The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 21: Miss Hallstrom's Secret

My heart ached with sympathy. "I am so sorry, my dear," I said, meaning every word.

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied.

"Has this woman continued to torment you after Mr. Hieman's death?" asked Holmes.

Miss Hallstrom nodded. "Amanda is under the twisted delusion that I killed him to keep him from her, and she tells me that she will 'expose both of my secrets' if I do not pay the money she wants by nightfall three days from now. But I am nearly out of money, and I cannot expect any more until my birthday, yet a month away! I can't imagine what my family or my friends would think of me if they ever heard a word of this..." She dashed away a stray tear and shuddered.

"I understand that your situation is most delicate," said Holmes. "I will do my utmost to help you—"

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Holmes!" she cried.

"—on the condition that you are truthful with me from here forward and will assist with my investigation if I ask it of you."

"Of course!" said Miss Hallstrom. "I will tell you anything, help you in any way, if only you can purge my life of this terrible shadow."

"I shall do all in my power," Holmes promised. "Now, may we be privy to an accurate account of the last time you saw Mr. Hieman?"

"Yes, certainly," she replied. "I sincerely apologise for not being forthright about it in the first place." She took a deep breath and composed herself. "Let me see...everything is as I told you, except for the reason I ended it with him, and that I followed him afterward."

Holmes nodded. "I had reason to suspect as much. But why did you do it?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I could hardly bear seeing Hugh look so hurt. I put on my thickest scarf and one of my mother's coats and followed him down the street toward the station. When he was halfway there, he changed course, and went to Sac City's tavern—it's called the 'Dusty Cuff Tavern', goodness only knows why—but he stayed there for a time, and he drank alone. Being a Friday, there were enough people there I don't think anyone took particular notice of me. He left a time later, and I followed him to the train station. I kept my face hidden, and he did not recognise me. I don't know if anyone did. He sat on a bench, the very picture of despair." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she was silent for a long moment. "I had half a mind to go to him and tell him the truth, but I had still not found the courage when two men approached him and sat with him. I saw the face of one, but the other I did not. They accompanied him onto the train, and I sat several rows in front of him and across the aisle, sitting at an angle such that I could see them."

Holmes leaned forward, all attention. "The man whose face you saw! Describe him for me."

She frowned. "A little short, both men were. The man I could see was built thickly, it seemed to me, though I cannot say if it was due to muscle or fat, as we were all wearing thick winter clothing. He had a round face, dark eyes—I think—oh, I can't remember for sure about his eyes, actually. He was balding, though—he took off his hat a moment, I remember now, and his hair was a sort of sandy colour, I suppose, but he was definitely beginning to bald."

"A middle-aged gentlemen, then?" Holmes inquired.

"I'm not certain about his age," said she. "When I could see his face, it struck me that he only looked a little older than I am, and I'm not yet two and twenty."

"Intriguing," Holmes breathed. He appeared to be hanging on her every word. "Now, did you follow Mr. Hieman all the way to Wall Lake?"

She shook her head. "I intended to, but then I got off in Fletcher and went to tell Amanda I'd done what she wanted. By then it was too late to take another train home, so I slept in a spare bedroom of another friend."

"I see,' said Holmes. "If it comes to it—and it should not—would this friend be willing to swear you were there that night?"

Miss Hallstrom looked confused. "Of course. But why...?"

"When I visit Miss Meyer, I aim to convince her you could not have been involved in Mr. Hieman's death."

The lady's face cleared, and she nodded.

"Now, back to the men on the train. Did you notice the colour of the man's handkerchief or necktie?"

"What a curious question!" she exclaimed.

"It is of the utmost importance that you try to recall this." Holmes looked intently into her face.

Miss Hallstrom frowned and pursed her lips.

I knew the significance of the necktie, but I struggled a moment with the handkerchief. Then something Holmes had said before we'd even departed from London sprang into my mind:

"The notorious 'Cleaver' Wright, the most gifted thief and murderer the American Midwest ever produced... His particular calling card is a red handkerchief."

Even as I was thinking this, Miss Hallstrom spoke. "The tie I cannot place, but I seem to recall that the handkerchief was some shade of burgundy, or maybe a deep orange or red."

Holmes clapped his hands in exultation and turned to me. "Good fortune has found us, eh, Watson?" He returned his attention to Miss. Hallstrom and rose to his feet. "Thank you for your time. You have been most helpful, and now I shall do my part and bring a swift end to Miss Meyer's harassment."

"Thank you so much!" the girl exclaimed, and in a sudden fit of passionate gratitude, leapt from her chair and flung her arms around my friend, embracing him warmly.

Sherlock Holmes was not by any stretch of the imagination a man inclined to extend or to welcome such an action, and he stiffened. The lady sensed this and released him quickly, stammering an apology and a qualifying "I am just so grateful!"

"It is no trouble at all," he assured her, and did his utmost to appear entirely unruffled by this episode. We obtained from her the address of Miss Meyer, then quickly bid her good day and departed.