Warlock Holmes--A Study in Brimstone by G.S. Denning Read Free Book Online Page B

than done,” Holmes shrugged. “I suppose we—”
    He did not finish, for in that moment, his spine spasmed and stiffened. He threw back his head and his green eyes lit the ceiling once more. Quicker than I thought possible, Lestrade’s hands flashed to his pocket and emerged holding a notebook and pencil. With these, he took notes in a positive blur as Warlock recited, “
He is Enoch, of the Latter Day Saints, fallen from grace, fallen from life, soiled and sotten, spoiled before he fell. From the dry dusts of wild Mojave, he is come in company. Seek ye Joseph, Son of Stranger; their steps lie side by side, their fates intertwined. Enoch the master; Joseph the man. Clerk. Secretary. Brother in faith and blackest crime!
Rache! Rache!
Justice comes upon the wicked! The finder knows! He that beheld the work beheld him that did the deed!
”
    This must have represented his entire opinion on the matter for, as soon as he had finished venting it, Warlock gave a satisfied little smile and then collapsed, face first, to the floor. Lestrade must have been used to such spectacles, for without moving to see to Holmes at all, he began to read over the strange speech he’d just transcribed into his notebook. He tapped his horrid fangs with the end of his pencil and muttered, “So, two of them, then. American—just as you guessed, Dr. Watson. Enoch Drebber, we have; now for this Joseph Strangerson…”
    “Did we… did we have a last name?” I asked from where I crouched, a comforting hand resting on Warlock’s twitching shoulder.
    “Son of Stranger,” Lestrade said. “That’s ‘Strangerson,’ almost certain. Spend more time with Holmes and you’ll start picking up on these things.”
    It boggled me, but I began considering. “If what Holmes said is true…”
    “Yup,” Grogsson grunted. “Always true.”
    “Well if they are American visitors, they must be staying somewhere,” I reflected. “Can you Scotland Yard fellows figure out where?”
    “Maybe,” Grogsson said, distastefully. “Lots uh work.”
    “Ah!” I said, snapping my fingers. “The finder! He that beheld the work! Who found the body? Is he still here?”
    Lestrade flipped through his notebook for a moment and said, “A constable, John Rance. He went home. Got his address here, if you want it.”
    “I want it,” I said. “Perhaps on the way back to Baker Street, Warlock and I might stop by to see if he really did behold him that did the deed!”

6

    THIS IS HOW I KNOW MYSELF TO BE A MAN OF NO GREAT intelligence: in the cab, I was giddy with anticipation. When I was surrounded by doctors and nurses, who wished me to heal, I had been sullen and disconsolate. Now, surrounded by monsters and corpses, tracing the steps of a murderer, I could not have been merrier. The streets between Lauriston Gardens and Audley Court were every bit as dreary as the ones we’d journeyed through earlier. Yet somehow, in spite of the cold grayness of London, everything seemed to sparkle with possibility and intrigue. If we had not had a cab, I should have run to John Rance’s house.
    46 Audley Court was a humble dwelling, but I liked John Rance immediately, he being one of only three London constables who understood the letter H. Rance was tired. After all, he’d just come off an extra-long shift, with the added stress of having discovered a murder. He didn’t wish to speak to us at first, insisting he had already given a full report and police business was not to be disclosed to strange men who knocked upon your door just as you were beginning to dream. I’ll admit, he had me there. I began to despair of having any help from him, until his eyes fell and locked upon the half-sovereign Warlock was fidgeting with as he waited for me to conclude my business. Rance looked away from it when he addressed me, but his eyes always wandered back to the coin. He licked his lips. I had an idea.
    “Warlock, you should put that away, lest you lose it,” I said.
    “How