The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories, Part XX by David Marcum

The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories, Part XX by David Marcum

Author:David Marcum [Marcum, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, Mystery, murder, Undershaw, sir Arthur Conan Doyle, short story collection, stepping stones school, pistol duel, Calais, France, caterpillars, venom, South London Art Gallery, Horace Vernet, poison, toxic pigments, Académie des Beaux-Arts, forgery, blackmailer, Arabian baths, Paris, coniine poisoning, SS Bokhara, PO, ship, gold, Egypt, Nile, full moon, First Crusade
ISBN: 9781787055674
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2020-07-08T04:00:00+00:00


The Tomorrow Man

by S.F. Bennett

Readers of the cases that Sherlock Holmes permitted to be shared with a wider audience may wonder why so few of these merited mention in the press of the day.

If so, it was not due to lack of interest on the part of Fleet Street, which on the contrary was considerable, but rather through my companion’s determination to control his public exposure, for the sake of his profession and the reputation of his clients. This moratorium extended as far as my own writings and it was only with the coming of a new century, when his hand had slackened on the rein, that I was given some freedom to select those investigations which I believed best demonstrated his particular skills.

There are times, however, in every man’s life, when his deeds become coal to feed the fire of the public’s interest. It may well be remembered for Holmes this day came in the spring of 1896 when every newspaper in the land borne that deathly headline: Sherlock Holmes Shot.

The uproar that surrounded such an announcement can only be imagined by those who were not witness to the events of that day. Only now, with the passing of time, is it possible to elaborate on the particular details of this case. In so doing, it may be that I leave myself open to charges of peddling preposterous nonsense. I am bound, however, to report the facts exactly as they happened. Embellishment, in any case, would be superfluous.

So it was that a balmy morning in the April of that year found me returning to Baker Street in high spirits. Holmes had been called away on a matter concerning a famed recluse on the Continent. As my attendance was not desired by the client, I had elected to take myself down to the South Coast. A change, as they say, does wonder for the soul, although I must admit the sight of familiar faces and locations transformed by age from the images of my memory served only to remind me how quickly time passes. Invigorated by sea air, however, I had been determined not to be burdened by the past, and as a consequence found myself homeward bound in a better frame of mind than when I had arrived.

If there was one cloud casting its shadow on that momentous day, it was that I was returning without an old friend: My father’s watch. Somewhere between Baker Street and Southsea, we had become parted. For days, I grieved for its loss. Now, arriving home, I had accepted what could not be changed and resolved to find myself a suitable replacement.

Holmes had arrived at our quarters shortly before me, and I found him sprawled on the sofa, still in his traveling clothes, a newspaper draped over his face, and apparently in a state of supreme physical and mental exhaustion. Any rising fears that this presaged the news of an unsuccessful conclusion to his last case were soon quelled.

“The lamentable state of the railways is enough to give any man a headache,” Holmes grumbled.



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