Read Online Gaslight Grimoire: Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes by Jeff Campbell, Charles Prepolec - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeff Campbell, Charles Prepolec
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eyes looked in that direction, even though, judging from the emaciated state of the man, the act of rising even that small amount seemed to be an effort. The curious aspect of the plate was that where the man looked to, where his hand was stretched to — there was nothing, no other hand grasped his withered palm to comfort him, and despite the look in his eyes, he met no other face with his gaze. The caption read simply “The Shaman asks for Mercy on his Death-bed”.
Gregson explained that the neighbors had neither heard nor seen anything out of the ordinary this morning. Pethebridge had arrived at his office, very early, at eight o’clock, as was his custom. He would normally read and drink tea for an hour before opening his doors to his appointments. A curator of one of the collections at the British Museum hoped Pethebridge might have some available time that day to inspect a new shipment of Egyptian articles they had received, so a commissionaire had been sent here at half past eight to deliver a message. The messenger entered and had found the body just as we saw it here, and alerted the police.
I examined the actual arrow that was in the dead man’s chest. It was of a strange construction, it seemed to be made of old bronze — ancient bronze — rather than wood, which gave me great doubts about its flight capabilities over any sort of distance. The arrow was one of five that appeared to be part of a set that belonged in an old leather quiver of some kind, almost petrified by age, which stood on the desk near the corpse. Of the four remaining arrows in the quiver all were bent or had broken heads, none other appeared, through dint of age, to be in a state where it could be loaded into the crossbow. Of the crossbow itself I noted that it seemed to have a different vintage and origin than the arrows and quiver, for it seemed more like an ancient English device, of the type that can be found in many a native crafts and hunting exhibition; I dared think it was more than fifty years old. So, to kill himself, it seemed Pethebridge had opted to combine a mismatched crossbow and bolt.
Gregson expanded on what he thought was a feature of interest. “Now, according to the fellow who owns the haberdashery opposite, not a person entered this premises between seven thirty and eight thirty, other than Mr. Pethebridge. Therefore we need to consider an entry from another part of the building as a possibility, such as a window or back door, but, I’ve been unable to locate any that aren’t securely bolted on the inside, so a death by suicide certainly seems supported, but really, Doctor, I find it very difficult to conceive of a man killing himself in such an awkward way.”
“Of course, there is an alternative, gentlemen,” came a clear voice. We looked up and saw Holmes standing in the doorway.
Gregson shook Holmes’ hand warmly. “Glad to see you, sir. You have a theory, already?”
“Not one theory as yet, Gregson, for I have in fact conceived of eight workable hypotheses based on the facts as I know them from your men outside and my first glance about this room. However, I am optimistic that I can eliminate several with a proper examination of this scene,” said Holmes.
Holmes examined the quiver, he pulled a lens from his inside coat pocket to look at its entire surface, and then he carefully studied the remainder of the arrows. He then looked carefully at the dead man, paying particular attention to the scalp of the deceased, especially at the back of the head. He sniffed at the remains of a cup of tea found on a side-table, and then performed a number of calculations in a notebook drawn from his pocket. He clucked and looked around the room. From out of another pocket he drew a long-stemmed pipe and idly tapped it against his leg. Having replaced the pipe, he stood near the centre of the room and slowly turned around in a perfect circle; I could see he was surveying the room again, but particularly the
Gregson explained that the neighbors had neither heard nor seen anything out of the ordinary this morning. Pethebridge had arrived at his office, very early, at eight o’clock, as was his custom. He would normally read and drink tea for an hour before opening his doors to his appointments. A curator of one of the collections at the British Museum hoped Pethebridge might have some available time that day to inspect a new shipment of Egyptian articles they had received, so a commissionaire had been sent here at half past eight to deliver a message. The messenger entered and had found the body just as we saw it here, and alerted the police.
I examined the actual arrow that was in the dead man’s chest. It was of a strange construction, it seemed to be made of old bronze — ancient bronze — rather than wood, which gave me great doubts about its flight capabilities over any sort of distance. The arrow was one of five that appeared to be part of a set that belonged in an old leather quiver of some kind, almost petrified by age, which stood on the desk near the corpse. Of the four remaining arrows in the quiver all were bent or had broken heads, none other appeared, through dint of age, to be in a state where it could be loaded into the crossbow. Of the crossbow itself I noted that it seemed to have a different vintage and origin than the arrows and quiver, for it seemed more like an ancient English device, of the type that can be found in many a native crafts and hunting exhibition; I dared think it was more than fifty years old. So, to kill himself, it seemed Pethebridge had opted to combine a mismatched crossbow and bolt.
Gregson expanded on what he thought was a feature of interest. “Now, according to the fellow who owns the haberdashery opposite, not a person entered this premises between seven thirty and eight thirty, other than Mr. Pethebridge. Therefore we need to consider an entry from another part of the building as a possibility, such as a window or back door, but, I’ve been unable to locate any that aren’t securely bolted on the inside, so a death by suicide certainly seems supported, but really, Doctor, I find it very difficult to conceive of a man killing himself in such an awkward way.”
“Of course, there is an alternative, gentlemen,” came a clear voice. We looked up and saw Holmes standing in the doorway.
Gregson shook Holmes’ hand warmly. “Glad to see you, sir. You have a theory, already?”
“Not one theory as yet, Gregson, for I have in fact conceived of eight workable hypotheses based on the facts as I know them from your men outside and my first glance about this room. However, I am optimistic that I can eliminate several with a proper examination of this scene,” said Holmes.
Holmes examined the quiver, he pulled a lens from his inside coat pocket to look at its entire surface, and then he carefully studied the remainder of the arrows. He then looked carefully at the dead man, paying particular attention to the scalp of the deceased, especially at the back of the head. He sniffed at the remains of a cup of tea found on a side-table, and then performed a number of calculations in a notebook drawn from his pocket. He clucked and looked around the room. From out of another pocket he drew a long-stemmed pipe and idly tapped it against his leg. Having replaced the pipe, he stood near the centre of the room and slowly turned around in a perfect circle; I could see he was surveying the room again, but particularly the
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