Holmes was quick to pick up the baton. “Chief Inspector, I would be grateful if you could furnish me with some basic facts about the inhabitants of the house. I profess, I have never heard of Trimingham Manor.”

The Chief Inspector nodded. “That does not surprise me, Mr Holmes. The house was restored only a few years back, when it was bought by David Harker, a wealthy gem dealer. He and his wife and child moved into the property in 1921 having previously lived in Holland. Sadly, both of the adults died earlier this year in a mining accident in South Africa, leaving their six-year-old son Gerald as the heir to the estate. It seems that Barrington Henshaw - legal advisor to the late David Harker - had been appointed as both the executor of his client’s will and the legal guardian of young Gerald. Harker had left clear instructions that Henshaw was to find a good boarding school for the boy and to appoint a suitable personal valet for him at the earliest opportunity, to mentor his son during the school holidays when he returned home to the manor.”

“The missing valet you referred to, I suppose?” said I.

“Yes, Doctor. Heinz Descartes was appointed in May this year. He had previously worked as some sort of butler at a French chateau, but hails originally from Hamburg. And by all accounts he was well-liked by young Harker and the two other inhabitants of the manor, Reggie and Elizabeth Dawson, gardener and housekeeper respectively. They had some admiration for the valet, who was described as being no older than about twenty-five years of age. He had doted on Gerald and, within a matter of weeks, they had seen a positive response from the boy, who once more had a smile on his face and was positive about the prospect of going off to boarding school.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, perhaps we can return to Descartes a little later. What was your view of the Dawsons, Wattisfield?”

“Solid, dependable, working folk, Mr Holmes - came to work for Mr Harker with impeccable credentials. They had previously completed twenty years’ unblemished service at the vicarage in Shalford, less than three miles from Trimingham. A couple in their mid-seventies, with three grown-up children, who are said to have been devastated by the loss of the Harkers and who have, according to the few neighbours that knew of the family, acted like grandparents to the boy. None too keen on the solicitor, Henshaw, though...”

“Really?” Holmes was quick to interpose. “So, what do we know about the dead man, I take it that he didn’t live at the manor?”

“No, his legal practice was in Guildford and he originally acted for David Harker in the purchase of Trimingham. Lived in the village of Chilworth, a stone’s throw from the manor and was well-known among the local hunting and shooting fraternity. Reggie Dawson suggested that Henshaw was a bit of a social climber. He was forty-two and engaged to be married to Verity Ainsworth, the wealthy and well-connected daughter of a local squire. With the appointment of the new valet, he had been spending less and less time at the house. But this morning he had arrived just before breakfast and came in through the back entrance.”

“Something, I take it, that he hadn’t done before, Wattisfield?” queried Holmes.

“Indeed. Mrs Dawson had just served Heinz Descartes a cooked breakfast and had earlier packed up a few sandwiches for Gerald Harker, who had gone off early by taxi to visit the new boarding school in Guildford which Mr Henshaw had arranged for him to attend. She was surprised to see Henshaw entering the back door to the kitchen with a briefcase, as it was his usual practice to drive up to the front entrance and enter the main door of the manor. He seemed flustered on seeing Mrs Dawson and asked hurriedly if he could join Mr Descartes for breakfast, having been told that the valet was still in the dining room, but planning to go out for a walk later that morning.”

“And where was Mr Dawson at this time?” I enquired eager to know the whereabouts of all the key players.

“He had gone with Gerald to the boarding school. While Heinz Descartes had initially thought that he would accompany the boy in the taxi, Barrington Henshaw had asked specifically for Reggie Dawson to go with him, as he felt that the gardener’s fatherly instincts might be better suited to the task.”

“Well. We must now turn to the death itself, my good man. Perhaps you could outline the key facts as you see them?” asked Holmes.

The detective was keen to oblige and opened up his pocket book. “The room in question was used as a ground floor study by the late David Harker. Since his death, it has been kept locked, with Henshaw retaining the only key. The solicitor insisted on keeping the curtains to the room closed and would not allow anyone to enter the study. When he visited the manor he treated the room as his own, working at the desk and tapping away on a small typewriter he had brought with him from his office in Guildford. Mrs Dawson was not even permitted to clean the room.”

“Very suggestive,” mused Holmes, before nodding to encourage Wattisfield to continue with his narrative.

“At around eight-fifteen this morning, as Mrs Dawson was washing up the breakfast plates and cutlery, she heard the front door of the manor bang shut. Having come out into the hallway, she then watched through a window as Heinz Descartes ran off down the drive carrying a rucksack. At the time, she thought only that he must have been in a desperate hurry to get out for his walk, but was surprised, as she thought he had already left the house a short while earlier. She then remembered that she had not seen or heard Barrington Henshaw depart, so walked across to the door of the study and knocked as she always did when he was working. Getting no response, she tried the handle and found the door to be locked. By her own admission, she then knelt down and looked through the keyhole...”

I stifled a laugh at this point, bemused by the actions of the indomitable Mrs Dawson, as Holmes cast a disparaging glance in my direction. “Please carry on, Wattisfield, this is most enlightening,” he intoned.

“...She realised that there was a light on in the room and was greeted with a dreadful sight. Through the spyhole she could see Henshaw lying on his back on the plush carpet, his feet pointed in her direction and his head close to the grate of the fireplace. She could also see a large pool of blood welled within the grate. Being alone and fearing the worst, she could see no way of breaking down the heavy oak door, so used the telephone in the hallway to call for both the police and an ambulance. A local constable arrived at the scene some fifteen minutes later, followed closely by an ambulance crew. Between them they used what tools they could find to take the door off its hinges and gain entry to the room.”

Holmes cut in at this point. “And you said earlier that no key could be found?”

“That is correct. No key in the door or anywhere in the room, which suggests that it must have been locked from the outside. The local constable also did a quick search of Heinz Descartes’ bedroom and was unable to find any such key.”

Holmes responded a tad impatiently. “Quite so, Wattisfield. But what of this local constable? I trust he didn’t start rearranging the furniture or tampering with the contents of either room?”

Wattisfield managed a strained smile. “You do not appear to have much faith in the modern police service, Mr Holmes. In point of fact, PC Curtis’ conduct was exemplary. Having realised what he was dealing with, the young officer took every step to preserve the scene. His telephone call back to Surrey Police Headquarters prompted a request for Scotland Yard to be called in to assist. When I arrived at the manor close to midday, I found the diligent officer guarding the open entrance to the study.”

“Splendid! My sincere apologies, Chief Inspector - you must realise that I have infrequent contact with many rural forces these days. I recognise that the police service must have moved on in leaps and bounds since the old days when Watson and I would often have cause to comment on the ineptitude of many a uniformed officer.”