The Adventure of the Dead Wild Bore by Andrea Frazer Read Free Book Online

Dave Warwick’s wife hadn’t gone into labour, with you there last month, we would have been thirteen for supper – The Last Supper! Don’t you think that’s ironic, as one of us turned out to be a killer, and did away with one of the other members?’
    Holmes found that his glass was still nearly full, a fact that his brain had mislaid in its state of developing muddle, and he drained it in one, as Garden replied, ‘That’s a bit of a stretch of the imagination, isn’t it? Dave Warwick wasn’t there, and we don’t know for sure that it was one of the Irregulars who killed Antony. We’ve only been surmising. There’s no proof.’
    â€˜Of course we do,’ replied Holmes, feeling his head begin to spin with this latest onslaught of alcohol on his bloodstream. ‘Who else could it ’ave been, Garding?’
    He was definitely deteriorating if he couldn’t even get his partner’s name right, thought Garden, and wondered how messily the evening would end. They should never have watched that film or opened that second bottle of wine.
    â€˜I-I-I think I’ve had a good idea, Gra-Gad-Garden,’ he slurred. ‘I’m goin’ to ring good old Greg an’ ask him to give me the s, the s, the s-p.’
    â€˜Don’t you think you might be a little tiddly to hold a conversation?’ asked Garden, whose glass had not been so frequently refilled, sitting as it had at a bit of a distance from his partner’s and the bottle.
    â€˜Jober as a sudge, me, John H. Now, where’s his number? Ah, yes. Now, what time is it?’
    â€˜It’s 11.15; a bit on the late side, don’t you think?’
    â€˜Rubbish! Never known old Greg go to bed before midnight. He’ll be up having a nighty-night nightcap, don’t yer know,’ replied Holmes rather slushily. His diction had suffered considerably under the influence of the better part of two bottles of wine.
    Fortunately for all concerned, his part in the telephone conversation was brief. He managed to announce himself to Greg Wordsworth, but Wordsworth seemed to want to do all the talking, and all that Holmes had to do was agree now and then, and nod or shake his head sagely, an action that did nothing to underline his agreement, as it was just an ordinary telephone he was using.
    Making rather an elaborate business of placing the handset back where it belonged, Holmes swung quite recklessly in Garden’s direction, swaying alarmingly on his feet as he did so, and said, ‘There’s been a bit of bad luck for Greg, but it does clari-clafiry-clarify things for us.’ He stopped and shook his head from side to side, as if trying to reorder his thoughts.
    Leading him to a sofa, Garden asked what Greg had said. ‘Said … ’e said …’ Holmes cleared his throat enthusiastically and tried again. ‘He said,’ he repeated, slowly and carefully, ‘that the’es fire-escade – a fire-escape – leadin’ from that meetin’ room, and tha’ Street-eet-eeter had found it locked. ’E’s gonna get done for that. Poor old Greg.’
    Noticing tears of pity well up in Holmes’ eyes, Garden gently assisted him to his feet and led him to his bedroom, where he helped him undress and get into his pyjamas. Carefully, he slid the older man under the enormously fluffy duvet – one modern idea that Holmes had grasped enthusiastically, not being a fan of bed-making – and tiptoed out of the room.
    He then padded to the kitchen, found a packet of dried cat food, and filled up the plastic bowl on the floor, refilled the water container, checked that the back door was locked, then made his way to his own room. He undressed in the light coming through from the hall, placed his clothes, fairly neatly folded, on a leather armchair against the wall, and, having forgotten to bring a pair of