Sherlock Holmes and The Other Woman by Geri Schear Read Free Book Online

what’s George Prentiss but a railwayman? Just because her aunt left her some money and her father rubs shoulders with them toffs...”
    â€œAnd the cheese?” Watson asked.
    â€œWell, Avery was hungry one night - he does work up an appetite. What’s a little bit of cheese, after all?”
    â€œVery well. That will do.”
    She left with her head held high.
    Watson and I sat in silence for several minutes. Eventually he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know about you, Holmes, but I feel like I need a bath.”
    â€œYes indeed,” I replied. “What a wholly unpleasant and unrepentant creature she is. Well, I hope the adventure was worth the price. She has destroyed her life and is too stupid to realise it.”
    â€œShe will soon enough. I don’t suppose there’s any chance this fellow Rickman could have any genuine regard for the girl?”
    I gave him a look and he flushed. “Yes, well,” he said. “It was just a thought.”
    It is after midnight, but I am too restless to sleep. What a bitter night it is. The wind is howling down Baker Street and the windows rattle with rain and sleet. All of London is awash.
    I hope it is not so wretched in Paris.

Chapter Four
    Saturday 26 March 1898
    This morning brought a letter from B:
    My dear Sherlock,
    It is less than a day since you left and already I feel your absence. For all that the Zolas are good people, they lack your refinement, your wit, and your sensibility. Almost I wish I had not been so stubborn in insisting upon staying here, but how am I to abandon my father’s old friend when he is in such straits? I know these straits are almost entirely of his own making, yet I cannot help but sympathise. For all its folly, there is something noble in his thirst for justice. He has an artist’s fascination with the tragic and there is surely no more ‘beautiful tragedy’, as he calls it, than the plight of an honourable military officer publically disgraced and forced to spend the rest of his days on Devil’s Island.
    Jean Jaurès called in about half an hour ago and joined the rest of the Dreyfusards in the salon pouring oil on Zola’s embers. Now there are a dozen of them making a commotion. I retired to my bedroom but it is not tranquil. Despite two floors between us, I can hear them plainly. Jaurès is shouting that if the good captain were Christian, the case against him would have been exposed as a sham, but because he is a Jew, he is assumed to be guilty.
    I have spoken to people on both sides of the argument and even among the Dreyfusards there are those who say that Zola has inflamed the passions of the public. I must concede their point. Zola insists that passions are of little use if they are not inflamed. He is a man who thrives on turmoil; where none exists, he must create it. He polarises where he ought to seek compromise. Will you think me a disloyal friend if I confess he makes me weary?
    Now that he has been given the maximum sentence - imprisonment and a fine of 3000 francs - I think he may have begun to realise the folly of his actions, not that he’d admit it. His poor wife is terrified but stands behind him. I suppose she has no choice.
    In the meantime, poor France descends into madness . The Jews are sorely pressed and subject to beatings and other outrages. I hear that along the coast men are removing their garments to prove they are not ‘guilty’ of circumcision. The violence escalates daily and the Dreyfusards insist on escorting me when I need to go out. This is burdensome to them and to me, but a necessity at present, alas.
    While his conviction is awaiting appeal, Zola has spoken of fleeing the country if seems things go against him. Do you think England might offer Zola a safe haven if he must flee?
    Have you had an opportunity to ask for British intervention in the Dreyfus case? I know it is exceedingly unlikely, but perhaps a quiet word