Page 48 - 1969

THE WINTHROP MYSTERY
The print in blood o f a naked foot could be traced through
the streets of a small English town.
“Incredible, Holmes. A type o f footprint eh?”
“And from the print I deducted two clues. One, from the size
and width o f the print, I estimated the chap was of exceptional
height. Around six foot five or six. After examining the print
closely, I discovered marks of a wound. A huge wound which
presumably caused the blood.
“Remarkable, Holmes. But how did you tie this chap in with
the murders of William Winthrop and his brother Edward?”
“Simple, Watson. I went to the scene o f William’s murder,
the woods outside o f Bakersville. From the footprints there
seemed to be a struggle between one small man and one tall
man. Then I went to where Edward was killed, his room at the
Winthrop Mansion. There were no signs of a struggle, but I did
find a piece of Edward’s clothing. His blood-stained white
handkerchief. Then Watson. I noticed the blood on the
handkerchief was two days old. The blood was a day older than
Edward’s death. I then asked Edward's wife if he had any
noticeable marks on his body.”
“Yes, she said. “A gash on his foot from about three months
ago. It was still fresh and constantly opening. The bleeding was
terrible.”
“I then went to the morgue and looked at Edward’s corpse.
There was no gash on his foot, Watson. There was no gash on
his foot.”
“So you mean?”
“Exactly Watson. The man in the morgue is not Edward
Winthrop. It is a man his height. His face is so badly mutilated
that I couldn’t tell who he was. He has Edward’s clothes on,
and his ring and wallet.”
“But now where, Holmes?”
“Liverpool, Watson. We may be in time to save a woman’s
life.”
When at Liverpool, Holmes and Watson went to the
residence of Miss Gracie Winthrop. When Holmes knocks at
the door a beautiful young lady answers.
“Hello, Miss Winthrop?”
“Yes, What can I do for you?”
“My name is Sherlock Holmes, your life is in danger.”
“I don’t believe it Mr. Holmes, I just don’t believe it.”
“Well, if you do what I say, you will be all right.”
“All right.”
Later that night when Holmes and his friend are to-gether.
Holmes turns to his friend and asks.
“Is the dummy all set Watson?”
Yes. Wait, I hear someone.”
“Quick, hide Watson.”
A huge man comes in through the window left open. He
pauses then walks over to the bed . . .
“Quick open the lights Watson.”
At that, five policemen jump on the man. He struggles, but is
unable to move.
“Proof enough Inspector?”
“Certainly Holmes. Take him away.”
Back at Mr. Holmes apartment on Baker Street.
“Holmes, I am altogether confused. I wish you would
explain it to me.”
“Certainly Watson, when I found out that the man in the
morgue was not Edward Winthrop. I knew what Edward had
done. He killed a man o f his own height, dressed him in his
own clothes, mutilated his face so that no one could recognize
him, and placed him on the bed. He then hid for days and then
killed his brother William.”
“But what was his motive Holmes?”
“Well you see Watson, the Winthrops are a very rich family.
When the father died, he left his entire estate to the eldest son
William. If William died, the entire estate would go to the
youngest, Edward. So after he killed William, all he had to do
was to kill Gracie and the Winthrop’s riches would be his.”
“But why then Holmes, did he replace himself with the man
in order to make people believe he was dead?”
“Well Watson, with his sister and brother dead he would
obviously be the murderer, but if all three were dead the estate
would belong to nobody. I told the Inspector to look in
Edward’s pocket and see if he could find the key. He did. For
you see Watson, this was the key William Winthrop had. It was
the key to the room containing all the Winthrop’s money.
Edward took the key from William when he killed him. He
kept it around his neck so Edward could not have taken it until
after he had killed him. Then Edward planned to steal the
riches and flee to South America.”
“Fascinating Holmes. An incredible piece of deduction.”
“Elementary my dear Watson . . .”
Lorenzo Mariani, Senior III
Once in everyone’s life there is a need to write someone with
experience to solve his problem. Many newspapers and
magazines feature special authorities who publish answers to
the questions written to them by the public. Today, I wish to
present you with one of the letters sent to Ann Landers of
Newsday.
Recently, Ann received a letter from a man who had just
gone to one of his favorite plays. Apparently, a lady with a
two-foot hairdo had obstructed his view. Leaning over to tap
the lady, his hand brushed against her hair. Suddenly, the
lady’s hair toppled onto the floor. She turned around, her face
contorted grotesquely. Her heart was full of wrath as she gave
the man a reproachful look. He slinked back into his seat with
a convulsed face and frantic eyes. The woman's venomous eyes
centered on his pallid face. With every nerve twanging
discordantly in his body, the man became sick and vomited. As
one can imagine, the scene was quite dramatic. The man, who
called himself Judge, asked Ann what he should have done.
Using her great finesse in writing, Miss Landers replied.
“Always stay very calm in situations like that one. But still,
bring along a paper bag.”
Jimmy Luttrell, Senior II
My wife had been nagging me for years, saying that I was
overweight. I never really paid any attention to her until a
YMCA was built a block away from our apartment. There was
no way to get around her now! "Warren, you listen to me! You
don’t get enough exercise in this apartment. You go right down
there and join one o f those groups!”
It was useless, no matter what I said. She insisted I go; it
soon became the topic for an argument over dinner! “Now, you
listen to me, Mabel, I ain’t dat fat!”
Well, I soon was standing with twenty or so other suckers in
our “shorty” shorts. There was one man who got on my nerves.
He slouched horribly, letting his tail-end droop at will. He
always sat in the back snoring and later came to me to ask
what we were supposed to do. I began to dread him so much
that I became shy and ran to hide behind the others when I
saw him approaching me. I soon had to go to this place every
week; it was torture to me. I dreaded every Thursday, not be­
cause o f the workouts, but because this particular man was
always there. One day there was no where to go to escape
him, except behind him to the teacher. I deftly slipped
through his legs, tripping him, fortunately for me. The man
groaned but soon leaped up with his springy hind quarters
and was after me!
Ha, ha — those were the days (pause); you know, they say
you can’t teach an old man new tricks. I suppose that if I saw
him today. I’d run just as I did then, although I’m a bit
slimmer if I do say so myself. Awk! There he is. just as springy
as ever! Where can I go. where can I hide?
Anne Bradley. Senior II