The house on the Wall Lake side of the Blombergs proved to be owned by a man and his wife called Larsen, from whom I learned little. They noticed nothing during either theft since they were old and suffered from failing eyesight. This did not stop Mrs. Larsen from talking, however. After twenty minutes, I managed to divert the conversation from irrelevant gossip to her aches, gave a brief opinion on them, was informed she didn't "take much stock in doctors" and made a hasty exit the moment it was politely possible.
I decided to walk to the farmhouse next, largely because it was farther away from the Larsens and gave me time to clear my head. At first, I could see no houses in that direction, but after a short while, I came over a hill and saw a humble wooden house and barn. As I approached, I watched the smoke drift peacefully out of the chimney and dissipate into the sky.
A rustle in the brown cornstalks to my right arrested my attention, and I readied my revolver, heart in my throat. Another movement, a few feet away from where I was looking came next, and I saw a boy scrambling to his feet.
I put my revolver away and squinted at him. He looked familiar.
The boy met my eyes and gave a start. "Hey! Who are you?"
"Dr. Watson," I replied. "What are you doing in there?"
He shrugged, and I motioned for him to join me on the road.
As he approached, I was reminded of the boy Holmes and I had met our first evening in Wall Lake.
"Jack?" I asked. I was reasonably certain that was the name.
The boy laughed. "Jack's my big brother. I'm Will." He held out his small hand, and I shook it.
I glanced at my pocket watch. "Should you not be in school?"
Will grinned sheepishly. "Doesn't mean I want to be there."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I sneaked out a little early. Don't tell my parents," he said with a grimace.
"They are bound to find out, anyway. Do you live there?" I pointed to the house which was my destination.
The boy nodded.
I decided it was not my place to lecture the boy, but I would deliver him to his parents. "Come with me, then," I said and began walking.
He glanced around, as if looking for some escape, and then followed behind, muttering, "Jack said it was a bad idea. Dad's going to be so mad at me."
I sighed as I reached the door. "You did betray their trust by running away from school like that."
"Yeah," he said, kicking a clump of ice.
I gave Will's shoulder an encouraging squeeze and knocked at the door.
"Good morning," said a middle-aged woman with a kind face. A split second later she saw her son, and her face fell. "William Joseph Kelly! What are you doing home from school so early?"
The boy tried to shrink behind me, but I placed a firm hand on his back and pushed him gently inside the house.
"Sorry, Mother," he said with a grimace. "I won't do it again."
Mrs. Kelly sighed and motioned for me to come in the house.
"I'm Dr. Watson," I said. "I saw your boy as I was nearing your house and thought it best to deliver him."
"Much appreciated," she said. "You are welcome to warm yourself by the fire before you go."
"I actually have a few questions for you," I said. "I'm here on behalf of Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I have been hearing of his activities in Wall Lake. Terrible deal, what happened to Silas Albright."
Will piped up. "What happened to him?"
Mrs. Kelly scowled. "Go and help your father clean the stalls."
"But it's Jack's turn!" Will whined.
"Not anymore," returned his mother.
"Actually, if it would be convenient, might I speak to both you and your husband at once?"
Mrs. Kelly turned to her son. "Go and fetch your father from the barn and do whatever he tells you to do, do you hear me?"
"Yes, Mother," replied Will, and back he went into the cold.
A minute or two later, William Kelly Senior entered the little house. He was a solidly built man, though not tall, and older than his wife; a few grey hairs were sprouting near his temples and in his thick beard. When he spoke, his accent was as Irish as his hair. "So who are yeh?"
I introduced myself and my errand again, and he shook my hand with a firm grip. Mrs. Kelly led me to a few chairs by a fireplace in their little sitting room. I pulled my notebook and pencil from my coat, and the husband and wife looked at me strangely.
"Forgive me; I must take notes so that I can tell Holmes anything I learn in sufficient detail that we need not return and pester anyone with the same questions multiple times."
Kelly gave a curt nod and his wife said nothing, but continued to frown.
"Foremost, I am here because as neighbours to the Blombergs, there is a chance one of you may have seen or heard something the day of either theft, and even if not, you may have noticed something suspicious or out of the ordinary."
I paused, thinking perhaps this alone would be enough to call to their minds something helpful to the investigation.
They both shook their heads.
"We've all gone over it a hundred times," Kelly snapped. "We didn't see or hear anything unusual, suspicious, or otherwise noteworthy. The relatives of the Blombergs who live this direction from town came and went by this road, just as everyone says, and we didn't see or hear anything unusual in behaviour, manner or anything else. Not that any member of the Blomberg family would lower themselves to associating with the likes of us." He sighed. "Sorry. We've run through all of this with the law, our neighbours, and our friends already."
"Anything even inconsequential?" I asked, desperately hoping for some lead, no matter what it was.
Mrs. Kelly frowned, made to speak, then stopped herself.
I met her troubled gaze with what I hoped was a kind yet questioning one, and she shook her head. "It's likely nothing, but I can't help thinking Mrs. Blomberg's brother had something to do with it. He was there when it happened and gone quick as lightning after." She shook her head again. "I probably sound like an old fool."
"No, not at all," I replied. I heard a door open and light footsteps enter, but continued to speak lest I forget what I was about to say. "The brother is already set to return from Chicago so he may be questioned by Holmes."
As suddenly as if my friend's name was some sort of invitation, a small girl and even smaller boy appeared in the doorway, eyes alight.
"Forgive the children," Mrs. Kelly apologised. "Mr. Holmes is the talk of the town, and they've learned his name means interesting conversation."
"That it does," I replied with a chuckle.
"I'm Frank," said the small boy. "Wanna see the rock I found today? It's blue."
The sister elbowed him sharply. "Shh! Leave him alone."
The boy looked downcast. "Hugh liked blue rocks. But now he died. Do you want to see the rocks he gave me, Mister?"
"Perhaps another time," I said.
"I'm Annie," the girl cut in. Likely, she wanted a share in the attention her brother was receiving.
"Good to meet you, Annie," I replied with a smile.
Mrs. Kelly gently shooed the children out of the sitting room, and I made to speak again, but at that moment, the door opened again and Jack Kelly stuck his head into the sitting room.
"Oh! Hello again, Dr. Watson," he said with a grin. "Here about the Blomberg's, I s'pose?"
"Indeed," I replied. I could tell the boy wanted to be privy to the conversation, and as he seemed a good enough lad, I could not help but oblige him. "Do you know anything about the matter?"
He grabbed a chair from the dining table and seated himself next to his parents. "I'm afraid not."
Well, that was the end of that line of inquiry. Now onto the next.
"In addition to the Blomberg thefts, Holmes and I are also looking into the deaths of Hugh Hieman and Silas Albright. Is there anything in regard to those that you believe it may be helpful for us to know?"
"I don't think he did himself in," said Jack.
"I beg your pardon?" I said, unsure if he referred to Hieman or Albright.
"Hugh," said Jack. "He wouldn't have done that, even if his girl did back out of the marriage plans."
I pursed my lips, unsure what to say, and unwilling to meet the boy's eyes, I kept my eyes fixed on my notes.
"I know—knew—Hugh," Jack continued. "He was too optimistic for anything like what they say he did."
Mrs. Kelly broke in. "He has been a friend to the boys for years. They looked up to him when they were small."
"He taught me half of what I know," said Jack. "Fishing, tying knots, swimming, when to go mushroom hunting (and which ones not to eat), how to spot poison ivy.... You get the picture." Jack gave a sad smile. "The point is, Hugh was like an older brother to me, and when I say he would never kill himself, that's God's truth, no question about it."
"Holmes and I agree with you," I said before I could stop myself. Holmes had not told me what information I should and should not disclose, but it was too late now to wonder.
"What's Mr. Holmes found?" asked Jack, leaning forward with interest.
I hesitated for a long moment, but then for better or worse, I decided to trust them. "This information is not to leave this room, but Holmes found a bit of cloth caught on the house, from a green tie, the colour of which matched none of Hieman's clothing, and must have snagged there shortly after his fall."
Kelly frowned. "The lad was killed, then? But how? And moreover, why?"
"Yes, we strongly suspect murder," I said. "As for why, I don't have the faintest idea, but the how is a little more definite. He likely was pushed or even thrown out of an upper-story window by someone skilled at moving unseen and unheard."
Jack spoke. "Like a burglar? Perhaps the same man who stole from the Blombergs?"
"Or an assassin?" asked Mrs. Kelly.
Her husband and son glanced at her in surprise and she coloured a little.
"Perhaps," I conceded. "At this point, it is difficult to say."
We lapsed into silence for a moment, and I saw a shadow pass over Jack's youthful countenance. "Sorry. It's just...talking about it in this way, I—" He dashed away a tear. "Good luck, Dr. Watson. Find the man who killed my friend."
"I promise I will do everything in my power," I replied.
Kelly walked with me to the front door. "If me or mine can be of any help to you and your detective friend, let me know, all right?"
"I shall bear that in mind," I replied, and shook his hand once more. "Thank you." We may need someone able-bodied on our side, I thought as I left. It was difficult to say whether we would have much help from Sheriff Sweet or Marshall Reagan.