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

Author:David Marcum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Stepping Stones School, Undershaw, authentic adventures, Canonical, short story collection, traditional stories, Sherlockian, historical, pastiche, Victorian London, India, haunted house, soldier, Captain Dreyfus, espionage, Emil Zola, Lieutenant Colonel Piquart, spy, Norwegian, murder, drug, hallucinogen, revenge, Borneo, blowpipe, tribesmen, poison, venom, ice needles, white roses
ISBN: 9781787057845
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Mystery of Foxglove Lodge

by S. C. Toft

One afternoon in December, 1902, I left my practice early to purchase a Christmas present for my wife. My journey took me to a milliners shop not far from Baker Street, so I took the opportunity to pass on the season’s greetings to my old friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Of course, I couldn’t do this without bringing a small gift for the famed detective.

“Ah, Watson, you have outdone yourself! And such a fine pipe as this deserves only the finest tobacco,” he said, reaching into the familiar Persian slipper that he kept by the fireplace.

“Now tell me, dear fellow, what brings you to your former lodgings on such a cold, snowy afternoon? I see from the hat box at your side you have come via Fawcett’s on Marylebone High Street – a present for your good lady wife no doubt, but pray tell, what is the true purpose for your visit? Perhaps you have a patient in need of my services?”

“Why, have you really become so cynical as to suggest that my visit could be anything other than a chance to share some festive cheer with my dear old friend?”

Holmes paused thoughtfully. “I dare say that my unique line of work me causes me to look for motives in even the most kindly of gestures. Please accept my most humble apologies. Now, let us enjoy a glass of port by the fireside, and I shall apprise you of my recent cases.”

He stood at the sideboard, pouring the port from a crystal decanter, when he glanced up to look out the window. “Hullo, what do we have here? There is a very good chance that a man walking along Baker Street at a hurried pace, dressed without a hat or scarf on such a day as this, has urgent business with myself.”

Moments later, as Holmes had predicted, the very same snow-dusted gentleman of around fifty years old was ushered into the warm sitting room by Mrs. Hudson.

“Gentlemen, my name is Dr. Barnabas Flint. I practice medicine in the market town of Essington, and this morning I witnessed something that has made me question my own sanity – or, if I haven’t lost my mind, then I have witnessed something that throws the laws of science into doubt.”

“Dr. Flint,” Holmes interjected, with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “I suggest that you join us in having a glass of this most excellent port and enlighten us as to the sequence of events that have caused you such concern. Please state only the facts.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said Flint, accepting the glass with a trembling hand. “As I stated, I attend to the medical needs of the people of Essington and have done so for the last twenty years. Like you, Dr. Watson, I served as an army surgeon in Afghanistan before commencing general practice. A week ago, one of my patients, an elderly spinster named Miss Harriet Aldington, passed away peacefully at the age of seventy-eight.

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