Read Online The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters: 25 Modern Tales by Masters by Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland
regarding her son’s behaviour with her usual dignity.”
I sighed. “You are right, of course. I wish there were some way for me to assist her through this horrible period. If there were not more than thirty years separating our ages…”
A quiet knock on the door interrupted me.
“Come,” said Holmes.
Mrs Hudson entered, a small crease between her brows. “A messenger brought this at the behest of Viscount Sheppington.” She held out her hand. In her palm rested a small gold cigarette case.
“Good Lord, Holmes.” I glanced at the table where I had last seen it resting. “Isn’t that the case from—” I stopped, remembering in time the gentleman’s request for anonymity.
Holmes laughed. “It is indeed, my dear fellow.” He took the case from Mrs Hudson. “Was there a message?”
“Only that he would endeavour to be vigilant, but that it might be necessary to call upon you in future.” She shook her head. “I hope you understand it, Mr Holmes.”
“Thank you, Mrs Hudson.”
I gazed in consternation at my friend, for it was impossible for me to conceal my disappointment at this evidence of Her Grace’s continuing kleptomania.
He waited until she departed before continuing. “Take heart, Watson. It is a small flaw in an otherwise sterling character, and yet I suspect we have not seen the last of Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Penfield.” He glanced out the window. “Since the afternoon has turned fine, I suggest we take a turn about the park.”
“Excellent idea, Holmes.” As I collected my coat and hat, I glanced at the locket depending from my watch chain and smiled.
* * * *
Editorial Note: Carla Coupe’s story is very loosely based on the radio program “The Adventure of the Elusive Emerald,” scripted by Anthony Boucher and Denis Greene, originally broadcast on December 21, 1946.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND ROUND, by Mark Wardecker
It is with much reserve that I begin this account of the mystery which awaited my friend Sherlock Holmes and me at Sherrinsthorpe Manor in Kensington. In fact, not since recording the tragedy of the Cushing sisters have I felt such misgivings about publishing one of Holmes’s cases, and in that instance, my reticence did finally prevent the story’s inclusion in most subsequent anthologies. Still, the masterful way in which Holmes illuminated such an obscure conspiracy demands no less than that a record be published. Only this and the fact that the passage of time has swept away many of this drama’s principal actors have moved me to finally set it down.
It was late in the month of November, and though no snow had yet fallen, the frigid blasts of winter rattled every pane and resonated in every chimney in London. During one particularly bitter morning, I arose shortly before dawn and was surprised to find my friend awake and already dressed. What was even more surprising was that, in spite of the early hour and the forbidding, slate-grey frigidity which had permeated the city, Holmes was in remarkably high spirits. He was standing in front of a roaring fire and filling his morning pipe which was comprised of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantlepiece. Upon my entrance, he picked up a letter which was also on the mantelpiece and turned to greet me.
“Good morning, Watson. I am so glad you have already dressed.”
“Good morning to you, as well, Holmes, but I must say that I am surprised to see you up and dressed so early.”
“I was awakened about an hour ago by a messenger,” he said, as he handed me the letter. “Do you remember my mentioning an Inspector Nicholson of the Yard?”
“Yes. He has called you in on a couple of cases within the past year, hasn’t he?”
“Actually, he has enlisted my help on no less than three occasions. He is very young but has already made quite a name for himself in the press. He was the one who finally managed
I sighed. “You are right, of course. I wish there were some way for me to assist her through this horrible period. If there were not more than thirty years separating our ages…”
A quiet knock on the door interrupted me.
“Come,” said Holmes.
Mrs Hudson entered, a small crease between her brows. “A messenger brought this at the behest of Viscount Sheppington.” She held out her hand. In her palm rested a small gold cigarette case.
“Good Lord, Holmes.” I glanced at the table where I had last seen it resting. “Isn’t that the case from—” I stopped, remembering in time the gentleman’s request for anonymity.
Holmes laughed. “It is indeed, my dear fellow.” He took the case from Mrs Hudson. “Was there a message?”
“Only that he would endeavour to be vigilant, but that it might be necessary to call upon you in future.” She shook her head. “I hope you understand it, Mr Holmes.”
“Thank you, Mrs Hudson.”
I gazed in consternation at my friend, for it was impossible for me to conceal my disappointment at this evidence of Her Grace’s continuing kleptomania.
He waited until she departed before continuing. “Take heart, Watson. It is a small flaw in an otherwise sterling character, and yet I suspect we have not seen the last of Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Penfield.” He glanced out the window. “Since the afternoon has turned fine, I suggest we take a turn about the park.”
“Excellent idea, Holmes.” As I collected my coat and hat, I glanced at the locket depending from my watch chain and smiled.
* * * *
Editorial Note: Carla Coupe’s story is very loosely based on the radio program “The Adventure of the Elusive Emerald,” scripted by Anthony Boucher and Denis Greene, originally broadcast on December 21, 1946.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND ROUND, by Mark Wardecker
It is with much reserve that I begin this account of the mystery which awaited my friend Sherlock Holmes and me at Sherrinsthorpe Manor in Kensington. In fact, not since recording the tragedy of the Cushing sisters have I felt such misgivings about publishing one of Holmes’s cases, and in that instance, my reticence did finally prevent the story’s inclusion in most subsequent anthologies. Still, the masterful way in which Holmes illuminated such an obscure conspiracy demands no less than that a record be published. Only this and the fact that the passage of time has swept away many of this drama’s principal actors have moved me to finally set it down.
It was late in the month of November, and though no snow had yet fallen, the frigid blasts of winter rattled every pane and resonated in every chimney in London. During one particularly bitter morning, I arose shortly before dawn and was surprised to find my friend awake and already dressed. What was even more surprising was that, in spite of the early hour and the forbidding, slate-grey frigidity which had permeated the city, Holmes was in remarkably high spirits. He was standing in front of a roaring fire and filling his morning pipe which was comprised of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantlepiece. Upon my entrance, he picked up a letter which was also on the mantelpiece and turned to greet me.
“Good morning, Watson. I am so glad you have already dressed.”
“Good morning to you, as well, Holmes, but I must say that I am surprised to see you up and dressed so early.”
“I was awakened about an hour ago by a messenger,” he said, as he handed me the letter. “Do you remember my mentioning an Inspector Nicholson of the Yard?”
“Yes. He has called you in on a couple of cases within the past year, hasn’t he?”
“Actually, he has enlisted my help on no less than three occasions. He is very young but has already made quite a name for himself in the press. He was the one who finally managed
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