My heart ceased beating as the crash resounded from the hall, accompanied by a woman's scream. I threw open the double doors and rushed into the hall, bracing myself for another scene of blood and horror. Thankfully, my fears were not wholly realized. At the bottom of the stairs knelt Brunton, gathering up the remains of the tea service. Miss Visovich stood beside him, staring at her hands and sobbing hysterically. Already I could see from the deepening red hue of her fingers that she had been burned, evidently by the scalding water from the teapot which even now lay overturned near the entry to the music room, its spilled contents still steaming upon the oaken floor. I was dimly aware of the presence of a number of the other musicians, who now stood in the doorway of the lounge, as I began treating the young woman's injury as best I could without the contents of my medical bag. I could see that the burns were painful but would heal well and not hamper her career, though it was clear she would be unable to participate in the rest of the competition. The diagnosis did much to calm the performer, though she was visibly upset at being unable to continue in the contest.

I finished my examination in time to see Holmes hand the teapot to the anxious butler. He then turned back to the musicians and bade them return to the lounge, including Miss Visovich. The performers retreated reluctantly, though Mr. Amberson stepped forward and offered his arm to the injured woman.

One of household maids appeared as Brunton took the tea tray back towards the kitchen. As she set about cleaning the water and sugar from the floor, Holmes beckoned me to follow him. He led me back into the music room, but once there we exited the room through some French doors which opened into a large garden. We walked in silence for some minutes, Holmes pausing briefly here and there to examine some small branch or leaf, until at last we found ourselves again beside the pond where we had first seen the body of the unfortunate Roseline Filiberto.

"It is a most trying case, Watson," said my friend at last, his eyes upon the placid surface of the water. "At every turn we are besieged by lies and half-truths. The moment I seem to grasp some element firmly, the thread slips through my fingers like so much smoke. There is a concerted effort to throw us off the scent; too many trails to follow obscure the true path. So we come again to the beginning." A sweep of his arm took in the whole of the landscape before us. "Let us see if we can once again catch the thread."

Shoulders hunched, chin sunken upon his chest, he began pacing slowly there beside the lily-strewn pond.

"The death of Miss Filiberto is the one murder that does not fit with the others. Hers is the only one which occurred outside of the house. She was attired for bed, whilst the others have been fully clothed. And of course, it was in conjunction with her murder that we discovered the sheets of musical code. Either she had it with her or the murderer did, but if the murderer, why carry the music about in anticipation of such a deed? Perhaps..." Holmes suddenly grew very still, his gaze focused somewhere far over the horizon.

"Why were these performers murdered?" he asked, still unmoving.
"In order to force Mr. Eideard to proclaim a false winner." I answered. My companion simply shook his head.

"No, Watson, for we already know that Mr. Eideard does not know who the winner is supposed to be. Without such knowledge, even the threat to his daughter is moot, much less that to his guests. The threat now serves only as an excuse to kill. Indeed, it is almost inconceivable that the kidnappers and murderers would not make it very clear as to who should win and certainly bears closer scrutiny. The question remains: Why these particular performers? Why Mr. Peshilka? Why Mlle. Lacroix? Why Miss Svoboda?" His voice grew more thoughtful with each name he spoke. "Beyond being performers, what is their connection to Mr. Eideard or to his daughter?"

"And why Miss Filiberto?" I asked. He turned then to me and his eyes held the stony promise of justice.
"The reason for Miss Filiberto's death is plain. She discovered the identity of the murderer and kidnapper, or rather the murderer thought he had been discovered." I could only stare at my friend in disbelief.

"Surely, Holmes, you cannot know that." A small, grim smile twitched the corners of his mouth.

"Consider, Watson. Performers tend towards nervous dispositions, and with two deaths having already occurred, is it so unlikely that Miss Filiberto would have trouble sleeping that night? She rises from bed in the middle of the night and, seeking solace from the sad events and to calm her mind, she makes her way to the main music room, avoiding the practice rooms as being the scenes of the earlier tragedies. She sits at the piano and begins to play. Perhaps the music awakens our murderer, or perhaps even he suffers a guilty conscience and cannot sleep. Miss Filiberto notices some unfamiliar music lying where Mr. Eideard left it. She takes it up and at once sees that it is very strange. Perhaps she even begins to decipher the code. Intrigued, she begins to play this new music."

Imagine, Watson!" Holmes said, his voice suddenly ringing with subdued excitement. "Imagine the thrill of terror our murderer must have felt when he recognized that tune? The nerve required to lie quietly and let this unknown person simply play! It proved too much. He goes to the room to satisfy his curiosity, and discovers Miss Filiberto at the keyboard. We cannot know what happened with any certainty, but she takes fright and, snatching up the music, flees from her attacker through the garden doors and into the night. In her fear, some of the sheets come loose and scatter across the grounds. The murderer catches her up here, beside the pond. The rest of the music falls into the water as the murderer grabs the lady, overpowers her and holds her head beneath the water until she drowns."

"Monstrous!" I exclaimed as he finished. "Do you really believe this could be so?"
"I noticed signs as we crossed the garden of at least one person moving through it with more speed than care; broken twigs, crushed leaves, and even a strand of hair which very likely matches that of Miss Filiberto. I admit that the scene I have painted may not be entirely accurate, as we do not know truly where the lady came across the music, but the outcome is the same."

I let the scene as Holmes described it play out in my mind as the detective turned towards the garden.

"Who do you suspect? Mr. Amberson? One of the others?" I asked at last, casting first one performer then another into the killer's role. My friend turned back to me, his features unreadable.

"There's the rub, Watson. But it may be worthwhile to ask ourselves this. Why would a musician deliberately burn her hands? Yes, Doctor, as astonishing as it may be, I distinctly saw her fingerprints upon the teapot and I can be certain they are hers as they were too delicate to belong to Brunton and any prints left by the kitchen staff would have been wiped off before a butler of Brunton's training would have served his master's guests. But look there, Doctor." He gestured behind me, towards the road and the rumbling carriage upon it. "Marbury's man has returned from 'The Laughing Fish' though little doubt the fish he landed is feeling far from jovial. Shall we see what Mr. Stockton has to say?" And with an inquisitive twitch of his brow, he turned once again towards the house.

Proceed to Part 14