Read Online Between the Thames and the Tiber by Ted Riccardi - Free Book Online
Authors: Ted Riccardi
Ads: Link
Then glancing at the inside of the wire again he said: “How interesting, Watson. Seven men with seven names. And the first letter of each name corresponds to a letter on the wire.”
The door bell rang, and we could hear Mrs. Hudson open the front door.
“Ah, good,” said Holmes looking at his watch, “it is Sidgwick, if I am not mistaken. I asked him to come at this hour.”
I had never met Sidgwick before. He was a small man, frail, almost entirely grey in color except for his dark eyes which showed certain, if not monumental, intelligence. Despite his thin frame, he resembled Mycroft Holmes in his facial expression. He had been with his master and mentor for many years, and it was quite natural that he had borrowed some of his mannerisms. He sat absolutely still.
“How are you bearing up, dear Sidgwick?” asked Holmes quietly.
“It is most difficult, Mr. Holmes, most difficult. I knew that his health was not the best, but as you know he took no notice . . . only the problem at hand.”
“And what can you tell us of the last problem at hand, if anything?”
“Mycroft kept it to himself. He seemed to relish playing with it, improvising answers, testing hypotheses. I only know this because on occasion I heard him mumble something to himself or shout “no, no, no” when he thought I was out of earshot. I can tell you only that he had mentioned a certain Vrukonovic, asking me to arrange meetings with him.”
“Indeed, my dear Sidgwick. The name Vrukonovic is among the few clews we have from Mycroft’s diary. Who is he?”
“It is a long story, my dear Holmes. For years, he was a member of a group known as Die Tote Stadt, or the Dead City, a secret group bent on creating mayhem in London and elsewhere.”
“I knew of them for a time,” said Holmes. “They could have done infinite damage here and in Europe but they seemed to have dissolved . . . seven desperate men from as many countries threatening havoc. Somehow Mycroft penetrated their organization, perhaps through this Vrukonovic.”
“Quite right. Indeed, and I tell you this in all confidence, it was Mycroft who destroyed their horrific plans with the help of members of our secret cadres. Vrukonovic was the key, for he had so come under Mycroft’s spell that he agreed to turn informer. Once that had happened, it was only a matter of time before the gang was chased out of England. It was recently however that Vrukonovic, after a period of absence, perhaps as much as two years, reappeared, claiming that the Dead City had regrouped and was up to new acts of madness, the nature of which they had managed to keep well under cover. He spoke only to Mycroft at first, and appeared only at night. One evening, while Mycroft was asleep, he asked for me and I went to the back door of the Diogenes Club. There he handed me a piece of wire turned and curved in the middle. ‘Give it to Mycroft, he will solve it,’ he said in a frightened voice.”
“When was this?” asked Holmes.
“The night before Mycroft’s demise.”
“Is this the wire?” asked Holmes, removing it from the notebook.
“Quite,” said Sidgwick, “indeed it is. Mycroft was clutching it tightly when I found him. It was I who put it in his diary.”
“And what of Vrukonovic himself? Where is he?”
“Curiously, enough, he came to the funeral service. He handed me a note which said: “Now Mycroft’s brother.”
“Interesting,” said Holmes, “and how do we find this Vrukonovic?”
“Since Mycroft’s death, I have met with him three times in secret. He claims that the gang still does not suspect his role as our agent. He is most insistent that the Dead City is up to some terrible deeds and that he must discuss them with you. In turn, I have told him that I would speak to you first. In the past, his information has been most reliable, but he has told me nothing of what he considers to be their latest plans. Provided that it is at night, I can arrange a meeting.”
“Then
The door bell rang, and we could hear Mrs. Hudson open the front door.
“Ah, good,” said Holmes looking at his watch, “it is Sidgwick, if I am not mistaken. I asked him to come at this hour.”
I had never met Sidgwick before. He was a small man, frail, almost entirely grey in color except for his dark eyes which showed certain, if not monumental, intelligence. Despite his thin frame, he resembled Mycroft Holmes in his facial expression. He had been with his master and mentor for many years, and it was quite natural that he had borrowed some of his mannerisms. He sat absolutely still.
“How are you bearing up, dear Sidgwick?” asked Holmes quietly.
“It is most difficult, Mr. Holmes, most difficult. I knew that his health was not the best, but as you know he took no notice . . . only the problem at hand.”
“And what can you tell us of the last problem at hand, if anything?”
“Mycroft kept it to himself. He seemed to relish playing with it, improvising answers, testing hypotheses. I only know this because on occasion I heard him mumble something to himself or shout “no, no, no” when he thought I was out of earshot. I can tell you only that he had mentioned a certain Vrukonovic, asking me to arrange meetings with him.”
“Indeed, my dear Sidgwick. The name Vrukonovic is among the few clews we have from Mycroft’s diary. Who is he?”
“It is a long story, my dear Holmes. For years, he was a member of a group known as Die Tote Stadt, or the Dead City, a secret group bent on creating mayhem in London and elsewhere.”
“I knew of them for a time,” said Holmes. “They could have done infinite damage here and in Europe but they seemed to have dissolved . . . seven desperate men from as many countries threatening havoc. Somehow Mycroft penetrated their organization, perhaps through this Vrukonovic.”
“Quite right. Indeed, and I tell you this in all confidence, it was Mycroft who destroyed their horrific plans with the help of members of our secret cadres. Vrukonovic was the key, for he had so come under Mycroft’s spell that he agreed to turn informer. Once that had happened, it was only a matter of time before the gang was chased out of England. It was recently however that Vrukonovic, after a period of absence, perhaps as much as two years, reappeared, claiming that the Dead City had regrouped and was up to new acts of madness, the nature of which they had managed to keep well under cover. He spoke only to Mycroft at first, and appeared only at night. One evening, while Mycroft was asleep, he asked for me and I went to the back door of the Diogenes Club. There he handed me a piece of wire turned and curved in the middle. ‘Give it to Mycroft, he will solve it,’ he said in a frightened voice.”
“When was this?” asked Holmes.
“The night before Mycroft’s demise.”
“Is this the wire?” asked Holmes, removing it from the notebook.
“Quite,” said Sidgwick, “indeed it is. Mycroft was clutching it tightly when I found him. It was I who put it in his diary.”
“And what of Vrukonovic himself? Where is he?”
“Curiously, enough, he came to the funeral service. He handed me a note which said: “Now Mycroft’s brother.”
“Interesting,” said Holmes, “and how do we find this Vrukonovic?”
“Since Mycroft’s death, I have met with him three times in secret. He claims that the gang still does not suspect his role as our agent. He is most insistent that the Dead City is up to some terrible deeds and that he must discuss them with you. In turn, I have told him that I would speak to you first. In the past, his information has been most reliable, but he has told me nothing of what he considers to be their latest plans. Provided that it is at night, I can arrange a meeting.”
“Then
Similar Books
