The Phantom Killer by Arthur Hall

Author:Arthur Hall [Hall, Arthur]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sherlock holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novel
ISBN: ISBN:9781787052345
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2017-12-10T22:00:00+00:00

Miss Elizabeth Jervis

We returned to the harbour without incident, and had actually begun the long climb up the hill of Torwood Street when Bracken made his final attempt.

About half the distance was behind us when Holmes stiffened like a terrier, in the way that he had when something suddenly arrested his attention.

“Over this wall, Watson! Quickly, if you wish to preserve your life!”

His tone was so urgent that I did not think to question the order. Almost at the same instant we leapt up and over the low brick wall and into the garden of a roadside cottage.

We landed between two fragrant flower beds and crouched low, as the uppermost row of bricks exploded. For several moments we held our position, with our eyes watering in a cloud of brick dust. By the time we were able to look over the wall, it was to see a cart that had rushed past us in a surge of speed, racing down the hill.

“Another close call,” Holmes said. “I wonder if anything unpleasant awaits us at the hotel.”

“Bracken has been busy today,” I observed.

“The fellow is becoming a little tiresome, I think. Perhaps tonight will provide some concrete facts to enlist the official force on our side.” He examined the fractured bricks. “A shotgun of impressive bore, I have no doubt.”

“This time he presented himself in the guise of a carter,” I reflected.

Holmes nodded. “He grows more desperate.”

On entering the hotel Holmes again asked if there had been any enquiries for us, and was answered that there had been none. We dressed for dinner and met on the landing. At his suggestion we first sat at a table in the lounge and consumed a brandy each, although I had no doubt that the real purpose of this was for him to observe once again the hotel entrance and our fellow guests.

As we ate I noticed that the interests of the others in us had faded. There were now far fewer curious or suspicious glances, which I attributed to the fact that a good proportion of guests who were present at the time of the murder had now left the hotel. Most of the remainder, some of whom had been questioned by Inspector Bowden, appeared to have lost interest.

“It is now too long ago to be an interesting subject for conversation.” Holmes remarked as he finished his soup.

“So it would seem,” I responded, before suddenly realising that I had explored the matter only in my thoughts.

“My dear Holmes!”

“No, Watson, I cannot read your mind. I can, however, sometimes define your thoughts with some accuracy from your expressions and movements. You have known me to do this before now.”

“Indeed, I have. Sometimes I feel that you amuse yourself at my expense.”

“Not so,” he adopted a mildly outraged expression, “but when I see you peering from table to table as you eat, as well as looking a little relieved as you do this, what else am I to conclude in the circumstances?”

The main course of roast duck arrived at that moment, and we ate heartily.

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