The Case of the Builder's Bill

 "And so, Watson, the case of the builder's bill is closed," said Holmes,
as the door closed behind the recent visitor to our Baker Street lodgings. 
 "Good grief," exclaimed Dr Watson.  "How on earth can a beautiful, witty,
intelligent woman like that act in such an irrational way?  She comes to
you to ask your advice in dealing with this builder johnny and then
suddenly decides not to proceed with a cast-iron case.  The fellow is
obviously a bounder.  And her ex-husband, who let the place go to wrack
and ruin, off gallivanting in Spain."
 Sherlock Holmes lit a pipe.  "We are obviously dealing," he said, "with a
very clever criminal mind.  In all my years of criminal investigation I
have never met with a more dangerous and imperturbable customer than our
recent guest."
 "Good grief," said Dr Watson.  "You don't mean..."
 "Yes," said Holmes.  "Murder!"
 Dr Watson sat dumbfounded while his brilliant friend expounded the facts
behind the strange request for help that he had received.  Their visitor,
a distinguished and dignified lady ("One of the old school," as Dr Watson
had said to himself) had come to the eminent detective with the account of
a builder who had demanded an exorbitant fee for a minor piece of repair
work to one of her properties, let, at a nominal rent, to a single parent
family.  She was afraid to contest the bill because of the threat of
reprisals from the builder, who had hinted as underworld and gangland
connections.
 Holmes had immediately fastened onto the question of what exactly the
builder had done.  At first our visitor was vague.
 "Well, he said he would do whatever needed doing," she said.  "He did
some work to the roof and guttering."
 It emerged from Holmes' questioning that the builder had also renewed the
sash cords in the windows and also replaced the rotten floorboards in the
kitchen.
 "It's a clear-cut case," said Holmes.  "You had a contract with the
builder for `500 worth of works.  That's all you should pay.  If you get
another builder in to look at the job he will tell you what it's worth."
 "Thank you," replied our visitor.  "I really feel, now I've spoken to
you, that I've misjudged Mr Heppenstall.  I will pay him after all.  Thank
you for your help.  Goodbye."  And with that, out visitor left.
 "It's quite clear," continued Sherlock Holmes.  "Mrs Edwards has murdered
her husband."
 "But how on earth can you say that!" exclaimed Dr Watson.  That beautiful
woman - she wouldn't hurt a fly."
 "As usual, you think with your heart instead of your head," replied his
friend.  "The key fact in this case is the replacement of the sash cords. 
Why did Mrs Edwards replace the sash cords at Bristol Road?"
 "Because they were broken?" suggested Dr Watson.
 "Yes," said Holmes.  "And why were they broken?"
 "You mean..."
 "Yes.  Mrs Edwards has obviously murdered her husband by hanging."
 "But, how on earth...?"
 "The floorboards, Watson!  She no doubt invited her ex-husband to Bristol
Road to discuss the property and then, aided by Mr Heppenstall, wrapped
the sash cords round his neck and pushed him through the rotten
floorboards to his death below.  It all hangs together.  I think that if
we invited Inspector Lestrade to lift the floorboards in the kitchen, we
might find the remains of Mr Edwards."
 "But what made Mrs Edwards come to you Holmes, and then suddenly change
her mind?"
 "No doubt the builder was blackmailing her and she hoped to frighten him
off by enlisting my help and threatening to expose his underworld
connections.  She changed her mind when I asked her about the contract.  A
'contract', Watson, has certain connotations in the underworld and perhaps
my questions have put her on her guard."
 "Amazing!" said Dr Watson, but Holmes had already dismissed the case from
his mind and in the deepening afternoon shadows the room vibrated to a
Bach sonata.
 That evening a small figure, muffled against the cold, leaned on the
railings of the Dover-Calais ferry and reflected.

PGE, c.1980