Sherlock Holmes and The Jeweller of Florence by Christopher James

Author:Christopher James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novels
ISBN: 9781780929811
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2016
Published: 2016-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

8. The Problem of the Hourly Message

‘What time do you have, Watson?’ my friend asked.

‘It is five minutes since you last enquired,’ I returned wearily.

‘The precise time,’ he specified. ‘I have been doing a small calculation in my head about the time it would take a one legged man to walk the distance between Whitehall and Baker Street. I would be grateful if you could help me confirm my theory.’ I glanced at my fob watch then slipped it back inside my pocket.

‘It is precisely four minutes past eleven.’

‘Excellent!’ he cried in triumph, then slipped back into his seat with an air of satisfaction.

Holmes and I were enduring what appeared to be an interminable crawl through London. Finally, after navigating past the scene of upended omnibus, a dead horse and for all I know a spilt applecart, our growler finally deposited us outside the door of 221B Baker Street. The scent of Mrs Hudson’s cooking was enough to restore our flagging spirits as we stepped inside and discarded our coats.

‘Lunch smells marvellous,’ I called, returning my brolly to its stand.

‘I shall be serving in twenty minutes sharp!’ she reported back.

‘Very good,’ I returned.

‘A curious combination,’ remarked Holmes pausing to sniff the air. ‘I wait with interest.’

Mrs Hudson did not disappoint. A delicious hare soup was followed by sheep rumps and kidneys in rice, served with beef olives.

‘Well,’ my friend remarked. ‘Our landlady has certainly raised her game. I doubt very much that the King of Persia is dining in such style.’

‘Is it all to your liking, gentlemen?’ Mrs Hudson wiped her hands on a cloth. I nodded and swallowed a final mouthful of rice.

‘I’d say!’

‘I’m experimenting with some new dishes ahead of a friend’s birthday,’ she explained.

‘Any time you feel the need to experiment,’ I volunteered, ‘please consider us game.’

‘Thank you, doctor. I like a man who enjoys his food. Unlike you, Mr Holmes, who, with the greatest of respect, would benefit from a little feeding up. Now would you have room for a little dessert?’

‘Plenty,’ I assured her.

‘I have perfected what I believe is called the floating island: meringues adrift in yellow custard.’

‘Mrs Hudson,’ I said lifting a spoon in readiness, ‘It is my sincere belief that you were sent to us from the heavens.’

No sooner had I raised my spoon when I heard a single rap on the front door.

‘I’ll answer,’ I informed Mrs Hudson, knowing that she was engaged in more pressing matters. With a decidedly heavy step, I descended the seventeen stairs and opened the door.

‘Telegram, sir,’ reported a flame haired young boy. I proffered a coin and hurried back to my pudding. Such was our interest in Mrs Hudson’s floating island that we neglected to inspect the message until our coffee arrived. Holmes glanced at it, then read it again with an increasingly furrowed brow.

‘The game is on, Watson!’ he exclaimed, pushing it across the table. ‘What do you make of this?’

‘Yea mayo duly. Bile wilt mutton’

Best Hen Pen

‘Baffling,’ I said. ‘Does it pertain perhaps

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