Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

dissections at being unappetising.
    I tipped my hat at him, entered the eastern end of Regent’s Park, and turned north. The bustling of the street behind me gradually dimmed to be replaced by the quiet chatter of couples walking arm in arm and sparrows’ grating chirps.
    After a few minutes I reached 221B Baker Street. Like its neighbours, the three-storey house was built of red bricks with its base looking as though it had been dipped into cream. It had large white-framed windows and a smoked oak door. As my hand closed around the brass knocker, I wondered how much Holmes earned with that odd occupation of his. After a knock and a moment of waiting, the stout landlady beckoned me in.
    I watched my feet climb the stairs while thoughts swirled around in my head like a swarm of mosquitoes. To me, Holmes was a magnet with north and south poles unified. He knew my secret and could, with a single statement, destroy my life. I wasn’t quite certain whether avoiding or observing him would be the safer tactic.
    Upon reaching the landing I finally lifted my gaze and noticed a small crater in the wall. I probed with my finger, then brushed the plaster off and peered through the hole. On the other side I could see Gibson’s head. Wondering whether this was a bullet hole, I knocked at Holmes’s door.
    Gibson opened, I stepped in, and the world changed from polished and gleaming to utter chaos. The ceiling was decorated with stains, the spray pattern indicative of small explosions. Some spots looked as though acid had eaten into the plaster. I had noticed splotches on Holmes’s hands yesterday but had not been able to identify them. Now I knew — the man was a lay scientist.
    Enormous stacks of paper hid the desk, a chair and most of the mantelpiece, where a knife stuck in the carved wood holding a bunch of papers. On top of the marred panelling stood a photograph of a beautiful woman.
    I apologised for being late. Gibson was pacing the sitting room, looking important. Holmes himself was smoking a pipe in an armchair by the fireplace, looking bored. His violin lay on the coffee table in front of him.
    A small and timid chambermaid with hair the colour of dirty egg yolk served us tea and biscuits. She did not glance at anyone in the room. Slinking here and there, she seemed to go unnoticed by Gibson, who now lowered himself into the other armchair to receive his refreshments.
    Holmes was giving Gibson the results of the dissection, but did not elaborate on the twigs and beetles or on any other thoughts he entertained on the case.
    ‘Were you able to identify the man, Inspector?’ I enquired.
    He shook his head, showing me his annoyance. ‘No, I already told Mr Holmes I’m afraid it will be entirely impossible. He didn’t have any papers on him and no one who fits his description has been reported missing. I will not waste my time investigating this case. I hope you agree, Mr Holmes.’
    Holmes nodded without looking up and Gibson heaved himself off the chair with a satisfied smile.
    ‘Dr Kronberg, if I have any other questions I will contact you,’ said Gibson and took his leave. I knew he wouldn’t, and that was just as well.
    As the Inspector stomped down the stairs, I stood with my back to the closed door and looked at Holmes. ‘Interesting,’ I noted, and he opened his eyes, apparently surprised to see me.
    ‘Is there anything else, Dr Kronberg?’ His voice was monotonous.
    ‘Gibson is wrong and you know it,’ I answered. Holmes raised one eyebrow and I waved my hand at him, ‘Well, when is he not ?’
    ‘Indeed,’ murmured Holmes with an expression of impatience.
    ‘My apologies for wasting your time, Mr Holmes.’ I produced a warm smile. ‘I have only two questions. Did I miss anything of importance owing to my late arrival?’ He shook his head once. ‘The second question is: could you find anything of interest in the bowl you took home yesterday?’
    ‘It was full with insects, leaves and dirt. Highly interesting.’ He yawned.
    His gaze followed mine as I looked at the violin and said, ‘She is on top of the breadcrumbs — you played her before Gibson came in. Are you on a case at present?’
    He narrowed his eyes and I saw him getting ready for combat.
    ‘What amused you about the maid?’ he asked calmly.
    If he wanted a diversion, so be it. ‘I was wondering why she was so extremely shy. Whether it could be her inexperience or a problem she has with you. The fact that I wondered at