A Case of Witchcraft by Joe Revill

Author:Joe Revill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes novels, sherlock holmes fiction
ISBN: 9781780922911
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2012
Published: 2012-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter IX

THE OLDEST GAME IN THE WORLD.

“WHAT does it say?” asked Crowley.

“It is most extraordinary. She asks that I go to visit her at home this evening.”

“A-ha!” Crowley smiled knowingly.

“For reasons entirely of a professional nature, to do with the disappearance of Mr. Tollemache.”

“I see.”

“She has information which she will reveal only to me, in private: information that she dared not give to the Police for fear of a dreadful conspiracy going back more than a thousand years.”

“Do you think that she means the Witch-Cult, or the Sons of Grim?”

“The latter, I should imagine. She seems to be a rational person; and the results of our investigation suggest that the Witch-Cult is no longer in existence on this Island, while the fraternity is undoubtedly real - and quite probably up to no good. But she may surprise me.”

“Does she say any more?”

“Only to give me directions to the house, and to impress upon me the importance of my not being observed by anyone on my way there.”

“I am not invited, then?”

“Regrettably not. Anyway, you have your appointment with Miss McCoy.”

“That’s not until after ten. What time are you seeing Miss Reid?”

“Eight.”

“Well, I suppose that our appointments might overlap - if you’re lucky!”

Holmes was embarrassed. “Please do not speak so of a lady.”

“The Colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady/ Are sisters under the skin, ” quoted Crowley, merrily. Then he looked at Holmes and grew graver. “Your pardon, sir - I go too far sometimes.”

“Granted,” said Holmes, a little grudgingly.

“But seriously, sir: don’t you think that it’s rather inconsistent to refuse the appointment at the Bell and accept this one? Might not this be another trap?”

“Miss Reid inspires more confidence than our unknown gunman. She is an outstanding practitioner of a noble profession; everything that one hears about her indicates that she is both highly intelligent and keen for justice.”

“She is also very beautiful.”

“Agreed - but that is not a factor in my decision.”

Crowley smiled.

Soon the driver pulled up outside Mickle Winning, and the gentlemen stepped out. They had been at this point on the path the day before, with Mrs. Rendall. Her footprints (or, perhaps, those of the Provost’s daughters) could be seen here and there on the mud; but, at the entrance to the farm, heavy traffic had obliterated them. Inside the gate, the yard was cobbled, and showed every sign of having been recently swept; so there was no footprint evidence there, either. The farm-house was a long, low, vernacular building. Knocking on the door summoned an old Butler.

“Good afternoon. I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes, from London. I should like to speak with the master of the house.”

“I’ll see if he’s at hame, sir. Bide ye here.” The servant closed the door. After a few minutes, it was opened again, and they were confronted by a stout, middle-aged man with a large moustache - clearly a gentleman by his dress. His runic tie-pin proclaimed him a member of the sinister fraternity.

“Mr. Sinclair, I presume?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes offered his hand, which Sinclair did not take.

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