Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Ghost Machine by David MacGregor

Author:David MacGregor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, Irene Adler, Victorian England, Nikola Tesla, Thomas Edison, inventions, Moriarty, science, Séance, energy, electricity, theft, government agent, Death Ray, particle-beam weapon, Mycroft, human consciousness, conspiracy, murder, Tesla coil, J P Morgan
ISBN: 9781787057180
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2022-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven: The Mysterious Mystery

The following three days were a blur of everything and nothing. As Miss Adler lay motionless on the floor after being struck by Tesla’s Death Ray, Holmes had backed away in horror and disbelief. Just before he collapsed on the divan, he gazed about the room in a kind of panic, as if he were trying to memorise the scene even as he could feel himself going into shock.

“Nothing must be moved, Watson!” he cried. “Promise me that! Nothing must be touched!”

With that, a wave of unconsciousness mercifully swept over him. Making sure he was as comfortable as possible, I slipped a pillow beneath Holmes’ head and covered him with a blanket. I then contacted Mycroft to tell him everything that had happened, and I also explained to him his brother’s insistence that the room be left just as it was. Mycroft agreed that would be best, and to my relief indicated that he would communicate the situation to Tesla and Edison.

For whatever reason, Tesla’s Death Ray had ceased making its electric pulsing sound when Miss Chartier dropped it to the floor, and it was my fervent wish that the infernal device was broken beyond repair. Still, I made sure to keep well clear of it, as well as Edison’s Ghost Machine, as I crept like a mouse back and forth through the room to check on Holmes, who simply lay on the divan, drifting in and out of sleep. Every so often I endeavoured to bring him something to drink or eat, but all he could manage was a little water now and then, before disappearing back into whatever nightmares he was experiencing, as I would occasionally hear him call out Miss Adler’s name, or even engage her in some kind of incomprehensible conversation. On this particular morning, I ascended our stairs as quietly as I could, bearing a tray with a pot of tea and some biscuits. I didn’t want to disturb Holmes unduly, but I was going to insist that he at least try a biscuit or two to help keep his strength up.

Entering our room, I put the tray down, took out my pocket watch, then grasped Holmes’ wrist to measure his pulse. In the previous days I had often found it shallow and quick, but now I was somewhat reassured to find it steady and quite normal. As I counted the beats against the seconds on my watch, Holmes suddenly spoke.

“I’m awake, Watson.”

“Finally. Thank God.”

Opening his eyes, Holmes took in the room and the light streaming through our window. “What time is it?”

“Nine in the morning. Saturday.” Holmes looked at me questioningly. “You’ve had a bad fever, brought on by shock, no doubt. You’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness for three days now. Here… try to sit up and get some tea into you.”

As Holmes struggled into a sitting position, I poured him a cup of tea, wondering just how much he recalled of the terrible events that had led to his collapse.

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