The Confidential Casebook of Sherlock Holmes by Marvin Kaye

Author:Marvin Kaye
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 1998-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Holmes was certain where he wanted to begin his investigation. On the following morning, he and I visited the lobby of the Hotel __________, which Mrs. Norton was making her temporary London home. She had been vague about her future plans as well as the whereabouts of her seldom mentioned husband, Mr. Godfrey Norton. Privately I wondered what had happened to that marriage but personal gossip rarely interested Holmes and he had not pursued it.

I was therefore the more puzzled when he moved directly to a table near the front desk that held the latest newspapers for the convenience of the hotel’s guests. He picked one up and turned his attention to, of all things, the society pages.

“My dear fellow,” I protested, “may we not at least sit down to read?”

Absently and without setting aside his paper, Holmes moved to a nearby banquette which could seat the two of us, and we sat there side by side, he reading, I silent. He was completely unconscious of his surroundings, or so he seemed. He continued to absorb every frivolous word of the engagement notices, entertainment descriptions and birth announcements, and I continued to wonder why.

At last he nodded to himself, folded the paper and looked about him with interest, although there was little of interest to be seen, to my way of thinking. A tall man stood a few feet away leaning against the desk, smoking and conversing with the clerk; a cleaning woman knelt in a far corner working at removing a fresh stain from the carpet; a young couple on a neighboring banquette spoke together in low tones, and various other guests or visitors moved about in different directions. All seemed very ordinary.

It was not to remain so.

Holmes rising, I rose also and accompanied him as he walked over to the desk, waved the clerk to one side, and to my embarrassment addressed himself to the tall man without a moment’s hesitation. “I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Dr. Watson, who is, like you, a veteran of the sunnier climes of India.”

The stranger looked uncertain. His gaze moved from one to the other of us. “Do I know you gentlemen?”

“No,” Holmes said baldly, “but I believe we know you. Late of Her Majesty’s Service, I should say at a guess: perhaps too fond of gambling but far from lucky, which has been an unfortunate combination for you. It probably got you cashiered and brought you to your present level of threatening women for money.”

“Sir!” He was tall enough to stand eye to eye with Holmes, which he did, and his look was not cordial. “It is too early in the day for public drunkenness but I can attribute your behaviour to nothing else—”

“How much were you paid to abandon your standards as a gentleman, ex-Captain, or is it ex-Major?”

The man paled and seemed to lose an inch or two of stature. “I don’t understand—you must take me for someone—I deny—”

Holmes cut him off. “Your denials will serve no purpose.

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