The Clock was Wrong

Sherlock Gnomes cracks a case. Contest entry.

“Egad Gnomes, what do you make of it?”

Sherlock Gnomes tugged thoughtfully on his beard as he contemplated the scene in the baron’s study. It was a well-appointed room with oak furniture, shelves of books lining the walls, and a large mahogany desk. The effect was somewhat marred by the body of the baron laying face down in the middle of the floor next to an overturned table, a knife in his back and oddly enough, one of his feet missing.

“The missing foot does make this case unique, Elfson,” he said to his half-elven companion. “There is a particular sect of assassins that cuts off one foot of their victims. It’s a sort of game they play with each other, to see who can collect the most feet.”

“A game? You mean…”

“Yes Elfson, the game’s a foot.”

“Extraordinary!”

“Still, we should not jump to conclusions,” Gnomes said, as he carefully picked up the smashed clock that had fallen off the table. It was a clock that used weights to keep the time, and the hands were at 7:30.

“Looks like we know the time the crime was committed,” said Elfson. Then he pointed to the open window behind the baron’s desk. “We also know how the killer made his escape.”

“Yes, except…hmmm.” Gnomes set the clock upright on the desk and spent several minutes contemplating it. Then he picked up a lit candelabra and spent a few minutes examining the bushes under the window.

“Interesting,” he finally said. “Let’s have a chat with the butler.”

They went into the sitting room next door. The butler was sitting in an armchair. He was trembling and his face was pale.

“What time did you bring the baron his tea?” Gnomes asked.

“At seven o’clock sir. The baron always took his tea at seven o'clock. Oh, this is dreadful.”

“Did he seem normal to you? Was he agitated in any way?”

“Well, yes and no sir. He was agitated about his nephew Gerold, but for him that was normal.”

“Why was that normal?”

“Well, I don’t like to speak out of turn sir, but his nephew is…difficult. The baron considered him to be a wastrel. He was always getting into debt because of his gambling and…well, attraction to the opposite sex. The baron said he was tired of bailing him out and was planning to cut him out of his will.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes sir, but the baron was always making threats like that. He never followed through.”

“Perhaps this time was different. What time did you find the body?”

“At nine o’clock sir. The baron always took a glass of sherry at nine.”

“Did anyone else come in the room after you?”

“Yes sir, Gerold came rushing in along with two of the maids. They screamed and looked to be fainting, but Gerold took charge. He ushered everyone out and forbade anyone else from coming in the room until the authorities were summoned.”

“Quite right. Tell me, does Gerold have an occupation?”

“He’s a student at university, sir. He does get good grades, when he applies himself.”

“Where is he now?”

“I believe he’s down in the game room sir, with two of his lady friends.”

“I think we’d best go have a talk with him.” Gnomes and Elfson headed out the door and down the hallway to the game room.

“Do you think the butler could be involved?” Elfson asked.

“You mean, do I think the butler did it? That seems unlikely. Not to mention cliché.”

They entered the game room to find Gerold lounging on a couch, his two companions sitting on either side. Both women seemed agitated, and he had his arms around them and was speaking soothingly. He stood when Gnomes and Elfson entered.

“Well, Sherlock Gnomes, the famous detective,” he said with an upper-class drawl. “I imagine this case will be solved quickly.”

“I hope so,” said Gnomes. “Tell me, where were the three of you between seven and nine tonight?”

“Why, right here,” he said. “We were playing canasta and finished just after eight. I distinctly remember the clock on the mantle chiming. Then the ladies went to freshen up, and I poured myself another drink and waited for them.”

“Do I take it you were here alone?”

“Yes.”

“So, nobody can verify your story?”

“No, but surely you don’t think it was me? You did notice his foot was missing? There is a sect of assassins…”

“Yes, I’m familiar with them. I’m surprised that you are as well.”

“I study a lot of interesting things at the university.”

“I see. Yes, it could be them, but there are a few problems with that theory. One of which is how they managed to exit the house without being seen.”

“Well, surely they went through the open window in the study.”

“Except they didn’t. I examined the bushes right outside, and they were undisturbed. Nobody went through them. There was also a clock that was smashed on the floor, with the time set at seven thirty.”

“Well, there you are,” he said, a relieved smile on his face. “I was down here at seven thirty.”

“Except the clock was wrong.”

“Beg pardon?”

“The hands said seven thirty, but the position of the weights indicated a full hour had passed. You went into the study to ask your uncle for more money, and he refused. In a rage, you stabbed him, then set the clock hands and smashed the clock. You then cut off his foot to throw off suspicion, and no doubt threw it outside somewhere, and went back to the game room.”

Gerald’s face went from smug to pale. Then he bolted for the door. Elfson was too quick and tackled him to the ground.

“Gnomes, that was extraordinary!”

“It’s all a mater of digesting the clues and coming to the correct conclusion. Digestion is everything.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, it’s alimentary, my dear Elfson.”