The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 4: Young Mr. Anderson

"When they found his body in the morning—" Anderson's voice began to shake.

I offered to pour him a brandy, but he declined.

Anderson swallowed hard, face now white as a sheet and continued. "I was coming into town that morning—needed a couple new horseshoes—and heard shouts coming from near Hugh's home. They live above their little store on Main Street. I elbowed past the confused folks starting to gather, wondering who my unfortunate friend might have invited over that would have died in the night. Call me a fool, but I didn't think for a moment it could be Hugh. I barged into the shop—"

Personally, I had a difficult time picturing the timid and lanky Anderson "barging" anywhere.

"—and there was no one there, so I went out through the back door and saw Sheriff Sweet standing with the doctor behind the building. They heard me, must have, and turned to face me, but all I saw was Hugh, on the ground, blood soaking into the snow."

Anderson had gone from too pale to grey in the face, but Holmes was oblivious.

"What is the doctor's name?" asked Holmes.

"Dr. Mauer," said Anderson.

"Pray continue," said Holmes.

I cut in. "Do not feel obliged to give us any more information about the state of your friend when you arrived. I have no doubt Dr. Mauer can provide such information."

Anderson breathed a shaky sigh of relief. "I'll tell you what else I know. In the dining room, there was an open bottle of liquor at the table, and the theory is that he drank himself into a stupor because Lena broke off their engagement, and then fell or threw himself out the bay window."

Holmes' brow furrowed, and I nearly dropped my pencil in shock. Was it possible that the unfortunate man's death was really a case of depressed overindulgence?

Anderson shook his head emphatically. "Hugh was never one to drink too much, even if he was feeling a bit down, and he would never drink alone. There is too much unexplained for this to be an accident." Young Anderson stared hard at Sherlock Holmes, almost daring the detective to contradict him. I could see the lad's growing defiance beneath his meek exterior and was relieved by Holmes' diplomacy in response.

"I draw no conclusions until I am in full possession of the facts," said Holmes. "In the meantime, is there anything else you wish to add?"

Anderson thought for a moment, then replied, "I personally don't think this is relevant to the matter at hand, but some folks around here are suggesting that since Hugh was a little hard up for money, he might have stolen the diamonds from Mrs. Blomberg and sold them."

Holmes muttered, "And then in a sudden fit of remorse, drank himself into an early grave?"

"I agree," said Anderson. "It doesn't add up. Hugh and I have been friends all our lives, and I know he would never wrong a person. He could be a little irregular, even reckless, but nobody could call him selfish, or suspect him to be a crook. For God's sake, Hugh's been the Wall Lake deputy since he was sixteen! Three years after his father died doing the same job. But that didn't stop Hugh from wanting to uphold the law." Anderson's voice shook with grief and fury. "He was a good man and a great friend, and it's not right his being slandered this way."

"Young Anderson," said Holmes softly, "It is my duty to seek truth and ensure justice is served. I am prepared to do everything in my power to put things aright."

Anderson gave a shaky sigh. "Thank you."

"I do have one more question," said Holmes. "Do you know how early it would be convenient to call on Dr. Mauer?"

Anderson frowned. "He's a fairly early riser, so you could probably knock at his door as early as seven and find him awake and ready, but if you're exhausted from travel, there would be no harm in waiting till half-past seven, or closer to eight. It'll be light enough to see without a lantern by then.

Holmes thanked him, and we departed. My friend's bright eyes and keen expression told me he would be awake most of the night and then ensure we were up early enough to knock on Dr. Mauer's door at five minutes to seven.

"It's an interesting little problem, eh, Watson?" said Holmes as we rushed toward the inn and its promise of warmth.

"Indeed," I replied, though my thoughts were more upon the tragedies undergone by more than one in this town.

It must have been evident from my tone, for Holmes' expression softened. "My dear fellow, these troubles will be put to an end as soon as I solve the mysteries behind them, and the sooner you get yourself to bed, the sooner we can pursue that end."

We rounded the corner, and I could see light flooding from the inn's windows. I made short work of the remaining paces, Holmes at my heels, only stopping when the door closed behind us.

"You shall be up all night smoking, I suppose?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so, Doctor," Holmes replied, leading the way to our rooms.

"Well, good night regardless," I said pulling my key out of my pocket.

Holmes returned the nocturnal well-wishing, but his mind was already back on the case. I turned the key to enter the small room in which I would live for a couple of weeks. It was a decided step down from my Baker Street accommodations, but my military career and time with Holmes had put me up in far worse places. I stoked the fire, dragged my cot a few feet closer to it, and collapsed into bed without bothering to unpack.

I did not sleep well. My mind was working too feverishly: Was the death of Deputy Hugh Hieman a tragic accident, suicide, or deliberate murder?