“Poor bugger,” John Dachshund said, shaking his head.
Holmes remained silent as he observed the scene, his eyes darting here and there. He walked around the body twice, then sat down and looked at John as if he expected him to solve the case right then and there. John walked over and began to use his nose.
“He died about, oh, a quarter of an hour ago?” John said.
John cocked one ear and thought. “I smell two people he had contact with recently. A woman, by her perfume, and a man. I smell gunpowder, but…”
“No bullet wound.”
“Good.” Purlock licked his fore-paw a few times, waiting for John to continue. After a few moments, John huffed.
“That’s it. I don’t know how we can solve anything.”
Purlock rolled his eyes and sighed, sounding very put-upon by the ignorance that was so pervasive in the world.
“He was recently in the vicinity of gunpowder but was not injured by a bullet and shows no sign of violence,” Purlock said, the words falling swift from his tongue. “His wings are clipped, so he was not a wild bird, no, he was kept in a cage. Kept in a cage by a man and a woman, a couple. Or rather, they were, before she was tragically shot and killed by the man.”
“How could you possibly know that?” John asked.
“If you look up, you will see the window out of which he fell, the cage damaged by her body landing against it.”
“Because his wings were clipped,” Purlock interrupted him, “he was unable to fly, falling these five stories and dying when he hit the stones.”
“How awful,” John whined. “But how did you know it was the woman who died?”
Purlock gave him a bemused look. “Because there is her husband now, being lead away by the police.”
John’s tail gave a little wag of admiration for Purlock’s keen observations.
“I suppose we can consider the case solved, then,” Purlock said.
John, always amazed how Holmes was able to get all that from such slight evidence, said, “Why, yes, I suppose we can, Purlock.”
Whereupon Purlock gobbled the bird up, leaving only a few feathers behind. He was, after all, a cat.