Sherlock Holmes and A Hole In The Devil's Tail by Viktor Messick

Author:Viktor Messick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novels
ISBN: 9781787050198
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2016
Published: 2016-11-03T00:00:00+00:00

A Visit from the Dead

The following morning I entered the dining room to find Holmes sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in hand, the very picture of gloom. He seemed to have aged a decade over night. An unattended plate of eggs and breakfast meat sat on the sideboard. It was a common practice of Mrs. Hudson to leave a dish there when Holmes refused a meal. Sweet Mrs. Hudson - the incurable optimist!

“Good morning, Holmes. Did you sleep?”

“Not a wink.”

I shook my head. “Can’t blame you. Death has snatched away a young man. A terrible loss!”

“A loss possibly preventable but for the folly of human arrogance.”

“I hope you’re not blaming yourself for another man’s error in judgment.”

“Watson, it was I who postponed an interview, against my better judgment and your better counsel. Wakeham was a babe navigating himself in precarious circumstances. Any word from me, kind or stern, might have tipped the scales upon which he weighed the ultimate question confronting mortals. And I must live with this knowledge for the rest of my days.”

Such a sentiment flustered me greatly. “Nonsense, Holmes. Utter nonsense! The choices men make in life cannot be attributed to others anymore than their successes or failures credited to others. That young man showed a pattern of poor judgment.”

Holmes showed no particular reaction to my argument.

“Do try to put it out of your mind. The case is over, you did your part. Best forget about it and move on to other matters. Find some more pleasant distraction, hem? The cricket season is newly underway and I for one look forward to some good matches.”

My friend briefly rolled his eyes in my direction as I spoke, started to say something, but then, indulging in something like a sigh, returned to his vacant stare in no particular direction. What a distressing thing it was to see Sherlock Holmes despondent!

“Holmes, is there anything I can do for you? Perhaps a trip to the tobacconist?”

“Thank you, Watson. Maybe later.”

“I know. I say, Holmes, would you like to hear my wretched attempt at poetry now?”

“By all means, Watson, if you like,” said he, with little enthusiasm.

I took out my pad, cleared my throat. I indulged in a reconsideration, then held firm. “I call it ‘Village in The Coomb’. It’s just a dabbling, you understand? Well. It begins:

Like ashes of mourning, purple twilight

Fell o’er hills scattered as black shards of steel

And valleys decked in winter flowers bright

As the darkening day reached its seal.

I looked at my friend for reaction. To my delight, some life came to his weary eyes. A smiled played on his lips.

“What a true friend you are, Watson!”

“Thank you kindly.”

“To share such calamitous verse with me in my hour of need!”

“Calamitous!”

“Quite so, Watson.”

“Come, Holmes...”

“I sincerely wish I could label it at least a mediocre feat, but it doesn’t quite rise to that level.”

My heart was sinking. “Well, what is wrong with it then?”

Now he was becoming animated again. “For one thing, there is the rhythm.

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