Home From the Sea by William Meikle

Author:William Meikle [Meikle, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-04-03T04:00:00+00:00

The Colour That Came To Chiswick

I hoped that my friend Sherlock Holmes would be more settled when I called on him that evening in May of '87. His recovery from his travails in France, and the subsequent excitement in Reigate, meant that a period of house rest was prescribed. As ever, he paid little attention to my ministrations and pleadings, and over the course of the previous fortnight had driven poor Mrs. Hudson to despair with a series of petty requests.

On my last visit she had pleaded with me to do my best to calm my patient. Indeed, she had worked herself into such a state that I do believe that had any longer time passed it would have been her and not Holmes who would be coming under my ministrations.

It was Holmes himself who greeted me as I entered the apartments in Baker Street.

"Come in Doctor Watson," he said in a near perfect impression of Mrs. Hudson's Scots brogue. "You'll be wanting some tea?"

He laughed, and fair bounded up the stairs to his apartment. I had not seen him in such good humour for several months.

I discovered why on entering his rooms. . . he had a new case. Several sheaves of paper lay scattered on his desk, his brass microscope was in use off to one side, and a glass retort bubbled and seethed above a paraffin burner. An acrid odour hung in the air, thick, almost chewable. The whole place reeked of it, despite the fact that that the windows were all open to their fullest extent.

Holmes noticed my discomfort.

"It is nothing," he said.

"I doubt Mrs. Hudson will agree," I said.

"Do not worry Watson," Holmes said. "Our esteemed landlady has gone to Earls Court with the widow Murray."

"The Wild West show? Yes, I have seen the posters around town. It is said it will be a great spectacle."

I had wished to inquire as to Holmes' opinion on the authenticity of Mr. Cody's show, but it was obvious that his mind was already elsewhere. He stood over the microscope, studying the slide contents intently.

"What have you got there Holmes?"

In answer he passed me a sheet of paper.

"This came in several hours ago."

It was a note on letter-headed paper, from the Fullers Brewery in Chiswick, and addressed to Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective at this Baker Street address. The note proved to be short and to the point.

"Dear Mr. Holmes," it began. "In the past three days we have encountered several problems with our brewing processes in our main Tuns. We suspect sabotage, but are unable to prove the cause, and our own chemists have drawn a blank. I have sent a sample from our latest fermentation, and would appreciate some of your time in its study. I shall be happy to discuss your remuneration by return of post."

It was signed, Gerard Jones, Chief Brewer.

"Examine the paper," Holmes said. "There is something peculiar on the left edge near the bottom."

I immediately saw what he meant. The edge seemed bevelled and on closer examination proved to have a greenish tinge.

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