Sherlock Holmes and the Dead Boer at Scotney Castle by Tim Symonds

Author:Tim Symonds
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes novels, lyme regis
ISBN: 9781780920924
Publisher: MX Publishing
Published: 2012-03-23T04:00:00+00:00

The Return Journey To Crick’s End Continues

I sat in uneasy and perplexed disquiet, keen beyond all measure to discover a flaw in my companion’s argument before we got to Crick’s End. It seemed we were about to fling ourselves into a shark-infested ocean.

Holmes’ passing reference to the Kit-Kat Café revived a memory. One Christmas he and I sat for an unconscionable time on the café’s stoop with its fine views of Camber Sands, waiting to pounce on the evil Gustav von Seyffertitz. We had reason to believe he was staying at the Green Owl nearby, awaiting the arrival of a boat from Honfleur packed to the gunnels with his men. We ate oyster soufflé prepared in a Charlotte mould at 3d. a serving. Late that moonlit night we hired a horse-drawn bathing machine and rattled into the shallows in the leaky contraption as though setting sail for the open sea, fully-clothed, revolvers and heavy sticks to hand, ready to leap out on unsuspecting myrmidons who never came.

Our carriage slowed as it took a leftward curve up the incline to Burrish’s ancient church. We were on the final stretch. Holmes tapped on the wood. The coachman’s head appeared.

‘If there is a quieter route to our destination, please take it.’

My spirits sank further. Not far ahead loomed the prospect of a confrontation with Van Beers and Siviter and two astute and well-placed Gold Bugs and their millions was looming. Despite his appearance of a completely collected mind, Holmes’ assumptions seemed so absurd I wondered if I should make some desperate effort to forestall a most terrible public humiliation. Should I should fling my comrade from the carriage and bind him like a common footpad hand and foot with the agricultural twine I always kept to hand? If so, would the cabman help me in this endeavour - or, given my comrade’s fame among workmen and millionaire alike, attack me from behind?

With little hope of reprieve, pushed near to madness by my unwillingness to confront our recent hosts with a pocketful of nonsense, I yelped, ‘Holmes, enough! We are nearly there. I beg you, consider where we are with this matter! You have failed to convince me this death is the result of murder rather than accidental or self-inflicted, or if murder whether committed by proxy and by whom its planning was effected, Siviter in a criminal conspiracy with Van Beers, Sir Julius and Weit. Or was it Dudeney acting alone, or under instruction? Or Lord and Lady Fusey - or woodman Webster fed up with tramps rampaging through his master’s property? And if not by stabbing or bludgeoning or soft-nosed bullets or poison, then what?’

I paused, struggling awkwardly to get to my feet in the jolting carriage.

‘Imagine,’ I began, half-bent over my companion, ‘this carriage is the Old Bailey, you the chief and only witness for the prosecution, I in frock coat as King’s Counsel for the defence. ‘Mr. Sherlock Holmes,’ I ask, ‘Murder, you proclaim? You must show the court Means, Motivation and Opportunity.

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