Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

surprised, and I felt the need to explain myself. ‘In my childhood I spent rather too much time in treetops and learned a lot about birds. The quill tip shows that the feather has been pushed out by a newly emerging one; birds start moulting in spring. The farther north they live, the later they start. The bird shed this feather in late spring or midsummer this year. Wherever this man had spent his last days is close to a nesting place of an oriole pair. A female is never alone at this time of year.’
    ‘Where do these birds live?’ he enquired.
    ‘Large and old forests with dense foliage and water, such as a lake or a stream. An adjacent wetland would do, too.’
    ‘The Thames?’
    ‘Possibly,’ I mused.
    The brick in my stomach had become unbearable. ‘Mr Holmes, are you planning to give me away?’
    He looked surprised, then waved his hand at me. ‘Pshaw!’ He exclaimed, almost amused now. ‘Although I gather it is quite a complicated issue. You don’t fancy going to India, I presume.’ The latter wasn’t so much a question as a statement.
    ‘Obviously I don’t.’
    He probably did not know that obtaining a medical degree in Germany was still forbidden for women. If my true identity were revealed, I would lose my occupation and my British residency, be deported, and end up in a German jail. My alternative, although I did not consider it one, would be to go to India. The few British women who had recently managed to get a medical degree had eventually given in to the mounting social pressure and had left for India, out of the way of the exclusively male medical establishment. To the best of my knowledge I was the only exception.
    ‘I had hoped it would not be as evident,’ I answered quietly.
    ‘It is evident only to me. I fancy myself as rather observant.’
    ‘So I’ve noticed. Yet, you are still here, despite the fact that this case appears to bore you. I wonder why that is.’
    ‘I haven’t formed an opinion, yet. But it does indeed seem to be a rather dull case. I wonder…’ Thoughtfully, he gazed at me and I realised that he had stayed to analyse me — I represented a curiosity.
    ‘What made you change your identity?’ he enquired as his face lit up with interest.
    ‘That’s none of your business, Mr Holmes.’
    Suddenly, his expression changed as his modus operandi switched to analysis, and, after a minute, he seemed to have reached a conclusion. ‘I dare say that guilt was the culprit.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘As women weren’t allowed a higher education a few years ago, you had to cut your hair and disguise yourself as a man to be able to study medicine. But the intriguing question remains: Why did you accept such drastic measures for a degree? Your accent is evident; you are a German who has learned English in the Boston area. Harvard Medical School?’
    I nodded; my odd mix of American and British English and the German linguistic baggage were rather obvious.
    ‘At first I thought you lived in the East End, but I was wrong. You live in or very near St Giles.’ He pointed a long finger to the splashes on my shoes and trousers. I wiped them every day before entering Guy’s, but some bits always remained.
    ‘The brown stains on your right index finger and thumb appear to be from harvesting parts of a medical plant. The milk thistle, I presume?’
    I cleared my throat; this was starting to get too far for my taste. ‘Correct,’ I said, preparing for battle.
    ‘You treat the poor free of charge, considering the herb, which certainly is not used in hospitals. And there is the location in which you choose to live — London’s worst rookery! You seem to have a tendency towards exaggerated philanthropy!’ He raised one eyebrow, his mouth lightly compressed. I could see a mix of amusement and dismissal in his face.
    ‘You don’t care much about the appearance of your clothes,’ he went on, ignoring my cold stare. ‘They are a bit tattered on the sleeves and the collar, but surely not for lack of money. You have too little time! You probably have no tailor blind enough to not discover the details of your anatomy,’ here I shot a nervous glance over his shoulder, assessing the distance to Gibson or any of his men. Mr Holmes waved at me impatiently, as though my anxiety to be discovered by yet another man meant nothing to him.
    He continued without pause, ‘You have no one you could trust at your home, no housekeeper or maid who could keep your secret. That forces you to