The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part VIII by David Marcum

Author:David Marcum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sherlock holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novel, sherlock holmes short fiction, undershaw
ISBN: 9781787052079
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2017-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

The Adventure of the Hungry Ghost

by Tracy Revels

“I will not return to Journey’s End - I shall send for my belongings, or sacrifice them, but I shall never return to that Godforsaken place. Yet I must know what happened there, and why I was attacked. Even if the truth is that devils and ghosts are real, I must know it. Otherwise, I will certainly go mad.”

The words were spoken with dramatic force by a young man who had burst upon us on a warm spring evening just as we were settling down to smoke our after-dinner pipes. His name was Reginald Humphreys, and he had the look of an esthete, with pale skin, rakishly long hair, and a foppish frock-coat trimmed in purple velvet. His right hand was wrapped rather clumsily in bandages, and he had entered our rooms without a cane or hat, breathless and drenched in perspiration, as if he had dashed across half the country for a consultation.

“I was just telling my friend Watson that the criminal classes have been showing a singular lack of imagination this season,” Holmes replied, motioning for me to offer our guest some brandy to steady his clearly rattled nerves. “Perhaps we should give the diabolical a try if mortal felons prove so wearisome. Drink your glass, Mr. Humphreys, and tell us your story.”

Our guest nodded, bolting down his libation. He pulled a handkerchief from his checkered vest to dry his brow. Though the words came freely, I could tell he could command coherence only with the most determined effort.

“You should know, Mr. Holmes, that I am a hermit by inclination. I am the only child of parents who died when I was an infant, and I was raised in the household of a maiden aunt. I much preferred the company of my books to that of other schoolboys, and the single year I spent at the university, where I was forced to take lodgings with a most uncouth set of rascals, confirmed my ambition to lead a solitary life. Some time ago, I had a modest success with a book of poetry, and I came to believe that if I could retire from London and reside in a dreamy, lonely place, my pen would catch fire. Living on my pitiful royalties and a small allowance from my aunt, I found myself in a slow retreat to ever more secluded and impoverished locales. Finally, thinking that exposure to the wind and waves might summon my muse, I turned to the Cornish coast. Do you know the area?”

Holmes gave the slightest of smiles. “I know it well.”

“Then you have perhaps heard of a place called Widow’s Bay. I packed my meager belongings and travelled there in hopes of renting a cottage for the season. Much to my dismay, the house agent could show me only rat-infested huts that I would not condemn a convict to be locked in, or elegant villas that would better suit royalty on holiday. I despaired of finding lodgings,

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