The case of the Frosted Lips

The case of the frosted lips.

Sherlock Holmes returns. This time he investigates the mysterious death of Mr Clements

Transcript

The Case of the Frosted Lips 

Jeff Price 

It was a cold December morning when only those with good reason would venture out. The cobbled streets were icy, and even the horses pulling the milk carts were struggling to make their rounds. Outside the gates of Clement's Chemical Works, the workers gathered, eager to get inside but were unable to do so as the gates were locked. Although they could see a light in an upstairs window, no one came to open up to begin the morning's work. 

"Something's wrong. Mr. Clements hasn't come into work today," Mr. Braithwaite told the Office Manager, Mrs. Brown. 

"Where is Arthur? He has a key." 

"He's not here either. Shall I send the boy to his house? It's only a couple of streets away." 

"Good idea," Mrs. Brown replied. 

A few minutes later, a breathless Arthur Blenkinsop, the production manager, arrived. "Sorry, I was just leaving when the boy arrived. Stand aside and I'll open up." Arthur pushed open the gates, and everyone made their way through the cobbled yard. 

"The factory door is unlocked. This doesn't look right." George Braithwaite was beginning to wonder if going into the factory was a good idea. He gingerly made his way across the factory floor, followed by Mr. Blenkinsop up the narrow staircase to Mr. Clements' office. From below, he could see the window that looked over the factory floor; it appeared to be frosted over. 

Arthur gingerly opened the door. Inside, he could see the lifeless frame of Mr. Clements slumped over the desk. His face was contorted in anguish, his mouth wide open, and his lips and nose smothered in frost. 

Mrs Brown, screamed and cried out “Oh God!” as grabbed hold of Arthur’s hand. Page 1

Meanwhile at 221b Baker Street 

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Sherlock Holmes pushed back the living room curtain and looked out over Baker Street. 

"I'm bored, Watson. It's been weeks since we had a challenging case. Everything has been so dull." 

Dr. John Watson knew this was the time when Holmes was at his most dangerous. A bored Holmes would quickly use this as an excuse to indulge in cocaine; he would become irritable and would quickly sink into a deep depression. 

"I'm sure something will turn up soon," Watson assured him, but there was little conviction in his voice. 

At that precise moment, the door opened and Mrs. Hudson entered. "A telegram, Mr. Holmes." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Holmes's facial expression suddenly changed as he read the telegram. 

"What does it say, Holmes?" 

"A corpse in a warm room with frosted lips. Stop. Clements factory Cheapside. Stop. Come at once. Stop. Lestrade." 

Holmes immediately dug into the pile of books beside his chair and pulled out the London Directory and flicked through the pages. 

"Here it is, Watson. Clement's Chemical Works, manufacturers of Industrial inks. Grab your coat, Watson, the game's afoot." 

It was only twenty minutes later when the hackney cab arrived at the factory gates. 

"Morning, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. We have a right puzzler here," Inspector Lestrade told them as they made their way into the factory. "The body was found just over an hour ago, but it looks like he has been dead for quite some time. The victim, Mr. Clements, is the factory owner." 

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Dr Watson was intrigued as he watched Holmes; a light he had not seen for several weeks now shone from his face, and he had the expression of an excited child as he quickly climbed the narrow staircase up to the office on the mezzanine that overlooked the factory floor. 

"Observe, Watson." Holmes was pointing at the small cast iron stove that sat at the corner of the office. "It is still warm, and this small office is a comfortable temperature, but the little window that overlooks the factory floor is frosted over. Most interesting." Holmes opened up the small plate on the front of the stove and retrieved a scrap of paper. 

"It retains only a little of the text but it might be useful." 

Holmes continued his forensic search of the room. In one corner was a small table with a large plant pot. The flower looked as if it hadn't been watered in a long time. On the desk were scattered papers and a diagram of what appeared to be a large sphere bound in riveted steel. 

"Ah." Holmes seemed to almost explode in excitement. "We have our means, but we still do not have our motive. Lestrade, what do you think?" 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I am not sure what to think. It is indeed a rum affair. I have spoken to Mrs. Brown, the office manager, who assured me the business was flourishing and they have a healthy order book. Indeed, they were discussing expansion with the production of a new range of chemicals. Arthur Blenkinsop, the production manager, had been 

working with Mr. Clements on the development of some new machinery." 

"Then a word with Mr. Blenkinsop might shed more light on the matter." Holmes's eyes seemed to dart across the room, absorbing every detail. 

A constable was sent to get Mr. Blenkinsop, who quickly appeared. "How can I help, sir?" 

"Are you aware of anyone with a grudge against your employer?" Holmes inquired. 

"My partner, sir, I am a minority shareholder in the business, and I am unaware of anyone who had a bad word to say about my friend Mr. Clements. We have a loyal workforce who are paid well, our suppliers' invoices are settled on time, and other than work, Mr. Clements had little time for anything else but the business." 

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"You are developing a new product, I believe." 

"Yes, I designed a new containment system for the liquefaction of nitrogen. It is cheaper to make and a lot safer than the systems presently used." 

"Yes, this is exciting. I read the paper from the Polish physicists Wróblewski and Olszewski, who were the first to liquefy nitrogen by compressing and refrigerating the gas. Remarkable! It is a brave new century we are about to enter, and who knows what other surprises it will bring." 

"Indeed, sir. If that is all, I have work to do. The business must carry on despite this terrible tragedy." 

"One last question: What will happen with the business? Who inherits his share?" 

"I don't know. His wife is I believe in a nursing home and they have no children. Mr Clements himself was a foundling and has no family that I am aware of." 

"Thank you, Mr. Blenkinsop. That has been most helpful. You can go about your business." 

Holmes turned and looked at me. 

"The body, Watson, what can you tell us?" 

"It is the body of an overweight man in his late fifties. His hands are stained with ink, and he has a ruddy complexion, probably due to high blood pressure. There are no signs of violence that I can detect, but after the coroner has had his way with the corpse, we will know better. But as to the frost on his lips and nose, I can offer no explanation." 

"Excellent, Watson, a succinct summary." 

"I think, Lestrade, it is time for your men to remove the body, and I will now have a look around the rest of the factory." 

"Of course Mr. Holmes." 

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The factory floor was a huge collection of large vats. A series of belts were powered by a large steam engine that sat in the corner of the factory floor. The noise was deafening, and the toxic atmosphere caught in your throat. It was unsurprising that many of the factory workers were coughing, and most had damp cloths bound around their faces. 

Holmes pointed to a large door at the back of the factory. "What lies beyond that?" he inquired. 

Lestrade said, "It is a laboratory. I think that is where Blenkinsop works." 

You could tell from the look on Holmes's face he had lost interest in the factory, and he suddenly announced that he had errands to see to and would be in touch. With that, he strode out of the factory and into the gray fog of a London morning. 

It was three hours later when Holmes eventually returned to Baker Street. A smug and self-satisfied expression on his face. 

"I have it, Watson." 

"Indeed, Holmes, and exactly what do you have?" 

"I have asked Lestrade to meet us at the factory." 

It was an hour later when everyone assembled in Mr. Clements' office. 

"Please ask Mrs. Brown and Mr. Blenkinsop to join us." Holmes wanted an audience as he prepared for the grand reveal which both Watson and Lastrade knew was coming. 

Minutes later everyone was assembled and Holmes began. 

"Mrs. Brown, I noticed that the door had recently been altered to include a new threshold and a heavy curtain. Whose idea was that?" 

"I'm not sure. Mr. Clements had been complaining he was cold in the office and naturally keeping the smells out was also a priority. It was Mr. Blenkinsop who arranged the alterations." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Brown." 

"Mr. Blenkinsop, what were the expansion plans for the new containment system?" Page 5

"We are looking for new premises to begin building them, but nothing has been determined yet." 

"Who holds the patent on the new system?" 

"Mr. Clements was in the process of organising that." 

"Lestrade, look behind the flowerpot please and tell me what you see." Lestrade crossed the room and moved the plant pot to one side. 

A small hole in the wall was hidden behind. 

"This is how the murder of Mr. Clements was achieved. Nitrogen gas was pumped into the room and as it is heavier than air, it slowly filled up the room rising up from the floor and as it did so it enveloped Mr. Clements and he would slowly drown in the gas as he struggled to breathe. Once the gas had completed its terrible task, the pipe carrying the 

gas was removed." 

"Lestrade, this morning I inquired with the patent office if an application had been submitted and they told me an initial application had been made but it had not been finalised as Mr. Clements had requested some changes. Did you know about the changes, Mr. Blenkinsop?" 

"No, I am not aware of any changes." 

"So, you did not know that the changes involved the patent being in the name of a separate company and that your name was not on the patent?" 

Mr. Blenkinsop's head dropped slightly as Holmes continued. "Mr. Blenkinsop, you discovered that you were being sidelined and that your invention would in fact solely belong to Mr Clements, which means you are the only one with the means, motive, and opportunity to commit this terrible crime." 

At that moment, Mr. Blenkinsop pushed Mrs. Brown to one side and rushed towards the door only to find a constable waiting outside. 

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Later back in Baker Street, Watson turned to Holmes and asked 

“So, how did you know about the patent?” 

"The paper in the small stove contained a distinctive watermark, enough information to make me suspect and a visit to the patent office confirmed my suspicions and gave me the final piece of the puzzle. As to why Mr. Clements wanted to freeze out his partner, I do not know." 

"What about the frosted window and Mr. Clements' lips?" I asked. 

"That is what alerted me to the nitrogen gas. In a liquid form, it is very cold and when released it retains its lower temperature for some time. As Mr Clements gasped for air drawing in the nitrogen it crystallised on his lips. A clever plan Watson, we could have easily put the death down to natural causes but Lastrades instincts and the application of a little knowledge caught Mr Blenkinsop out." 

Holmes sat down in his armchair and opened his tobacco pouch, filling his well-worn briar pipe. As he gently inhaled the acrid smoke, he turned to me and smiled. 

"A good day's work Watson, a good day." 

Jeff Price 

February 2025 

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