The Gospel of Sheba by Lyndsay Faye Read Free Book Online Page B

compliment, as I have so often experienced. It was instead a tribute disguised as a dismissal. Despite myself, I laughed. Neither noticed me. Mr. Holmes resumed contemplating the ceiling as he smoked while Watson rubbed at his brow with his knuckles.
    â€œAll right,” Watson said, finishing the last of his brandy. “Holmes, you’ll test Lomax’s assertions tonight?”
    â€œOh, supposing he wants me to,” Mr. Holmes said airily.
    â€œSupposing he wants you to, and supposing he is right, might I suggest the following courses of action?”
    â€œBy all means,” I prodded.
    â€œYou know I follow you in these matters as much as the converse is true,” the sleuth said nearly under his breath.
    â€œFirst,” Watson declaimed, holding up a finger, “we inform Mycroft Holmes—my friend here’s brother, who moves in very high circles indeed—to keep an eye on Mr. Sebastian Scovil and to hamper him whensoever he sees fit.”
    A tiny grin flashed to life on the detective’s face, which, at lightning speed, returned to composed neutrality.
    â€œSecond,” Watson continued, adding another digit, “while we cannot see Pyatt gets quite what he deserves, perhaps an inspector might visit the next meeting of the Brotherhood of Solomon following an anonymous complaint? This inspector would know all the true facts of the case and be instructed to make a very public show of believing Pyatt poisoned his comrades. Dark hints would surface, apt accusations. If nothing else, it would be humiliating. There would be a … lessening of trust among the brothers towards Pyatt, and in business, trust is everything. I say make a deal of noise at the Savile Club, maybe even clap a pair of derbies on the scoundrel, and thoroughly trounce his reputation. Might even scare a confession out of him, but it doesn’t matter if we don’t. The horse will already have fled the barn.”
    â€œBravo!” Mr. Holmes exclaimed, a wide smile crinkling his eyes as he raised himself upon one elbow. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it would prove a most effective stopgap measure.”
    â€œWell, one can’t think of everything ,” Watson returned.
    Standing, I approached the settee with the peril in question. I passed it to Mr. Holmes, who covered his bare hand with the kerchief stuffed in his dressing gown pocket before accepting my evidence. He consigned it to the side table behind him. When he turned back to me, his grey eyes were pinched worriedly at the corners. I knew what he was about to ask, and dreaded it.
    â€œYou want me to test for poison tonight?” he asked softly. I nodded. “The symptoms you recorded and, I fear, suffer from, speak clearly enough—you want me to confirm aconitine?”
    â€œI consulted a book upon herbaceous poisons this afternoon so as not to waste your time, and yes, that was my amateur conclusion, Mr. Holmes,” I agreed.
    â€œAconitine!” Watson said, gasping. “Lomax.”
    â€œI was … not very long exposed,” I half-lied.
    â€œBut my dear chap—”
    â€œHe’s young and vigourous and sturdy of constitution, Watson,” the detective pronounced as if blessed with the authority to decide such things. “Why, he must be twenty years our junior. How old are you, Mr. Lomax?”
    â€œTwenty-nine,” I allowed.
    â€œHa! You see?” Mr. Holmes demanded, as if a point had been scored. He jerked his thumb at Watson. “The doctor here was twenty-nine when we met, and after a bullet on the battlefield didn’t manage to kill him, enteric fever couldn’t finish the rogue off either. I’ve every expectation of your full recovery, Mr. Lomax. When you are twenty-nine, you are invincible.”
    â€œA fact I have multiple times stressed when making a different point entirely,” Watson muttered with a harried glance at the detective’s