ANOTHER CASE OF IDENTITY
"I say, Watson, why do you suppose all those policemen are milling around that house over there? I wonder what game might be afoot." Sherlock Holmes said to me as our hansom rattled along Oxford Street just past the intersection with Duke Street.
"I have no idea, Holmes." I admitted, "but, look, there is Lestrade among the gathered constabulary. We could ask him."
"Good idea, Watson. Pull up here, driver!"
"Very good, sir."
Sherlock Holmes and I threaded our way among the crowd of onlookers and Bobbies until we located our old associate, Inspector Lestrade.
"Well, Lestrade, what seems to be the trouble here? Why are all these folks gathered about?" Holmes asked.
"Oh, hello there, Mr. Holmes. A great tragedy has occurred here but nothing which would be of interest to you. Perhaps it is a matter more in Dr. Watson's line. There is a dead man, but it is clearly a case of suicide. The body is still here. Perhaps you would like to take a look at him, Dr. Watson."
Lestrade led us into the large, tastefully decorated foyer and indicated that we were to take the stairs to an upper floor. Just then a well dressed gentleman entered the foyer maneuvering his rather awkward wheelchair through the door leading to what appeared to be a drawing room.
"Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. This is Alexander Maxwell. It is Mr. Maxwell's brother, Bennington, who was the victim of the unfortunate . . . accident."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. Such a tragic affair. Poor Ben had been under a lot of strain lately. I'm afraid that I was a part of his trouble. You see, since the accident which left me in this state," Alexander Maxwell made a gesture with his head toward the wheelchair, "Ben has been my sole source of support, not to mention comfort. I don't know whatever I will do without him," Mr. Maxwell could not prevent his voice from breaking or his chin from quivering with emotion as he lamented his brother's passing and his own present plight, "all I have left is poor Bennington's insurance, but that won't last very long."
"Insurance?" asked Sherlock Holmes, "Life insurance ordinarily does not pay in the event of a . . . uh . . . self induced death."
"My brother's policy had a five year suicide exclusion. He has had the policy for almost eight years, now." Mr. Maxwell explained.
"I see," said Sherlock Holmes, "I see. Would it be possible for us to go upstairs now, Lestrade?"
As Inspector Lestrade led us upstairs, Sherlock Holmes stopped several times to examine the carpet which served as a stair runner.
"Very fine carpet, Watson, an unusually thick pile, don't you think?" Holmes observed and asked.
"Quite," I agreed without really knowing whether the carpet was unusual or not.
I was shocked when Lestrade lifted the cover from the dead man's face. "Holmes," I ejaculated, "it is the same man with whom we spoke downstairs!"
"Sorry, Doctor, " Lestrade interrupted with an explanation. "Didn't I mention that Alexander and Bennington Maxwell were not only brothers but identical twin brothers."
"My word!"
"Would you uncover the rest of the body, please, Lestrade?" Holmes asked.
After Lestrade lifted the cover, Holmes spent several minutes examining the body. He seemed particularly interested in the dead man's shoes.
"Where was the body found hanging?" Holmes asked of Lestrade. "Just here from this beam," the Inspector indicated.
"Who found the body?"
"Well, there was no one in the house except the two brothers. Mr. Alexander said that he saw his brother go upstairs, where, of course, he couldn't go himself because of his infirmity, and when Mr. Bennington didn't return for over two hours, Mr. Alexander became concerned. He called for his brother but got no answer. He then went to the front door and called a passing Bobby who actually went upstairs and found the body hanging from that beam."
"I see," Holmes mused, "may we go back downstairs now? I have seen all that I think important here."
As we passed the grieving Alexander Maxwell in the foyer, Holmes stopped for a moment to chat with him.
"I must say, Mr. Maxwell, you are a most fashionable dresser. Your shoes are among the most handsome I have seen. Have you had them long?"
"In spite of my infirmity, Mr. Holmes, I do try to keep my appearance respectable. These shoes? Why, now that you ask, my brother bought each of us an identical pair just a few weeks ago. They are relatively new."
"I see," was Holmes' noncommittal response.
As we left the house, Holmes excused himself for a few minutes and spoke with Lestrade quietly beside the front doorway.
"Dreadful business suicide," I commented when he joined me again.
"I couldn't agree more, Watson, suicide is a dreadful business, but I do not believe that such was the business in this house."
"Whatever do you mean?" I asked.
"I don't believe that Mr. Maxwell committed suicide. I believe that this house has been witness to murder. I have also advised Lestrade to have a police physician give the surviving Mr. Maxwell a through physical examination."
"My word, Holmes, whatever led you to that conclusion?"
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