Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

Author:Arthur Conan Doyle [Doyle, Arthur Conan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ages 6 & Up
ISBN: 9780307789044
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-08-31T07:00:00+00:00

One of the corner houses wore a sign that read “J. B. Wilson.” Holmes stopped in front of the house. He thumped on the sidewalk with his stick. He pounded in two or three more spots. Then he walked up and knocked on the door.

Mr. Wilson’s helper answered. He was a bright, clean looking young man.

“So sorry to bother you,” said Holmes. “But can you tell me how to get to the Strand?”

“Third right, fourth left,” the young man answered. He closed the door.

“That,” said Holmes as we walked away, “is the fourth smartest man in London. I have come across him before. Did you get a look at his knees?”

“What about his knees?” I asked. “What do you know, Holmes? Why did you pound the sidewalk like that?”

“My dear doctor,” said Holmes. “This is no time to talk. This is the time to look. Let’s see what lies behind this quiet block.” We turned the corner.

To my surprise, we found ourselves on a busy street. “Let’s see,” said Holmes. “There’s a cigar store. And there’s the City Bank. And there is a restaurant. Hmm, yes …”

He turned to me. “I’ll want your help,” he said. “Can you be ready at ten tonight? Good. See you then. Oh, and Dr. Watson. Do you have your gun? You had better bring it along.”

He waved his hand. Then he disappeared.

I got back to Baker Street just before ten o’clock that evening. Two horse-drawn cabs were waiting outside. Inside, I found two men with Holmes.

“Ah! We are all here now!” Holmes said. “You know Inspector Jones of Scotland Yard, don’t you, Watson? And this is Mr. Merryweather.”

Mr. Merryweather was long, thin, and sad-faced. He wore a very shiny top hat. He did not look at all happy. “This had better not be a wild-goose chase,” he said. “I’m missing my Saturday night card game. First time in twenty years.”

Holmes laughed. “You’ll play a more exciting game tonight,” he said. “You, Mr. Merryweather, stand to win or lose thirty thousand pounds. And you, Mr. Jones? You stand to get your man.”

“That’s right!” cried Inspector Jones. “John Clay. Killer. Robber. He’s a young man. But he’s at the top of the crime heap.

“Yes—he’s quite a man, John Clay. The grandson of a duke. Went to the high-class schools. His head is as quick as his fingers. I’ve been on his trail for years. I’ve never even set eyes on him yet.”

“I hope you will meet him tonight,” said Holmes. “Let’s go. Two cabs are waiting outside. You two men take the first cab. Dr. Watson and I will follow in the second.”

Holmes did not say much during the long drive. We drove through the dark streets. Soon we got to the busy street near Mr. Wilson’s house.

Merryweather and Jones were there ahead of us. We followed Mr. Merryweather down a narrow alley. There was a side door there. He opened it. Inside was a small hall. At the end of the hall there was a heavy gate.

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