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“The human ear,” Holmes said, reaching up to tweak one of mine, “is as individual as the ridges upon one’s fingertips.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, batting her off. “You’ve written about it twice.”
She beamed and continued. “You can imagine the detail with which I studied the contents of the box. I’d made up my mind that the packet had been misdelivered, and intended to inform Miss Cushing of such, when I saw something to give me pause.”
“Which was?” I asked, realising I was unconsciously touching my own ear.
“I realised upon looking at her a second time that her ears corresponded exactly with the female ear in the box. It was beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear.”
I nodded, “So it belonged to a relation of hers?”
“Precisely,” said Holmes, “and a very close one to be so similar. So I asked her about her family, and at once she gave us some exceedingly valuable details.”
“Ah! That her sister’s name is Sarah, and until recently they had lived together. That’s who the package was for!”
“Yes,” Holmes said gravely. “It’s quite obvious how the mistake occurred. She told us of her youngest sister marrying a steward, and how he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to live near them, but they’d quarrelled and contact between them ceased for some months.”
“So Browner wouldn’t know that Sarah was no longer living with her sister.”
Holmes nodded, “And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions -- you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth, in order to be nearer to his wife -- subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man -- presumably a seafaring man -- had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy.”
“And then what?”
“You will observe,” Holmes said, “that this line of boats calls at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed, and had embarked at once upon his steamer, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet.”
“I follow you, my girl,” I replied, “but couldn’t it be that the Browners had been murdered together, by an unsuccessful lover perhaps? The male ear could be his in that case.”
Holmes put her head on one side. “Of course it is conceivable, and it had occurred to me, but there were many objections to it. That’s why I was sure to send a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed on the ‘May Day’. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah.”
“Which we were unable to do, on account of her illness.”
“Truthfully, I didn’t expect her to be of much use to us. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood whom the packet was meant for. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went."
“I see, that the news had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever makes it obvious she understood its significance.”
“Quite so,” said Holmes. “Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of the opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the ‘May Day’, and she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by our friend Lestrade, and I have no doubt the full story will be told.”