The Collected Papers of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 5 by David Marcum

Author:David Marcum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: authentic adventures, Canonical, short story collection, traditional stories, Sherlockian, pastiche, Victorian London, Nicholas Meyer, murder, Saint Nicholas, manna, theft, Exeter, Wiggins, James Phillimore, cross, full moon, Hydrofluoric acid, puzzle, inheritance, poison, painting, code, Montague Street, The Irregulars, riddle, Solar Pons, Dr Parker, Freemasonry, pangram
ISBN: 9781787059177
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2022-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

“You brought them with you today when Sir Clive asked you to drop around at Montague Street.”

“Obviously. I still look back with fondness at this little case, and when I heard that someone else was considering, yet again, the purchase of the Ward painting from the No. 24 parlor, it seemed to be the perfect opportunity for a bit of reminiscing.”

I tapped the scrap on the left. “This looks like the gold leaf markings on the corner of the painting.” I lifted the sheets and examined them. “I assume it’s some sort of code. What about this other sheet?” I recalled what the American had said. “Were these other markings on the missing canvas version of the painting?”

Holmes, in the act of swallowing, lowered his glass and smiled. “Very good, Watson. You are correct. Shall I tell the entire tale wrong-way around, or would you like to hear it from the beginning?”

I returned the squares of paper to the table and nodded to for him to tell it in his own way. He was correct. This wasn’t some potboiler, after all, to be revealed just for the drama of the thing.

Settling back, Holmes began. “It was in the fall of ‘75. I had been in London a little over a year, having settled into Montague Street and working to master my new craft. My landlady, the wife of one of my father’s cousins, had several other lodgers, and she’d grudgingly taken me in as well. There were only a few of us regulars there, as more often than not rooms were taken by nearby University students who soon found better or worse accommodations, depending on their prospects, before moving on.

“It was a late afternoon in early October when there was a knock at my door. I opened to find a man in his thirties, well dressed, and trying to catch his breath from the steep climb to my top-floor rooms. I had observed him on several occasions since his arrival earlier in the week. He was what I considered to be a short-timer, as there had been no indication that he had moved in with more than what would be needed for a few days in the capital. No matter what time I had arrived or departed during the recent days, he had been in the parlor, staring at the painting that you and I were admiring just a quarter-hour ago. I had been curious about the object of his fascination – you have seen that it isn’t the Mona Lisa, after all – but it had been none of my business.

“‘Mr. Holmes?’ he wheezed. Clearly, climbing six flights of stairs was not part of his normal routine.

“I observed that he was left-handed, smoked Trichinopoly cigars, had attended Corpus Christi College at Cambridge, hunted with a bow for sport, had written letters both the previous evening and again that morning, as shown by the overlapping ink spots on his fingers. He suffered from digestive complaints, was unmarried but with sweetheart,

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