Chapter 3: The Incident of the Top Hat

An hour later found us both waiting in a little room on the ground floor of an imposing multi-story building. The room, with its ugly chairs and dim lighting was well familiar to me, for it served as a waiting room to the offices of Scotland Yard's top inspectors, among them Inspector Lestrade, with whom Holmes often collaborated. Nowadays, Holmes' name was as good as a key to any room in the building, top secret or otherwise, and we hadn't waited long before Lestrade's small, round form filled the doorway. Holmes ceased pacing up and down the waiting room and I imagined I could see a faint line in the carpet where he had worn a path with his relentless walking to and fro.

"I hope this is important, Mr. Holmes, I'm a very busy man." Lestrade said irritably.

"Oh it is of the utmost importance, Lestrade. It always is." Holmes tossed back. He had come to stand directly in front of Lestrade and his tall, lean figure towered over that of the yard inspector.

"You'd best come back then." Lestrade sighed, and turned to lead us back through the labyrinth of hallways to his office, a tiny room barely large enough to fit the three of us comfortably. We sat in a cluster around Lestrade's desk, amidst a veritable mountain of paperwork so large it threatened to take over the entire room.

"My business concerns the murder of Thomas Briggs aboard the inner city train." Holmes said the moment the door had been shut. "I believe you are investigating it?"

"Was investigating it," Lestrade corrected, "just made an arrest last night in fact. An open and shut case if ever there was one. Nothing to interest you, I'm afraid."

"I am the best judge of that," Holmes replied sternly, "I am acting on behalf of a client, the fiancée of the accused."

"You don't say? She gave you some sort of sob story?" Holmes did not respond to this rather rhetorical question, and Lestrade continued, "Well I don't see harm in telling you the particulars. But as I said, you're a wizard if you find a hole in the facts. They all lead straight to Muller. I feel sorry for his fiancée, but fact is, he'll hang."

"There's always the possibility that something was missed, Lestrade."

Lestrade grunted in reply as he searched through the papers on his desk. After a minute or so of silent shuffling, Holmes spoke again, "Lestrade, perhaps it would be more informative to visit the site of the murder? I should very much like to see the compartment Briggs was found in. If the paper is correct, it is being detained at Bow Station." Lestrade looked up in triumph, holding a sheaf of papers in one hand while his other grabbed his hat.

"I'll take you there if you pay the fare." He replied with a mischievous grin. "The paper was correct on most points, it omitted the gorier information for the sake of it's readers. Not everyone has your taste for blood and death, Mr. Holmes. Holmes laughed and stood as well, collecting his hat and coat.

I regretted, now, that I too had not thought to brief myself on the facts of the case with the evening newspaper from the 9th of June, as Holmes had done in Baker Street. Rather in the dark, I followed Holmes and Lestrade as we hailed a cab to Bow Station.

The lunch hour traffic had just begun as we reached the station. We jostled our way through throngs of workers heading home to their wives for an hour or two and presently found ourselves on an eerily deserted platform. A single car had been left there, guarded by uniformed bobbies on both sides. Upon seeing Lestrade, they stepped aside allowing us access to the car.

The smell of decay on the inside was overpowering, the compartment was rather narrower than some of the first class cars I had been in before, but the oppressive ambiance had nothing to do with the design of the car itself, nor did the fetid atmosphere. The car was covered in blood. It was splashed on the cushions on both sides of the car, on the exit door on the opposite side, on the floor, and even on the ceiling in places. I immediately felt a desire to retreat from that awful compartment. Holmes, however, got onto his hands and knees and began looking closely at the blood stains with a magnifying glass. We watched him in silence for a moment, then Lestrade began to speak in response to a look from Holmes.

"The facts of the case are relatively simple. Two men, bank clerks, entered this compartment at approximately 11pm on the night of June the ninth. Shortly after they reported the car to the metropolitan police, Thomas Briggs' body was found on the tracks between here and Hackney. He was face down, sprawled across the Hackney-bound tracks as if he had been thrown out the window of a train bound for Bow. As you can see by the blood on that window there, the theory seems to be supported by the evidence."

Holmes ran his lens over the blood on the window and nodded. Lestrade took a moment to clear his throat, and then continued.

"I found the compartment exactly as it is now, with the exception of three objects which had been left on the seats, a walking stick, a bag, and a beaver hat. The walking stick and bag were identified as belonging to Briggs by his widow. The hat we later traced to Muller through the makers on Crawford Street. Muller admits that the hat is his." Lestrade paused at an indication from Holmes.

"I believe I have seen all I need to here, Lestrade. These blood spatters are most interesting," Holmes swept his hand through the air in a wide gesture, indicating the blood marks that covered the compartment. "They are almost perfect." Without another word, he exited the car. I breathed easier as we entered the relatively fresh air of the compartment. "Is there anything more of note, Lestrade?"

Lestrade nodded and continued in his rather mechanical recital of the facts. "Brigg's widow informed us when she identified the body that he was missing his watch and gold-rimmed glasses. A jeweler by the name of Mr. Death reported just this morning that a similar watch chain had come into his possession only yesterday. Mr. Muller had brought it in with some tale of inheriting it from business partners of his father. Muller traded the chain for a new one. When he was apprehended he was found with the new chain on his person. Muller has not confessed yet, but it's only a matter of time. There's a fortnight still to go before the assizes, but he'll come around sooner or later. I've never seen a cleaner, simpler case."

Holmes looked back at the car thoughtfully. "Hmm, perhaps so. The case against Muller does seem grievous. Those blood stains though," Suddenly, Holmes' introspective attitude changed abruptly as he spun to fix Lestrade with the full force of his keen stare. "Tell me, Lestrade, How long is the ride between Hackney and Bow?"

"Less than five minutes I should say."

"And Briggs entered the train at Hackney station?"

"The compartment was empty until Hackney, according to the conductor." Lestrade answered.

Holmes took his hat off and turned it over in his hand. "Watson, I believe we will pay a visit to the morgue, with your permission of course Lestrade."

"They will give you no trouble, I'm sure." Lestrade replied blandly.

"Come, then Watson," he said, shooting me a triumphant look so quick I was barely sure I had seen it. When he turned again to Lestrade, his face was blank and unreadable "It is rare to have a genuine open and shut case, I congratulate you." He turned away, the added, almost as an afterthought, "Of course, I am not known for my good manners, but I am not often in the habit of taking my hat off and setting it down for a five-minute ride. Are you, Lestrade?" In the next instant he had set off in long strides across the platform and I was forced to jog to catch up to him, leaving Lestrade to stand alone on the platform his mouth slightly agape.