I Believe in Sherlock Holmes by Douglas G. Greene

Author:Douglas G. Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2015-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Maurice Leblanc

The Jewish Lamp

CHAPTER I

HOLMLOCK Shears and Wilson were seated on either side of the fireplace in Shears’s sitting-room. The great detective’s pipe had gone out. He knocked the ashes into the grate, re-filled his briar, lit it, gathered the skirts of his dressing-gown around his knees, puffed away and devoted all his attention to sending rings of smoke curling gracefully up to the ceiling.

Wilson watched him. He watched him as a dog, rolled up on the hearth-rug, watches its master, with wide-open eyes and unblinking lids, eyes which have no other hope than to reflect the expected movement on the master’s part. Would Shears break silence? Would he reveal the secret of his present dreams and admit Wilson to the realm of meditation into which he felt that he was not allowed to enter uninvited?

Shears continued silent.

Wilson ventured upon a remark:

“Things are very quiet. There’s not a single case for us to nibble at.”

Shears was more and more fiercely silent; but the rings of tobacco-smoke became more and more successful and any one but Wilson would have observed that Shears obtained from this the profound content which we derive from the minor achievements of our vanity, at times when our brain is completely void of thought.

Disheartened, Wilson rose and walked to the window. The melancholy street lay stretched between the gloomy fronts of the houses, under a dark sky whence fell an angry and pouring rain. A cab drove past; another cab. Wilson jotted down their numbers in his note-book. One can never tell!

The postman came down the street, gave a treble knock at the door; and, presently, the servant entered with two registered letters.

“You look remarkably pleased,” said Wilson, when Shears had unsealed and glanced through the first.

“This letter contains a very attractive proposal. You were worrying about a case: here is one. Read it.”

Wilson took the letter and read:

“18, Rue murillo,

“PARIS.

“Sir:

“I am writing to ask for the benefit of your assistance and experience. I have been the victim of a serious theft and all the investigations attempted up to the present would seem to lead to nothing.

“I am sending you by this post a number of newspapers which will give you all the details of the case; and, if you are inclined to take it up, I shall be pleased if you will accept the hospitality of my house and if you will fill in the enclosed signed check for any amount which you like to name for your expenses.

“Pray, telegraph to inform me if I may expect you and believe me to be, sir,

“Yours very truly,

“BARON VICTOR D’IMBLEVALLE.”

“Well,” said Shears, “this comes just at the right time: why shouldn’t I take a little run to Paris? I haven’t been there since my famous duel with Arsene Lupin and I shan’t be sorry to re-visit it under rather more peaceful conditions.”

He tore the cheque into four pieces and, while Wilson, whose arm had not yet recovered from the injury received in the course of the aforesaid encounter, was inveighing bitterly against Paris and all its inhabitants, he opened the second envelope.

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