The Star of India by Carole Bugge Read Free Book Online Page A

Holmes: he was evidently moved. Though in control as always, I could see by his strained face the emotional and physical toll this near tragedy had taken on him.
    “Your sister is waiting for us at the top,” said Holmes after a moment. “I think we shouldn’t keep her in suspense any longer than necessary.”
    The three of us straggled up the hill. It had begun to rain in earnest now, and we were a sorry sight by the time we reached Flora Campbell. When she saw her sister, she could not contain herself, but came half running, half sliding down the hill to meet us.
    “Oh, Martha, thank God you’re alive! Oh, thank God!” she cried over and over, as the two sisters fell into each other’s arms.
    We were a strange sight staggering through the door of The Knights’ Arms pub, but the landlord looked at us with a face as blank and unreadable as a stone. Jack Crompton sat at a table in the corner, a pint of bitter in front of him. He shook his head when he saw us.
    “’T is a strange day for roamin’ these rocks,” he said, downing the last of his beer. “Come on, then, let’s get you back home.”
    Bill the Clydesdale stood out the back of the pub, a stolid expression on his big blunt face. The rain pelted his back as steam rose from his thick coat, now more gray than white, sprinkled with splotches of mud and dirt. The smoky smell of damp horsehair hung in the air.
    “Oh, poor Bill,” said Flora Campbell as we climbed aboard the now sodden rig.
    “Oh, don’t worry,” said Jack Crompton. “Horses don’ mind standin’ in the rain—do ye, Bill?”
    Bill looked at his master and sighed heavily.
    “’Ee’s a good boy, is my Bill,” said Jack Crompton cheerfully, taking up the reins.
    It was a bedraggled crew that arrived at Flora Campbell’s cottage a short while later, wet and miserable and chilled to the bone. Jack Crompton refused Mrs. Campbell’s offer of hospitality. Though she importuned him to come inside and get warm, he shook his head.
    “Thank yer kindly, but I’d best get Bill back to ’is barn an’ a nice bucket o’ fresh oats,” he said, tipping his hat. Holmes paid him handsomely for his trouble, and Crompton whistled merrily as he returned to the long-suffering Bill, who stood sullenly at the bottom of Mrs. Campbell’s garden, thoroughly drenched.
    It wasn’t long before we were all huddled around a roaring fire, cups of tea held between our stiffened fingers, blankets around our shoulders. The room was suffused with the sweet smell of burning sod. (There aren’t many trees in Cornwall, and sod is often the fuel of choice for heating fires.) I told the sisters about the mysterious telegram, as well as the strange newspaper advertisement. By that time poor Mrs. Hudson had calmed down considerably, and Holmes wasted no time in pumping her for information about her abduction.
    “I was wandering along the cliffs, you know, not thinking about much of anything, when I saw a man coming toward me from the other direction. He stopped and asked me politely if I had the time. I told him that I didn’t and turned to go but that’s when he grabbed me...” She stopped, quite overcome by emotion. Holmes averted his eyes, alwaysembarrassed by any display of feelings, but Mrs. Campbell put her arms around her sister.
    “Don’t you worry, dearie,” she said. “You just have a good cry, there’s a good girl.”
    But Mrs. Hudson recovered herself and continued.
    “I struggled, of course, and even cried out, but there was no one to hear me. The pub is too far away, way down at the bottom of the hill by the road—”
    “There were no tourists, no other hikers?” said Holmes.
    “You saw what kind of a day it was, Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson said almost apologetically. “I’m afraid I was the only one foolish enough to walk about on a day like today.”
    “We actually saw some others, some Swiss hikers,” I said.
    Holmes looked at me. “Yes, so we did,” he said. “Did you happen to get