but in that strange way that one feels the regard of another, the young man sensed our presence and turned. His face was ghastly pale, and his hair was dripping as it was the first time we had met him at Baker Street. He was not wearing his glasses, and his white face was drenched from the rain and, I could only assume, tears.

‘Mr Buttons,’ said Holmes calmly, ‘please step away from the railing.’

‘Dillie died here,’ said Buttons in a strange, high-pitched voice. ‘Last night.’

‘Yes, we know,’ said Holmes.

‘The river … the river …’ The boy turned and looked at the rushing waters. ‘It washed away her sins,’ he murmured.

‘How did she get into the river?’ asked Holmes.

The boy did not reply but kept his eyes on the water. Holmes slowly inched closer. I stayed back, fearing the boy would panic.

‘I have just been in your room, Mr Buttons. It is clear to me that Dillie visited you there last night,’ said Holmes.

Buttons looked up at my friend in alarm, then looked at me.

‘The signs were unmistakable,’ I said.

The boy looked from one of us to the other, and sensed he was lost, though not sure how. ‘She came to get me.’

‘Get you?’ Holmes asked.

‘It was such a surprise. I never thought. But she … but she …’ He closed his eyes.

‘Let us start at the beginning. What time was this?’ said Holmes.

The boy spoke, his eyes remaining closed. ‘Two o’clock or maybe three. She woke me. She had brought her valise, all her things. She asked for my help. I had promised to help her if she ever needed … she told me that she wanted to run away with me. Right then. With me.’ He gestured vaguely. I noticed that his right hand was wrapped in something white, with a dark stain on it.

‘Holmes, his hand!’ I whispered.

Holmes nodded without taking his eyes off the boy. ‘Run away with you, where?’ he asked.

Peregrine Buttons looked at us and smiled. Mad, definitely mad, I thought. ‘Scotland. Or maybe Paris.’ His eyes glittered briefly at the image of this joyful thought.

‘Did you believe her?’ asked Holmes.

‘Of course.’

‘But she wanted something from you. She asked you to do something.’

‘The rings …’

‘Yes. You pawned Freddie Eden-Summers’ and Leo Vitale’s engagement rings for her with Piotr Flan across town at three a.m. He gave you twenty-five for the two,’ said Holmes. ‘But it wasn’t enough.’

‘Holmes,’ I whispered, ‘take this slowly.’

‘You are a magician! How can you know this?’ stammered Buttons, staring in horror at Holmes.

‘Not a magician, more like a bloodhound. I just came from Flan’s. What was this money to be used for?’

‘Holmes. The situation is precarious,’ I whispered.

‘Our train tickets. And a new start.’

‘But then?’ Holmes inquired. ‘Something went wrong.’

The young man wavered. He placed a foot on the railing.

‘Take your foot off there,’ cried Holmes.

The boy took his foot down and looked about dreamily. ‘“You belong with me, Perry,” she said. That was what she called me.’

‘That is very sweet,’ I said, hoping to distract him. Holmes gave me a sharp look and turned back to the boy.

‘Running away together – was this something you had planned?’

‘No. We had joked about it. But I never … I only dreamed …’ Buttons replaced his foot on the railing.

‘Step back from the railing, please,’ said Holmes sharply.

‘No. Stay away from me!’ The young man turned and looked down at the water.

Holmes moved to one side. I took