The Soprano's Last Song by Irene Adler

Author:Irene Adler
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler, mystery, fantasy, historical fiction, stone arch books, capstone, capstone young readers, Arsène Lupin, detective, solve, crime, 9781434265227, 9781623701581, 9781434265258
Publisher: Capstone Young Readers
Published: 2014-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

THE PRINCE OF RIDDLES

With Sherlock Holmes leading the way, the three of us soon arrived at Fleet Street. Sherlock stopped in front of a brick building that was beautifully decorated with two small Greek columns in front.

The sign near the door identified it as the headquarters of the Globe, one of the most popular newspapers in the city. In fact, it was the same publication that the journalist worked for — the one who we had met accidentally in the lounge of the Old Bell Hotel while we were waiting for Lupin.

Sherlock pointed to a person who passed by, asking him, without hesitation, “Is the editor here? I need to talk to him.”

The reporter looked him up and down with the same expression as if you were at the market and evaluating a fish to see how fresh it is. Then, with a sneer, he said, “Sure boy, of course. At the end of the hallway, you’ll also find Queen Victoria’s office.”

Sherlock Holmes did not allow the sarcasm to deter him, and he headed down the hallway.

Trusting that nobody took interest in us, Lupin and I followed Sherlock . . . that is, until we were stopped.

“Hey, you!” an angry voice addressed us. “Where are you going?”

A huge person appeared in front of Sherlock. His hands were stained with ink.

“To the editor’s office,” Sherlock answered calmly.

“What’s this? A joke?” the person snickered. “And why would you three be going to the editor’s office?”

“We have to speak with him,” our friend answered, finally indicating that Lupin and I were with him.

“And is he eager to speak with you?” the man asked. “Hey, Enoch!” he exclaimed, calling to a friend on the other side of the hallway. “Have you heard this? There are three children who say they would like to talk to the editor!”

Enoch answered before coming out of his office. “That’s a good one! Let’s write it down for the satire page!” He then appeared in the doorway. “I’ve been trying to meet with him myself for three months!”

We looked each other up and down. It was the man with the pockmarked cheeks we had met at the hotel. “But I know you . . .” he whispered.

“Who are these three, Enoch?” the giant man asked.

“I want to talk to the editor,” Sherlock persisted.

“You have, in front of you, his deputy,” Enoch said, pointing to the other man.

“Could you tell me why you are making me waste all my time, you four?” the deputy said.

“The Prince of Riddles should not be treated this way,” Sherlock said suddenly.

The two reporters looked at each other, then began to laugh. “Do not tell me that you have come here because you weren’t able to solve this week’s mystery.”

The “Prince of Riddles” was a section of the Globe filled with puzzles and word problems to solve. It was published every Tuesday on the last page of the evening publication.

“It’s me, the Prince of Riddles,” said Sherlock.

The deputy’s smile faded.

“Pff!” Enoch suddenly exclaimed. “And

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