The Adventure of the Flying Blue Pidgeon by Marcia Wilson

Author:Marcia Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novels
ISBN: 9781787050303
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2016
Published: 2016-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

31 Another substitution for spun sugar.

32 drunk

33 Poteen is the Irish potato version of moonshine, and still as illegal in Ireland as ‘blockade whiskey’ is in Appalachia.

Chapter Eight

“Hold - hold - hold.” Watson had his hands in the air. “Mr. Cheatham was at the Charity for a demonstration of his Art...he picked Lestrade out of the crowd for said demonstration...and then threw him into the earth, pulling his back, breaking three hand-bones and dislocating his shoulder?”The doctor let his disbelief show. “Cheatham is three of Lestrade put together! How could he make such a mistake?!”

Proving he wasn’t completely the imbecile that Mr. Holmes thought he was, Lestrade kept his mouth shut.

“Ah...you have us there.” Gregson said awkwardly, proving he wasn’t the smartest Inspector that Mr. Holmes thought he was.

“The last time I read the pink pages, the rules of Lancashire wrestling were against breaking bones.” Watson growled.

“It’s still the most violent sport outside of Cornwall.” Bradstreet pointed out. “Next to Hurley, that is.”

“Hurley is not that violent.” Gregson complained. “Not if the players know what they’re doing!”

And when was the last time you saw a full team of skilled Hurley players?”

“Ahem!” Watson cleared his throat with amazing volume. “I may not compare to Sherlock Holmes, but I do know when I see a smokescreen.” He threw himself into a chair and pointed to the couch. “Be so kind as to sit. There is a box of cigars left behind by a rather annoying client and it would please me if you could help smoke them.”

“Put it that way...” Gregson led the way to the couch and passed the little wooden box around. Rum-soaked Caribbean may not have been the right bribe for a prideful doctor, but they were good enough for Yarders.

“Lestrade wasn’t actually his opponent. He was just demonstrating his wrestling moves. He’d already had about six or seven men before that, and nothing bad had happened to the ones who’d gone before.”

“But a few minutes later, Lestrade is the one who hears the snap of his own bones.” Watson filled in grimly. “Is this something to watch out for? Something like Guy Fawkes coming up, people seeking symbols of the establishment in order to cause mischief on them?”

“We’re always on the look for that.” Gregson grumbled unhappily. “Not that we can return every battle we’re given! No, Our Cheatham checked out too clean for that nonsense; he’d been asking around to attend events that might bring a bit of money in, and his agent suggested he work as part of the entertainment.” He sighed. “But his agent happens to be as clear as a twelve-yard sundial.”

“Aren’t they all?” Bradstreet murmured.

“Hmnnnn.”

There was a strange note to Watson’s voice that brought even Lestrade’s attention out of his personal drug-soaked euphoria. The doctor was stroking his moustache, buried in thoughts. “Lestrade, may I trouble you to recall something about the time your back was wrenched for you earlier?”

“Hmn?” Lestrade promised.

“The thug who put you out of work...could he have been Bartram of Lancashire?”

Lestrade tried to sit up.

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