Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

toes. So I stomped instead, hoping Holmes wouldn’t see me.
    The river clucked quietly and reed warblers ranted at each other. I was careful not to tread on the trail, but could already see that someone had walked here. Right next to the river, grass and reeds were bent across an area of about two by four yards — he must have rested here. Suddenly I remembered the Hampton man’s shoes. Holmes had shown them to me. But the prints were not identical to the soles I had seen.
    ‘Wait!’ cautioned Holmes when he saw me taking a step towards the river’s edge.
    He examined the trodden place for only a minute or so and then said, ‘As expected.’
    ‘And what did you expect?’
    ‘The Hampton man walked, or, rather, hobbled only half the distance through the meads. He was accompanied by Mr Big Boots.’ Holmes pointed to the ground next to him. There in the mud were the clear footprints I had seen already. The ones with the holes at the heels were missing.
    ‘He carried him,’ I noted.
    ‘Yes. And here,’ he pointed again, ‘he laid him down.’
    There was a faint elongated impression. Its size would have fitted the Hampton man’s body.
    ‘The two must have been friends,’ he stated, and, seeing my quizzical expression, he explained, ‘Big Boots carried him and there are no signs of a fight. This allows us to make an assumption only. But here is the simple proof.’ He pointed to the impression of buttocks right next to the longish dent. ‘The Hampton man died while resting his head in his friend’s lap!’
    He contemplated for two seconds, stated that there was nothing more to be learned here, and traced his steps back to the cobblestone road.
    We walked to Chertsey without finding either man’s footprints next to the roads. Holmes’s plan was to enquire at the local inn whether anyone had seen the two.

    ~~~

    We entered a small stone house with The Meads Inn painted in neat red letters over the entrance door. The inn itself consisted of a tiny room with a mawkish interior design. A woman, whom I suspected to be both decorator and owner’s wife, beckoned us in. Her eyelids and hands were flapping in unison, probably intended to appear inviting.
    Holmes steered us towards a table. We ordered stew and beer, and, as the woman set our meal down in front of us, he let a sovereign spin on the polished wood.
    ‘We are looking for two men who passed through Chertsey Meads the day before yesterday. One was over six feet and eight inches tall, probably supporting the other, who was seriously ill, unusually pale, undernourished, and almost a head smaller than his friend. Both were dressed poorly. Have you seen them by any chance?’
    The woman flinched. She didn’t even look at the money that swirled so promisingly before her eyes.
    I threw her an apologetic glance. Holmes hadn’t introduced us.
    ‘My apologies, Miss. I am Dr Anton Kronberg and this is Mr Sherlock Holmes. We are investigating a crime and would be ever so grateful if you could help us.’
    Her expression didn’t soften the least.
    ‘Haven’ seen nuffink!’ she said abruptly, turned around, and disappeared into the kitchen.
    ‘That went well,’ I mumbled, leaning over my bowl and shovelling hot stew into my mouth.
    Holmes only smiled a little, then turned his attention to his food, and ate it merrily.
    ‘How could you know how tall Big Boots was? By the size of his shoes?’ I asked.
    ‘And stride length,’ he noted.
    ‘Ah.’ I thought about that for a while and added, ‘You can calculate that although Big Boots had to support the Hampton man? Wouldn’t his stride be shorter owing to the effort?’
    Holmes talked to his stew. ‘It would be, but in this case the strain did not appear to be significant. As the Hampton man leaned on Big Boots, the latter did not show a sideways tilt of his heels to counteract the force. And we know the Hampton man was very light. Big Boots’s stride length did not change the least even as he started to carry his friend. All these facts indicate that he was in rather good health, tall and strong.’
    My brain absorbed the information like a hungry cat the milk.
    After we had drained our beer, he announced that he wanted to take his leave at once.
    The woman hurried back to us, we paid, and Holmes asked casually, ‘You had a burglary?’
    She stopped in her tracks. ‘Why, yes! How did ya know?’
    Holmes pointed towards the window. The sash was missing, probably taken out for repair. I had