Bumbershoot

At the time, I, Professor Thelonius Sneed, was living at 1015 Washington Street, New York City in the year 1935.  I lived in a quaint town-house with my peculiar and dearest friend, Amadeus Bumbershoot.  He was not like most men. He had a keen eye, a mind like a steel trap, and a most precise and critical thought process. He was particularly good at pettifogging. This was what made him the most intelligent and brilliant person in his field; really the only person in his field, for he was a forensic detective. 

It was chilly that October night when I came home from the university. I came in the door, set down my thing, and quickly looked at the clock; 7:03. I went upstairs to find Amadeus. He was in his disarrayed study pacing back and forth, mumbling things to himself and holding a small cream colored envelope in one hand. So I decided to sit down on the old leather couch across from the fireplace and pour myself some whiskey. I stared at him for a few minutes trying to figure out what was going on in his head. His wavy dark brown hair was combed back and his green eyes were darting back and forth. He was a handsome man; tall, slender, tan, with a very dignified silhouette. When he was thinking  his strong jaw would move up and down slowly biting his lip, and his foot would tap on the ground as if he was counting time to a classical piece. When he was thinking, I knew it could be quite a while until he acknowledged me. I knew I could not leave, for if I got up he would tell me to sit down for a minute until his thoughts were completed. I was just about to pick up the evening paper from on top of the coffee table next to the cold cup of tea, which Amadeus had undoubtedly set down when he opened the letter he possessed, when the phone rang. He did not seem to care about it being so submerged in his thoughts, so I picked it up. 

“Hello? Is this Professor Thelonius Sneed?” asked the voice of a high-pitched woman on the other end of the phone.

“It is. Who might I be speaking to?” I replied.

“This is Victoria Morgan, James Morgan’s wife. We met at the university banquet last May.”

“Oh yes, Victoria, how may I be of service?”

“I was wondering if you are still working with Mr. Bumbershoot? It is very urgent that I speak with him.”

With that, the phone was seized out of my hand by Amadeus.

“He is indeed. I am Mr. Bumbershoot,” said Amadeus.

I heard the phone light up with activity on the other end. Multiple voices and loud sirens coming through the receiver. 

“I see. We will be right over. Do not move or touch anything,” commanded Amadeus sharply, as he quickly hung up the phone and started to gather his things. 

“Would you mind telling me what that was all about and where we are going?” I asked, quite exasperated. 

“Mr. Morgan may have been killed,” he said plainly.

“How awful! How did it happen?” I replied in shock.

“Do you think she knew if she were calling us?”

“I suppose not. You said may have been killed? But what did Victoria say?”

“That she came down from the wash room from taking a bath and found a large pool of blood in his office. In the center of the pooled blood lay one severed finger.”

“What happened to the rest of the body?”

“She has no idea. She has already called the police. They had just arrived when I got on the phone, which is why it is of the utmost importance, that we hurry. They always muddle things up.”

With that he buckled his bag, threw on his navy blue trench coat, and whisked down the old creaky wooden stairs. I set off after him, scrambling my things together and bounding out the door. 

“Oh, come on Thelonius. Stop your dawdling. You are practically lethargic. We need to go.” scolded Amadeus in a harsh tone as he honked the horn quite ferociously. I hopped into the car, and we sped off in the direction of the Morgan estate. 

“So tell me more about this Morgan fellow,” said Amadeus with the cool night air gusting through his wavy hair. 

“Well, he is a considerably wealthy, charismatic man who has contributed a sizable amount of money to the university. He made his money from oil, gasoline, and has built a few railroads. He is one of the most wealthy men on the east coast.”

“Ah, so money is a motive  I would like to assume, or is a motive the culprit would like us to assume, but we shall not assume! For assuming without fact is like being led by a blind man.”

“That is very wise, I guess, but I very much doubt that it has nothing to do with money.”

“Ah, look, we are here,” said Amadeus as we pulled into the long drive buzzing with police and reporter. We parked the car and hustled inside. 

“Oh, Detective, Professor, I’m so glad you could arrive so soon!” exclaimed an older woman with a charming and saddened voice. She was small in stature, with thin features and white hair, styled in an elegant curled updo. It was evident that she had been crying, and she held a small silk and lace handkerchief. 

“Of course, Madam, Victoria, if I’m not mistaken,” said Bumbershoot as she nodded her head and he leaned over and kissed her hand. “Will you show us to the office?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied and bustled her way down the large marble hall that was exquisitely decorated and designed. She led us  into a large room with a dark wooden floor and a large polished wooden desk, placed right in front of the large windows looking out over the garden. There, next to the desk, was a sizable pool of dark red blood seeping into the floorboards. In the middle of the pool there was one long severed finger with a ring on it.

“Thank you, Madam,” Bumbershoot replied as he ushered her out the door. The room was warm in temperature, for the fireplace was burning on the right side of the room. On the other side of the room there was a large bookshelf spanning the whole length of the wall. The wall where you entered the room had a large couch with fine wood detailing and deep emerald green cushions with gold stitching. There was also a tall wooden table with a gramophone and a tray holding expensive liquor and intricate drinking glasses. In front of it a large patterned rug was sprawled out along the floor. Already in the room were two police officers examining the pool of blood and the finger. 

“I assume you have heard my instruction to not touch anything?” asked Bumbershoot.

“Yes, we heard,” replied the older, portly, mustached officer as he gave a little smile. “It is good to know that this case is in good hands. It is good to see you, old friend.”

“Andrew, good to see you! Thelonius. this is my old friend, Captain Andrew Bentley. Captain this is Professor Thelonius Sneed,” said Bumbershoot “He and I go back to when the war started. We were both deployed in the same platoon, and that is also where I found my love for detective work.” He gave the captain a little wink. 

“We will leave it to you then,” said the Captain, as he and the other officer walked out of the room. 

“What can we observe, Thelonius?” asked Bumbershoot, squinting at the pool of blood. He observed every little detail; his eyes darting around the room.

“Well, first off, there doesn’t seem to be any struggle nor any blood splatter. Everything is neat and organized,” I stated and looked back at Amadeus who was rifling through papers on the desk.

“Yes. Very observant. What can you tell me about the finger?” he replied, mumbling something inaudible under his breath. I gave a quick pause, trying to make out what he was saying. “Continue,” he stated, continuing his search.

“Well, it does have a ring on it. So quite possibly it is the ring finger, and it is unmistakably a man’s finger. You can tell by how long, hairy, and defined it is.”

“Precisely, so a man’s ring finger. What does that ring signify?”

“Well, supposing that it is a wedding ring, it is a symbol of devotion and an agreement between two people to love, bond, and highly value each other forever.”

“Since it has been cut off, we can be inclined to think that this is a symbol that the ‘bond’ has been broken or is intended to be broken.”

“Very insightful,” I responded, quite impressed that he’d gotten all of that from a finger. He leaned over and brushed his finger through the blood. 

“Ah, still warm,” he murmured quite intrigued. “At what time did we receive the call, Thelonius?”

“It must have been about a quarter after seven, I presume. I came in the door at 7:03.” At this he reached into his coat and pulled out his pocket watch.

“Ah, 7:38, approximately twenty eight minutes since the blood and finger were discovered. Since the blood is still faintly warm, the blood must have been expelled right before it was discovered.”At this he strode out of the office and down the hall. I made off behind him, inaudibly groaning, not knowing what he was up to. When I caught up he was talking to Mrs. Morgan in the foyer.

“Madam, who all resides in this household?” inquired Bumbershoot with one slightly raised wiry brown eyebrow.

“Well, our son David, his wife Annabelle, their one year old son, William, my father-in-law Theodore, Francis the housekeeper, Eliza the maid, Maggie the cook, Beatrix the nanny, Alfred Tompkin the butler, and our nephew Jonathan and his fiancé Bianca from Austria,”she said and sighed.

“Has anyone left the house tonight? Besides the two officers that is,” questioned Bumbershoot. 

She gasped and backed up, “Why? Do you think someone in our household, his own family would have done this to him?” Amadeus was just about to answer when we heard a loud scream. The cook came running out of the dining room, the tip tap of her heeled shoes banging into the cold marble floor. She fled past us to the front door and extended her hand toward the door handle. She pulled down the handle and pulled on the door. The door shook but did not open. Bumbershoot and I looked at each other and made our way swiftly towards the door. 

“Buggar! We are locked in!” I exclaimed and looked back at Mrs.Morgan.

“Madam, do you still think that your household has nothing to do with this?” pressured Bumbershoot as he lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows. “If you don’t mind gathering everyone here as quickly as possible and getting the key for the door.” She nodded and made off with great speed. He turned to the cook, “Maggie, if I’m not mistaken?” She nodded and stared at the ground. “What made you scream?” He pointed in the direction of the dining room.

She stuttered out, “A-a-a  b-body in the dining room.” By this time the household was gathered —all except Theodore, for he was quite old and was already sleeping and had missed all the commotion— and they all looked back and forth at each other in horror and suspicion.

“The key, Madam?” I asked and gestured to Mrs.Morgan, for Bumbershoot was still studying the faces of the household. She looked at me and pulled out a long brass skeleton key with an engraved handle and a sharp point on the end. I could tell it was old, for the metal was turning slightly red from the oxidization. She placed it in my outstretched palm and frowned.

“You will keep that on your person until instructed,”said Bumbershoot as he gave me a nod. I placed it in my suit coat pocket and patted it in place.

“So you are just going to keep us in here with the murderer?” exclaimed a handsome, slender woman with a round mole right under her left eye. Her hair was perfectly curled and styled not a hair out of place, her lips were of deep red, and her eyes were a solid amber gold color.  Her voice was smooth and accented, I presumed this was probably the soon to be niece, for Mrs. Morgan said she was from Austria.

Bumbershoot glanced at the woman, gave a slight chuckle, and replied, “Well, until we know who it is, yes.” They all gasped, and the woman was quite offended. “Well, let's all go to the dining room.” Obligated now, we all trotted after Bumbershoot.

When we got into the dining room, there was the limp, torpid body face down on the dining room table with a small cream colored envelope lying right next to the body. Bumbershoot walked forward and picked up the envelope. 

Bumbershoot eyed the letter and snatched it up, “Thelonius, I received an envelope just like this in the evening post,” he said in a soft, perplexed tone.

“Is the letter that you were mumbling about back in the study?” I questioned and glanced over at him. He was reading the letter. His brow was moving up and down. He started biting his lip and tapping his foot. He handed me the letter. It read:

        Dearest Nephew,

I have been pondering many things as of late. You are such a comfort to me. A better son than my own. David has been philandering about, having non marital relations, gambling, and living a life of leisure without any restraint. I have decided to cut him out of my will and his inheritance. As such I do not have an heir, so I will be passing down my wealth to you and your newly sprouting family. I will be having a meeting in a few days to change my will. You remind me of young me. A hard worker and a man of great opportunity. I do so cherish you and all you have done for me, from running part of my business to being such a joy in my life. 

        Sincerely, Yours,

Uncle James.

“A motive?” I quietly asked skeptically and fixed my gaze back on Amadeus. He was still fidgeting.

“Possibly, possibly,” he muttered under his breath. He grasped the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Sneed, would you mind bringing the household to the the lounge and keeping them in there for a time?” I escorted the members of the household-- except Theodore who was apparently a very sound sleeper or maybe dead-- household down the hall and into the lounge. I locked the door with the key in my pocket and returned to the dining room. Bumbershoot had gotten his bag from the hall and was preparing for a full workup of the corpse. He had already turned the body over and had his long white examination gloves on. “Thelonius, would you please confirm this is Mr. Morgan?” I eyed the cold, lifeless body. It was indeed Mr. Morgan, even dead he had a charismatic way about him.

“Yes, it is him,” I gravely replied. Amadeus nodded and went about his work looking for clues.

“The letter I received tonight was from him,” he said casually. I gawked at him for a few moments.

“And you thought of telling me this now?” I blurted out.

“Well, we can’t discuss things like that in front of the family, now can we?” he replied in an almost sarcastic tone, his eyes glistening and mouth curling upward.

“No, we mustn’t, but you could have mentioned it on our way over here,” I said in exasperation.

“I could have,” he said plainly grinning once more, “but that takes all the fun out of it.”

“Well, what did the letter say then?”

“Oh, Mr. Morgan's letter to me was about meeting me tomorrow at 12:00. He wanted to get my help in investigating his son and where large portions of his money has gone. He had told me that he was thinking about taking his son David out of his inheritance completely, but he needed some raw evidence first.” he said rather placidly.

“Oh! Well, we know that now from the other letter you found from Morgan to his nephew,” I replied quite pleased with how this was playing out. “I would assume that if David found out about this he would be quite angry. Quite enough so that he might kill to keep his inheritance.”

“Possibly, except for the fact that the second letter that I possess right now is not written by Mr. James Morgan,” Bumbershoot added and smiled even more and continued with his search for clues.

I gasped, “How can you be so sure?”

“Mr. James Morgan always ends his last sentence in his letters with two periods. I noticed that right away when I got my letter in the post, and it was the first thing I checked when I came to his office.”

“Very peculiar,” I noted as I gave a little grin and tilted my head to the side. “So it wouldn’t be the son planting evidence against himself, would it?”

“No, no, it would not,” Bumbershoot replied. “Look at this, Thelonius. What would you make of it?” It was a very evident, shallow, yet gruesome cut from one side of his throat to the other. 

“Well, I would say someone split his throat with a blade of some sort. Definitely the cause of death and why there was so much blood on the floor in the office.”

“This cut all four jugular veins, which is why there was so much blood loss.” At this I cringed and wrinkled my nose a bit. “The angle at which the blade was used is pointing up towards his head instead of down or even to his neck meaning the murderer was shorter than Mr.Morgan, or he was sitting down and was cut from behind.” He said this as he demonstrated what it would have looked like on the corpse. 

“Most observant,” I said and gave him a wink. At that he stopped.

“Eyes!” he sputtered out and dove towards Mr.Morgan's head.

“I beg your pardon?” Is said, most bewildered.

“His eyes! When you winked it gave me a thought!” he said, and gently pulled back the corpse’s eyelids. There were those kind golden amber eyes that lit up when he smiled. Just then Bumbershoot lit up with a smile and grinned at me. I gave him an odd look. “I got it!” he exclaimed. 

“You’ve got what?” I stammered pursuing Bumbershoot who was already making his way toward the door.

“It will be revealed in a minute,” he said as he made way hastily toward the lounge. “Key?” he said when we reached the door and put out his hand. I fiddled it out of my suit coat and placed it in his outstretched palm. He then proceeded to unlock and open the large, dark, wooden door. 

“But you! Only you, David, have anything to gain from his death!” shouted Jonathan the nephew, who was barking at David sitting on the large leather ottoman. 

David had just stood up when Bumbershoot bellowed, “Incorrect!” and all eyes spun to look at Bumbershoot. “It is you, and, only you, who have all to gain,” he said as he pointed at Jonathan and Bianca. The entire room gasped and gaped at Bumbershoot.

“Please explain this preposterous accusation!” said Mrs. Morgan, quite provoked.

“I shall,” said Bumbershoot as he gave a slight nod towards her. “I had begun gathering clues to this accusation before the crime had even been committed. It began tonight at 7:00 when I had received the evening post. I had just poured myself a cup of tea when I sat down in my office to go through the mail. There in the stack of papers I saw a small, cream-colored envelope. This letter was from Mr. James Morgan asking for my professional help in investigating Mr. David Morgan.” At this the household gasped again, and this time all started staring at David. “He wanted to see what he had been up to and was considering withholding his inheritance.”

“A motive!” Jonathan exclaimed and eyed David.

“True, but this is not the piece of evidence that I was referring to with context to the letter. On the contrary, a motive proving David is innocent. For you would not place evidence against yourself, now would you ?” replied Bumbershoot as he stared down the nephew. “This piece of evidence is the double period in the closing statement of each and every letter Mr. Morgan has written for quite some time. I confirmed this as soon as I entered the office. Yet, the letter staged next to Mr. Morgan's dead body did not contain the double period. Quite an amateur mistake. ” At this Bianca glanced at Jonathan who's skin seemed to be writhing beneath him. This made Bumbershoot grin and continue on with his evidence. “This letter was written praising you, Mr. Jonathan, and apprehending Mr. David. It also stated that Mr. Morgan had made up his mind to remove David from the will. For in my letter it stated that he, meaning Mr. Morgan, wanted evidence before condemning his son. As for the murder weapon, I have it in my possession,” he said as he patted his pocket. “A key. A most unusual weapon, hard to identify. The weapon that cut Mr. Morgan's throat was a sharp pointed object, yet not too sharp, nor serrated. This is why the wound was so gruesome yet not deep. The skin had to be punctured then pulled and ripped for it to cut through his flesh and the jugular veins. Thus causing so much blood loss, some of which is still on the key. Some would overlook the reddish tint at the end of the key for rust. However, the key is clearly made out of brass, and brass and other non-coppery metals do not rust. As for the murderer, because the angle of the blade was cutting up toward his head, it means the wielder of the weapon was below him, cutting up. Thus meaning that the murderer was shorter than Mr. Morgan.”

“A woman?”questioned the bewildered housekeeper.

“Indeed,” replied Bumbershoot with a nod, “but this woman had an accomplice for no woman could move the body across the hall and hoist the body onto the table. Furthermore, the staged letter was written in a man's handwriting, for no woman has such heavy use of the stylus.”

“Well, how do you know who the murderers are? There are multiple men and women in this household,” asked the perplexed Mrs. Morgan who was becoming quite impatient.

“This I discovered when dearest Sneed winked at me and reminded me of something.” He paused and looked at Bianca, “Bianca and Mr. Morgan shared something in common. Their rare golden amber eyes, only passed down from father to offspring.” The entire room gasped and stared at Bianca, myself included. “This brings us back to the severed  ring finger! But why would a child kill her own father? Why was it a ring finger? Because! He betrayed her mother, his true love who, without his knowledge, was carrying his child, to stay engaged to a wealthy man's daughter and keep his newly promoted social status. She grew up poor and fatherless. Just think of what her life would have been like. How did young Jonathan get roped into this, you may ask? Bianca knew she must get close to Morgan and needed an accomplice to commit this crime, and who better than the pushed around, overworked nephew trying prove his worth? They knew they needed a plan to get the old Mr. James Morgan and the young Mr. David Morgan out of the way. And what better way than to kill Mr. Morgan and blame it on David? Then one will be dead and the other will be behind bars and no doubt disowned. This makes Jonathan seem like the son they never had. He would take over the family business and be the heir to the massive Morgan fortune. I assume that Bianca would have her fair share of the fortune.” 

There was a moment of petrifying silence while Bumbershoot stared the culprits down. Then Bianca stood up, made her way towards the bookshelf and grabbed a heavy metal bookend. She turned to look out the window. 

“Very, impressive detective, you still have no hard evidence against us,” Bianca said smoothly and then thrust the bookend into the window.

There was a forceful, resounding crash, and the window was broken. Bianca and Jonathan bounded out the window and made haste down the drive towards a car. Everyone stood up and were quite bewildered with the sight they were seeing.

“Shall we go after them?” I asked in haste.

Bumbershoot smiled. “No, I think Captain Bentley can take care of that,” he said cheekily and pointed down the drive at the police car parked right behind the shrubbery near the front gate. I smiled and we made our way to the door, just as Bianca and Jonathan were being escorted into the back of the police car. “All in a day's work. Well, let's be off then Sneed.” I nodded, and just like that, the case was closed and we were on our way back to 1015 Washington Street to await our next case.