Sherlock Holmes In Montague Street Volume 2 by David Marcum Page A

a small rent in it. The dead man’s hat lay near, and after a few glances at that, Holmes dropped it and turned his attention to the hair. This was coarse and dark and long, and brushed straight back with no parting.
    â€œThis doesn’t look very symmetrical, does it?” Holmes remarked, pointing to the locks over the right ear. They were shorter just there than on the other side, and apparently very clumsily cut, whereas in every other part the hair appeared to be rather well and carefully trimmed. Mr. Hardwick said nothing, but fidgeted a little, as though he considered that valuable time was being wasted over irrelevant trivialities.
    Presently, however, he spoke. “There’s very little to be learned from the body, is there?” he said. “I think I’m quite justified in ordering their arrest, eh? - indeed, I’ve wasted too much time already.”
    Holmes was groping about among some bushes behind the tree from which the corpse had been taken. When he answered, he said, “I don’t think I should do anything of the sort just now, Mr. Hardwick. As a matter of fact, I fancy ” - this word with an emphasis - “that the brothers Foster may not have seen this man Sneathy at all today.”
    â€œNot seen him? Why, my dear sir, there’s no question of it. It’s certain, absolutely. The evidence is positive. The fact of the threats and of the body being found treated so is pretty well enough, I should think. But that’s nothing - look at those footmarks. They’ve walked along with him, one each side, without a possible doubt; plainly they were the last people with him, in any case. And you don’t mean to ask anybody to believe that the dead man, even if he hanged himself, cut off his own hand first. Even if you do, where’s the hand? And even putting aside all these considerations, each a complete case in itself, the Fosters must at least have seen the body as they came past, and yet nothing has been heard of them yet. Why didn’t they spread the alarm? They went straight away in the opposite direction from home - there are their footmarks, which you’ve not seen yet, beyond the gravel.”
    Holmes stepped over to where the patch of clean gravel ceased, at the opposite side to that from which we had approached the brook, and there, sure enough, were the now familiar footmarks of the brothers leading away from the scene of Sneathy’s end. “Yes,” Holmes said, “I see them. Of course, Mr. Hardwick, you’ll do what seems right in your own eyes, and in any case not much harm will be done by the arrest beyond a terrible fright for that unfortunate family. Nevertheless, if you care for my impression, it is, as I have said, that the Fosters have not seen Sneathy today.”
    â€œBut what about the hand?”
    â€œAs to that I have a conjecture, but as yet it is only a conjecture, and if I told it you would probably call it absurd - certainly you’d disregard it, and perhaps quite excusably. The case is a complicated one, and, if there is anything at all in my conjecture, one of the most remarkable I have ever had to do with. It interests me intensely, and I shall devote a little time now to following up the theory I have formed. You have, I suppose, already communicated with the police?”
    â€œI wired to Shopperton at once, as soon as I heard of the matter. It’s a twelve miles drive, but I wonder the police have not arrived yet. They can’t be long; I don’t know where the village constable has got to, but in any case he wouldn’t be much good. But as to your idea that the Fosters can’t be suspected - well, nobody could respect your opinion, Mr. Holmes, more than myself, but really, just think. The notion’s impossible - fifty-fold impossible. As soon as the police arrive I shall have that trail followed and the Fosters apprehended. I should be a fool if I didn’t.”
    â€œVery