The Final Tales Of Sherlock Holmes - Volume Three by John A. Little

Author:John A. Little
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novels, sherlock holmes short fiction
ISBN: 9781780929583
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2016
Published: 2016-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

‘Thank you, Lest ... Jasper!’

What a fine young man! He should go far in his profession. So unlike his jealous father, who seemed to begrudge me every clue I ever passed on to his turgid, limited mind.

I spent a couple of fulfilling hours studying the family tree of The House Of Windsor in more detail, convinced that our murderer was hidden in there somewhere. Either within the tree itself, or known to someone upon a specific branch. But who was it? And how far back did I need to go? What if my theory about Prince Albert Victor was utterly wrong, and the real truth lay hidden within the Victorian era? Really, thinking out loud like this and putting my ideas down on paper is a considerable assistance to my investigative process. I must mention it to Watson when he returns. He might be able to use this method in his future stories. And it will give you, dear reader, some insight into my odd process of deduction, wherein I attempt to infer the truth from an incomplete set of facts. Trust me, it is not all plain sailing. And occasionally, I do get everything wrong. Norbury, I hear you cry?

I found myself recalling with fondness that time I had etched the letters V and R in bullet holes on the wall of our sitting room, when I had no work and was utterly bored. Victoria Regina. Queen Victoria, from the House Of Hanover, she who had reigned for over sixty-three long years. Despite being rather plump and unattractive, she was reputed to have a voracious sexual appetite due to an imbalance in her hormones, that sent her husband Albert into an early grave after she had borne him nine children, each of whom provided him with at least nine months’ welcome respite. Apparently he took to locking his bedroom door at night to keep her away when she demanded her conjugal rights. I sympathise with the poor devil entirely.

And what was the name of that brutal, dour Scottish blaggard who stepped into the Prince Consort’s shoes as the Queen’s stallion shortly before his death? John Black? No! John Brown! When she finally died, was she not buried clasping a photograph of Albert’s former Highland ghillie and the keeper of her Balmoral pony, containing a lock of his hair, and wearing his mother’s wedding ring? And with one of his handkerchiefs laid upon her corpse?

What if the rumours were true and Victoria and the whiskey-swilling Brown had been married in a clandestine ceremony in Balmoral, and she had secretly born a male child to him? Who had to be sent away somewhere, to protect the House Of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha? And who has now returned to wipe out his competitors and claim the throne? Such a man, assuming he was not illegitimate, might feel that his royal blood gave him legal precedence over all the children of Edward VII, including the present king. But then why would he murder these

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