The Meeting of the Minds 01 The Cases of Sherlock Holmes & Solar Pons by David Marcum

Author:David Marcum [Marcum, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0918Q8TVK
Publisher: Belanger Books
Published: 2021-03-26T21:00:00+00:00

A quarter-of-an-hour passed, and with it, precious moments of Pons’s life. The poor fellow had fallen into fitful slumber and the only thing which reassured us of his continued time on this Earth was the sound of his soft and irregular breathing.

A creeping fear seized my heart as Parker and I continued to work with the liquid within the vials. I couldn’t discern any difference. The solutions seemed to be of the same origin. Neither could be an antidote or a poison. Parker had come to the same conclusion, for he pounded his fist on the table and said, “This is hopeless, Watson. I can find no difference between the two. We are running out of time.” He glanced toward Pons. “I cannot allow my friend to die.”

Before I could raise my voice in warning, the young doctor brought the vial toward his lips.

“Parker, no!” a voice cried from behind us.

The good doctor and I turned in surprise. Pons had risen from the settee. He advanced upon us hand outstretched.

“For God’s sake, man, don’t drink that,” he said. Then, he fell to the floor.

Parker and I quickly picked him up and helped him back to the settee. His breathing had grown worse with the exertion and a sheen of sweat covered his brow. He gripped Parker’s arm and groaned.

“My word be damned!” Parker said. “Watson, call the hospital at once. We must save him.”

Pons shook his head. “No, you mustn’t.”

“I cannot watch the best and wisest man I have ever known die,” Parker replied.

The exchange between the two friends struck a familiar chord in my mind. But any word I might have spoken was drowned out by a loud gunshot. The bullet shattered the window which faced the street, then shattered the lamp above our heads. It plunged us into darkness and showered us with glass.

I dropped to the floor.

Wintry air swept into the sitting room, along with the sound of raised voices from across the street. I looked up to see Solar Pons standing in the moonglow which streamed through the window. His face had taken on an expression I knew well, for I had seen it on the face of Sherlock Holmes in moments of great triumph.

“Pons?” Parker cried.

“Come, Parker! The game is afoot!” Pons answered. With that, he rushed from the room and out the door.

Parker helped me to my feet and together we followed Pons into the hall, down the stairs, and out the door.

Pons led us across the street to the house Sherlock Holmes had spoken of. There, in the doorway, stood a gentleman I knew well.

“I’m afraid he’s eluded us, Mr. Pons,” Inspector Jamison of Scotland Yard said. “Mr. Holmes caught him in the upper rooms, but he managed to slip away.”

“Which way did he go, Jamison?” Pons asked.

“That way,” he said, indicating the rooftops above. “I have several men in pursuit.”

“Where is Holmes?” I asked.

“Here, Watson.”

Holmes appeared from within the confines of the house. He rubbed the back of his head.

“I had him, Watson,” he said.

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