The Perils of Sherlock Holmes by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online Page B

when Holmes and I emerged from the shallow doorway across the street where we had stationed ourselves five minutes previously.
    Holmes did not ring the bell right away, but paced the length of the front of the building, swinging his cane in the metronomic manner he often used to measure distance. Presently he climbed the front steps with me at his heels.
    The bell was answered almost immediately by our client, whose attire of nightcap and dressing-gown assured us he had followed Holmes’s advice and convinced his wife that he was retiring. Once we were admitted to the rather dark and gloomy foyer, the detective repeated the procedure he had conducted outside, pacing the room deliberately from the left wall to the right.
    “An interesting building,” he said when he was standing before the earl once again. “James the First, is it not?”
    “James the Second, or so I was told when I acquired it from the Scrooge estate. It was a depressing old place, neglected and in disrepair. Lady Chislehurst has done much to improve it, although much remains to be done. The very first thing she did was to see to it that the hideous old door-knocker was removed. The lion’s head frightened our nieces and nephews when they came to visit.”
    “It is admirable of you both to take the trouble to preserve the place. The loss of such an unusually substantial example of architecture would be a great tragedy. There is a difference of six feet in the width of the building between the outside and the inside. One seldom encounters walls three feet thick so far past the medieval period.”
    “Indeed. I never noticed.”
    “I am always intrigued by how little attention we pay to familiar things, which are to us the most important. May we inspect your chamber?”
    We were led up a narrow flight of stairs to a large room on the first floor, equipped with a huge old four-poster bed and a stone fireplace nearly large enough to walk into upright, with a bearskin stretched before it on the hearth. Above the mantel hung a huge old painting in a gilt frame of a medieval noblewoman languishing on the floor of a dungeon, with light streaming down upon her from a barred window high on the wall.
    “An outside room,” observed Holmes. “Do you not find it draughty?”
    “No; the window was bricked in years ago.”
    “Convenient.”
    “How so, Mr. Holmes?”
    “Darkness, of course. There is nothing less conducive to sleep than an unwanted shaft of light. Is that the corner in which you saw the apparitions? Yes, that is where they would be most visible to someone sitting up in bed. Where is Lady Chislehurst’s chamber in relation to yours?”
    “Just down the hall. Do you wish to see it?”
    “That won’t be necessary.” He swung upon our host, eyes bright as twin beacons. “Dr. Watson dabbles a bit in Jamesian architecture. Would Your Lordship object to conducting him upon a tour while I complete my inspection? I thought not. Thank you for your hospitality.”
    “Curious fellow, your Mr. Holmes,” said the earl when we were in the gaslit hallway outside the room where Holmes could be heard rummaging about. “Is he always this unusual?”
    “Usually.”
    “Do you know anything at all about Jamesian architecture?”
    “Only that it is uncommon to find walls so thick, and I didn’t know that until a few minutes ago.”
    He produced two cigars from the pocket of his dressing-gown and gave me one. “Curious fellow.”
    “He is the best detective in England.”
    We had smoked a third of our cigars when the door opened. Holmes appeared sanguine, as if he had spent the time stretched out upon the bed. “There you are, Watson. Does Your Lordship have a spare bedroom?”
    “I have several. Would you and the doctor like to share one, or would you prefer separate quarters?”
    “With your permission, we shall share yours. I am suggesting that you sleep in the spare room.”
    “Whatever for?”
    Holmes smiled and placed a finger to his