Sherlock Holmes by George Mann

Author:George Mann
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I returned home to find my sitting room in utter disarray.

The furniture had been completely rearranged, pushed back into the corners of the room to create a large space in the centre. A neat stack of notebooks had been overturned and now lay in a disorganised heap. A chair stood atop my desk, upon which my papers had been scattered haphazardly, and an inkwell upset. Dark blue ink dripped monotonously onto a large, stained area of carpet.

In the middle of the room was a new centrepiece, sitting proudly in the space that had been cleared: a large, oak travelling trunk.

Holmes, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

“Holmes!” I bellowed, incandescent with rage. “Holmes, are you here?”

There was no response.

I stormed from the sitting room to the kitchen, and then upstairs to the guest room. There was no sign of him. Furious, my fists bunched, I stomped back to the sitting room to examine the offending trunk.

It was old and battered, faded from years of use. The banding was wrought in black iron, and it was tied securely with a leather buckle.

Upon its gnarled surface was a folded note, tacked in place with a drawing pin. I tore it free, unfolded it and held it up to the light, mumbling to myself in consternation.

Watson,

I have arranged with a clerk from Tidwell Bank for this trunk to be collected at precisely three o’clock this afternoon. It is to be transported directly to the bank and placed in their vault as a matter of the utmost urgency. To ensure these instructions are carried out to the letter, a new account has today been established in your name. It is paramount that you escort the object to the said establishment and ensure it is deposited securely before the day is out. Do not leave until you have seen the trunk placed in the vault with your own eyes.

Following this, make arrangements to meet me outside of the bank at precisely quarter to seven this evening. I trust you will not delay.

Yours,

Holmes.

“Hmph!” I said. “Typical Holmes.” Where in God’s name had he happened upon such a decrepit old thing, and what was in it?

Despite my being perturbed at Holmes’s presumptuousness, my interest was piqued. Whatever this was, it clearly had to be related to our investigation of Baxter. Why else should he make the arrangements to have the trunk deposited in Tidwell Bank, of all places?

Keen to know precisely what I was dealing with – and struck by my innate sense of inquisitiveness – I unbuckled the leather straps and folded back the lid. It creaked on dry hinges.

Inside was a mountain of old, yellowed papers. I grabbed a handful and leafed through them, scanning a few lines on each page. They were brittle and covered in Holmes’s scratchy handwriting, and appeared to be his notes on our old cases. I was half tempted to sit down and begin reading – I couldn’t help but wonder whether Holmes’s perception of events tallied with my own recollections and published accounts.

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