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

a good look at them, Watson?”
    “Well, not a very long look, but—”
    “Did you notice anything peculiar about them?”
    I tried to think. “Oh, I did notice that the one man had very light hair—not white exactly, but that’s why it struck me. It was unusual, you know?”
    “Yes,” said Holmes, “yes, I know.”
    “I couldn’t make out his face, though, because his cap was pulled so low over his eyes, and he was looking at the ground when he passed us.”
    “Yes,” said Holmes. “I wonder...” His keen eyes narrowed. The three of us sat quietly sipping our tea, afraid to say anything for fear of spoiling his concentration. After a minute he broke out of his reverie and addressed Mrs. Hudson once again.
    “This man who abducted you—can you describe him? Had you ever seen him before?”
    Mrs. Hudson looked into the fire and bit her lip.
    “He was big, very big—I would say well over six feet, and he was very strong. I’m not exactly a small woman,” she said, referring to her comfortable girth, “and yet he picked me up as though I were a child. His hands...” She stopped and shuddered. Mrs. Campbell patted her sister’s hand sympathetically. “His hands were huge—big and rough, very rough, as a workman’s hands might be after years of manual labor.”
    “Excellent!” cried Holmes, and we all looked at him. He was not insensitive to Mrs. Hudson’s pain, and yet, for him, the facts now superseded any other factors in the case. “What about his face?” he said. “Did you get a look at his face?”
    “What I remember is that his eyes were red, small and red like a pig’s eyes. His skin was ruddy, as though he had spent a lot of time outdoors... all his features were blunt and indistinct, kind of like a face pressed up against a windowpane, you know?”
    Holmes leaned back in his chair. “Mrs. Hudson, you have acquitted yourself well! In spite of the terror which you experienced during this horrible event, you managed to do a credible job noticing and remembering important details. I congratulate you!”
    Mrs. Hudson blushed and smiled. In spite of her tremulous state, Holmes’ words were high praise indeed, and they did as much to warm her as any fire.
    “One last thing. Can you tell me anything about his voice?”
    “It was like a growl. Very low and rumbling, like thunder you hear from way off.”
    “Well done, Mrs. Hudson, well done indeed.”
    “What I don’t understand is how you knew poor Martha was in trouble,” said Mrs. Campbell.
    Holmes shrugged. “I couldn’t afford to take a chance. The telegram combined with the newspaper advertisement added up to a sinister conclusion, to say the least.”
    “Who would do a thing like this?” asked Mrs. Campbell.
    “I don’t know,” said Holmes, “although I have my suspicions.”
    “Mr. Holmes has ever so many criminals who wish to get even with him,” Mrs. Hudson said to her sister with an air of pride. Even after her narrow escape, she evidently felt honored to be a part of Holmes’ work, a feeling I knew well myself. However, I had to admire her pluck. I suspect that many people who had just been through what she had might have been considerably more flustered. I also knew, though, that her relative peace of mind was due to something that all of us who knew Holmes felt: His very presence encouraged a feeling of security, so that when one was around him one had the impression that no matter what happened Holmes would know what to do. It was a way he had about him, this ability to inspire confidence in others. In fact, I had on occasion remarked that if he had chosen a military career he would have been an outstanding general.
    “What I don’t understand is why they didn’t just kill me outright,” said Mrs. Hudson, stirring her tea.
    “Yes, that is most certainly important,” said Holmes. “One obvious reason is that they did not wish to incur my undying wrath.”
    Mrs. Hudson blushed at this remark with its implied