The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters: 25 Modern Tales by Masters by Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland Read Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland
is outside the broken window.” He caught up a lamp and hurried toward a baize-covered door.
Fortunately, we were unobserved as we entered the servants’s hall. I glanced about the dimly lit corridor with dun-coloured walls and cocoa-nut matting on the floor—a stark contrast to the richly appointed apartments that lay on the opposite side of the door. The air smelt faintly of cabbage and beer.
“Do you truly believe we will find the jewels?” I asked, following him closely.
“I most certainly do not believe in Mr Athelney Jones’s theory of a thief who, through no doubt supernatural means, entered the room, stole the emeralds, attacked Her Grace and the count, and then disappeared into the Ewigkeit .” Holmes paused as a young woman with a doubtful expression, carrying an armful of linens, hurried past.
After several turns and one brief detour, we gained entry to the cobbled yard. Several grooms bustled about purposefully, while a few others leaned against the wall, smoking their pipes. I gasped as the cold struck me like a blow and wished I had collected my coat and hat first.
“This way,” Holmes said, as always indifferent to the temperature.
I hurried to follow his long strides as he crossed the yard and turned onto Chapel Street. After a glance at the façade to locate the broken window, he handed me the lamp. A locked iron gate guarded the stair that gave access to the deep channel between house and pavement. Holmes nimbly leapt over the gate and made his way down the stair.
I raised the lamp, illuminating the narrow well. Holmes dropped to his knees, heedless of the decaying leaf mould and spots of damp on the pavement.
“Where are they?” he muttered as he ran his hands through the debris. “They must be here. Watson, examine the street and the kerb.”
I did as he bade, but saw nothing save the usual effluvia.
“There is no trace of the jewels here. Unless they were discovered by a passerby and taken away.”
“Or retrieved by an accomplice,” he replied. “Which would belie the diagnosis of kleptomania.”
“You have gone too far, Holmes. I refuse to countenance such nonsense! Why, she could no more plan and execute such a devious and audacious theft than I could!”
“I fear you underestimate your capabilities, my dear fellow, as well as those of Her Grace.” He climbed the stair and vaulted the rail again. “However, the fact of the matter is the emeralds are not here.”
“I must admit that I am relieved.” I cast a despairing eye over his stained knees and filthy hands. Holmes followed my gaze. He raised one brow and withdrew his handkerchief, wiping his hands. I sighed. Mrs Hudson would have something to say when she discovered the damage to his evening clothes.
“I have gone wrong, Watson. Very wrong.”
Holmes thrust his grimy handkerchief into his pocket, and we returned to the house in silence.
Slowly we retraced our steps through the corridors. As we turned a corner, Holmes suddenly cried out and fell to his knees.
“Light, Watson!”
I held the lamp near. Nose almost to the floorboards, Holmes extended a finger and delicately brushed a small spot of white powder at the edge of the cocoa-nut matting. It glinted in the light.
“Holmes, is that glass?”
“Yes, Watson!” He raised his face, eyes shining with excitement. “I have been a fool, and you may remind me of the fact whenever I become enamoured of my own genius. In this matter we are now in complete agreement: the Dowager Duchess of Penfield is innocent of this crime.”
“You are truly convinced of her innocence because of a dusting of powdered glass?” I cried. “But how?”
“Through the application of logic, my dear fellow.” Rising, Holmes snatched the lamp from my hands and scrutinized the corridor. “Ah!”
Lamp held high, he strode down the hall until he reached a corner. Bending low, he examined another small spot on the matting.
“More glass?” I asked, frowning. “How can this
Fortunately, we were unobserved as we entered the servants’s hall. I glanced about the dimly lit corridor with dun-coloured walls and cocoa-nut matting on the floor—a stark contrast to the richly appointed apartments that lay on the opposite side of the door. The air smelt faintly of cabbage and beer.
“Do you truly believe we will find the jewels?” I asked, following him closely.
“I most certainly do not believe in Mr Athelney Jones’s theory of a thief who, through no doubt supernatural means, entered the room, stole the emeralds, attacked Her Grace and the count, and then disappeared into the Ewigkeit .” Holmes paused as a young woman with a doubtful expression, carrying an armful of linens, hurried past.
After several turns and one brief detour, we gained entry to the cobbled yard. Several grooms bustled about purposefully, while a few others leaned against the wall, smoking their pipes. I gasped as the cold struck me like a blow and wished I had collected my coat and hat first.
“This way,” Holmes said, as always indifferent to the temperature.
I hurried to follow his long strides as he crossed the yard and turned onto Chapel Street. After a glance at the façade to locate the broken window, he handed me the lamp. A locked iron gate guarded the stair that gave access to the deep channel between house and pavement. Holmes nimbly leapt over the gate and made his way down the stair.
I raised the lamp, illuminating the narrow well. Holmes dropped to his knees, heedless of the decaying leaf mould and spots of damp on the pavement.
“Where are they?” he muttered as he ran his hands through the debris. “They must be here. Watson, examine the street and the kerb.”
I did as he bade, but saw nothing save the usual effluvia.
“There is no trace of the jewels here. Unless they were discovered by a passerby and taken away.”
“Or retrieved by an accomplice,” he replied. “Which would belie the diagnosis of kleptomania.”
“You have gone too far, Holmes. I refuse to countenance such nonsense! Why, she could no more plan and execute such a devious and audacious theft than I could!”
“I fear you underestimate your capabilities, my dear fellow, as well as those of Her Grace.” He climbed the stair and vaulted the rail again. “However, the fact of the matter is the emeralds are not here.”
“I must admit that I am relieved.” I cast a despairing eye over his stained knees and filthy hands. Holmes followed my gaze. He raised one brow and withdrew his handkerchief, wiping his hands. I sighed. Mrs Hudson would have something to say when she discovered the damage to his evening clothes.
“I have gone wrong, Watson. Very wrong.”
Holmes thrust his grimy handkerchief into his pocket, and we returned to the house in silence.
Slowly we retraced our steps through the corridors. As we turned a corner, Holmes suddenly cried out and fell to his knees.
“Light, Watson!”
I held the lamp near. Nose almost to the floorboards, Holmes extended a finger and delicately brushed a small spot of white powder at the edge of the cocoa-nut matting. It glinted in the light.
“Holmes, is that glass?”
“Yes, Watson!” He raised his face, eyes shining with excitement. “I have been a fool, and you may remind me of the fact whenever I become enamoured of my own genius. In this matter we are now in complete agreement: the Dowager Duchess of Penfield is innocent of this crime.”
“You are truly convinced of her innocence because of a dusting of powdered glass?” I cried. “But how?”
“Through the application of logic, my dear fellow.” Rising, Holmes snatched the lamp from my hands and scrutinized the corridor. “Ah!”
Lamp held high, he strode down the hall until he reached a corner. Bending low, he examined another small spot on the matting.
“More glass?” I asked, frowning. “How can this
Similar Books
Dead & Alive (Short Story): Outbreak
I.J. Smith
She of the Mountains
Vivek Shraya
Outlaws Inc.
Matt Potter
Heller
J.D. Nixon
Bliss
Opal Carew
Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye
Sandra Byrd
Angel In Yellow
Astrid Cooper
Peeps
Scott Westerfeld
Crushed
Leen Elle
Cowboy Behind the Badge
Delores Fossen