Sherlock Holmes in Something the Cat Dragged In by Lyn McConchie Read Free Book Online Page A

that may help save your louse-ridden hide,” Lestrade said, his voice almost gentle. “Describe the gentleman who tricked you. I want to know his coloring, his height and build, how he dresses, speaks, and any trick of his behavior. If you can give a good account of him, I don’t say you’ll be let off, but we’ll go far easier on you and we’ll take you someplace safe right after you’ve talked.”
    â€œI’ll talk,” Brand said sullenly. “You’ll keep me safe after that?” Lestrade nodded. “All right, like I say, he’s a gentleman, but there’s something about him. He ain’t English, I reckon. He speaks like a toff, but a bit too swell, if you get me.”
    We all nodded, well aware of that excessively perfect English many well-educated foreigners spoke.
    Brand continued. “His clothes is the same. Fancy, but there’s something about them, they ain’t Bond Street, if you gets my meaning.” Again we indicated that we did, while Lestrade exchanged a meaningful look with Holmes.
    Brand favored us with a burst of frankness. “Fact is, I wondered if he were English, but no matter, there didn’t seem to be no harm in what he wanted, and the gentry sometimes has odd friends anyhow.”
    â€œWhat name did he give you?”
    â€œSaid to call him Ivanhoe.” After a second of astonishment all three of us burst out laughing, while Brand stared in bewilderment. “What’s so funny?”
    I took it upon myself to explain. “It’s the name of a character and a book by a famous writer.”
    Brand continued to look baffled. The man had probably never read a book in his life, and would certainly not know of Sir Walter Scott’s charming historical fantasy of knights and their ladies.
    Brand shrugged off our peculiarities and continued once we had ceased our merriment. “He’s mebbe in his middling thirties—bloody toffs, they never looks their age. Blue eyes, fairish hair, holds himself well, and walks a bit funny.”
    Lestrade stared. “Walks funny? What do you mean by that?”
    â€œI dunno, just, he walks funny.”
    Holmes intervened. “Like this?” he asked, striding the five paces that was all the room would allow.
    Brand shifted to avoid Holmes as he moved and yelped his approval. “Yes! That’s it. How’d you know, Mr. Holmes?”
    â€œNever mind. Now, the gentleman came and went at Siddons’s place. How much did Siddons know? Who did he approach first, you or Siddons?”
    â€œIt were Jeb. He gets—got all sorts at his place, did Jeb. Lot’a sailors, some of them from foreign ships, like. Told Jeb he were looking for someone as could get into places, an’ Jeb had a word with me. Once all the argy bargy started Jeb weren’t happy, told the gentleman to get the flash cove and his man outa his place, and said if’n he didn’t, he’d mebbe have a word to say somewheres. Gentleman took the lord away and said he’d come back for the other.”
    That explained why Jeb had been stabbed; he’d threatened to talk once, and now that Len Rogers had been found and Jeb had something to bargain with, “Ivanhoe” couldn’t afford to leave Jeb alive and able to identify him. I’d got that far in my cogitations when Holmes shouted, flung himself forward, and Persimmon Brand leaped backwards, his shoulders pressing flat against the grimy window-glass. A crack sounded, of the type with which we were all familiar, and Brand dropped, limp. I crouched and pulled the body from directly before the window, checking the wound. It was no use. Brand was dead if ever a man was, drilled neatly through the head.
    Lestrade said something I will not repeat and jumped for the door, thundering down the stairs, yelling for his men, and Holmes turned to me. “Go over the body and take anything that seems odd or informative, while I