Holmes, spry as usual, hopped on the roof and slowly circled the body. He was careful, even in my eyes, to not touch the horrible pool of blood. At one point he bent down and examined closely the dried puddle and the inverness cloaking the man.

“You will note, Watson. This man is not wearing his shirt or his shoes. He must have been undressing for the night when he saw or heard something to cause him to throw on trousers and a coat without waiting for shoes.” Holmes carefully lifted the cape edge and looked at the man’s undershirt. I thought I perceived a brownish stain but it was difficult from this distance to judge exactly and my leg would not allow me to go further.

Holmes pulled the policeman’s whistle Inspector Lestrade had given him once in a rare display of affection and blew three short blasts. We could hear the muffled stomp of feet on the wooden stairs below. “We shall let the police come to us rather than go to them, Watson. I would not exacerbate your poor leg for anything. You will find Inspector Conyers’ working style enlightening I’m sure.”

I looked hard at Holmes to see if he was laughing at my expense but he seemed to have a grim look about him. “Indeed Holmes?”

“If nothing else you will learn what not to do.”

There was nothing further to be said as the out of breathe uniformed police and Inspector Conyers arrived on the landing. Conyers bristled as he caught sight of me. “Where is he, Doctor Watson?”

I pointed through the opening. “We’ve found another body, Inspector Conyers”

“What have you touched? Holmes, what evidence have you destroyed?”

Holmes replied, “I have been careful to disturb nothing Inspector.” He backed against a chimney, quite at his leisure. “You might want to go back to the belfry and rest, Watson. I will join you later. We may be here some time.”

Conyers scowled. “You will join him sooner than that if you don’t stay out of our way, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

I left the two antagonists on the roof, one glaring fiercely and the other serene. My old wound might let me make it as far as the bench I had seen in the next level down.

It did not seem more than a few minutes before Holmes joined me. He stood in a corner and stared absent-minded at the dust on the floor. Smiling to himself, he nodded as if yes were the answer and walked to where I was sitting.

“Have you rested your leg enough to head back down my friend?”

I nodded my acquiescence and we headed down the stairs.

“What do you think of the matter, Watson?”

“I’m afraid it is quite beyond me Holmes. Unless the missing head is someone’s horrid idea of a joke or imitation of St. Alban’s story. I’ve really no clue. I can tell you, if he died up there it was some time ago. It takes more than a short period of time for that much blood to dry so completely.”

If the facts are as I suspect, Watson. That was the body of Deacon Fredricks. A ring with some type of masonic device on it rolled to the roof when the inspector turned the body.

Holmes remained silent on the subject as we descended the stairs. My leg was aching furiously over the strain it had been subjected to in the last few hours.

“With your permission, old chum, I’ll put you in a cab for home. I want to pursue a couple of ideas and you should really elevate that leg. I may need you tonight.”

I did not see Holmes that night nor was he home in time for breakfast the next morning. The papers were full of the St. Alban’s murders. It seems that Deacon Fredericks had gone out with a visitor the night before last and had not been seen alive since. The Deacon’s wife had identified the body by a scar on the right arm caused by a hunting accident years before. The head had not yet been found. So much for the papers.

But where was Holmes? I was beginning to worry, not because I believed he could not take care of himself. Both of the dead men were larger than he and there was someone loose who was extremely dangerous. If he was not back by noon I was going to Conyers and demand to know what had happened.

At a quarter 'til twelve I was standing at the window looking into the street. A youth clothed in rags was hurrying down the sidewalk opposite. Suddenly he dashed across the street and the bell at 221 pealed. What on earth. Belatedly, I remembered the Baker Street Irregulars. Surely this was one of them at our door. Perhaps he carried word from Holmes.

I waited at the head of the stairs and listened to the exclamations of Mrs. Hudson and a young voice loud, “message for Dr. Watson, Ma’am.” It was followed by pounding of rough boots upon the stairs and the dirty face of the boy called Stanley grinned up at me. “’Noon governor.” He touched his cap.

“Really, young Stanley. You should remove your hat indoors.”

“Whatever you say gov. I’ve brung a message from Mr. Holmes sir. He was right particular I was to hurry h’it right away. He gave me ‘alf-shilling, sir and says you was to give me the other ‘alf.”

I raised an eyebrow but fished in my pocket for the coin. “The note Stanley and then the coin.”

“Yes, gov.” Stanley handed over a folded half-sheet of foolscap somewhat grimy from his pocket. He flashed a wolfish grin, took the coin and was gone.

Finally, word from Holmes. I unfolded the foolscap to find an invitation to lunch at the pub behind St. Albans. Not one word about the case at hand. Holmes must have feared someone would intercept the note before it got to me.

I had an hour to dress and arrive at our meeting place. An hour to wonder what was going on. As Holmes would say, “there’s no use in speculating without any data.” All I had were the questions, not the first answer came to mind. All that and a cab to hail kept my brain busy.

Proceed to Part Seven