Dark Matter

A table covered with green felt occupied the centre of the room, beside a chair on which lay a fine beaver hat, and in the corner stood an uncomfortable-looking truckle bed which was the twin of the one on which I had slept at Gray’s Inn. Such is the life of a bachelor. On top of the table lay an egg, a sword, and several books much torn up, as if the reader had been piqued by the writer, which is a thing I have sometimes been tempted to do myself with a bad book.

“Have you admitted anyone else in here since you last saw Mister Mercer?” Newton enquired of Mrs. Allen.

“It’s strange you should ask that, sir,” said Mrs. Allen. “Last night, I awoke and thought I heard someone in here, but when I came to look to see if it was Mercer, there was no one. And the room looked as you see it now. Which was not at all as Mercer would have left it, for he is a most careful man in his habits, sir, and is very fond of his books, so he is. It is all most alarming and strange to me, sir.”

“Does the sword belong to Mister Mercer?” he asked.

“One sword looks much like another to me, sir,” said Mrs. Allen and, folding her arms as if she was afraid to touch it, stared at it most circumspectly. “But I reckon it’s Mercer’s right enough. His father’s sword, it was.”

“The green tablecloth. Do you recognise that?”

“Never seen it before in me life, sir. And Lord only knows what a goose egg is doing on the table. Mercer couldn’t abide the taste of eggs.”

“Do you lock your door at night, Mrs. Allen?”

“Always, sir. Southwark isn’t Chelsea yet.”

“And did Mister Mercer have a key?”

“Yes sir. But Mercer was never in the habit of lending it.”

“And was your door locked when you rose this morning?”

“Yes sir. So that I almost thought I must have dreamed I heard someone in here. And yet I am certain Mercer would not have torn up these books. These books were his chief enjoyment, sir.”

Newton nodded. “I wonder if I might trouble you for some water, Mrs. Allen?”

“Water, sir? You don’t want water, not on a cold morning like this one. It is too heavy to be good for the health and will give you the stone if you’re not careful. We can do better than that for gentlemen such as yourselves. Will you take some good Lambeth ale, sir?”

Newton said we would, and with great pleasure, although it remained plain to me that in asking for water his intention had only been to remove the woman from Mercer’s room so that he might search it. This he proceeded to do and all the while commented on the appearance of the room, which he found mighty interesting.

“The emerald table, egg, sword, without doubt this is another message,” he said.

The mention of the sword prompted me to pick it up and examine it with the same judicious care Newton himself might have brought to the matter. He himself drew open a small cabinet drawer and examined a box of candles while I brandished the rapier in the air as Mister Figg, my fencing master, had once taught me. “This is an Italian cup-hilted rapier,” I said. “Ivory grip. The hilt deep-cut and well-pierced and engraved with some scrolling foliage. The blade of the lozenge section signed by Solingen, although the bladesmith’s name is illegible.” I tried the edge against my thumb. “Sharp, too. I should say this is a gentleman’s sword.”

“Very good,” said Newton. “If Mrs. Allen had not told us the sword belonged to Mercer’s father, we should now know everything about it.”

Newton, who was still examining the candles thoughtfully, caught sight of my disappointment, and smiled at me. “Never mind, my dear young fellow. You have told us one thing. That Mercer had seen better days than is evident from his present circumstances.”

I waited for him to make some disclosure about the candles, but when he did not, my curiosity got the better of me, and I did look at them myself. “They are beeswax,” said I. “I would have expected tallow candles in Southwark. Mercer was not one for economy. Perhaps he had not lost a taste for better living.”

“You are improving all the time,” said Newton.

“But what do they signify? What is their meaning?”

“Their meaning?” Newton replaced the candles in the drawer and said, “They are for light.”

“Is that all?” I grumbled, seeing that he had mocked me.