Read Online Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare by J.R. Rain, Chanel Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: J.R. Rain, Chanel Smith
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that.”
“Excellent!”
Chapter Nine:
The Pieces Fall
I arrived home at around half past two that afternoon, much to my wife’s pleasure.
I had eaten a light lunch on the train so she didn’t have to rush the afternoon tea for my benefit. We sat in the parlor while she finished some needlework she had been working on and though I pretended to read the afternoon newspaper, my mind kept wandering back to my conversation with Kendricks. I was uneasy and it was painfully obvious that I would not be able to think of anything else until I had related the news to Holmes.
“Dear?” I asked my wife. She looked up dutifully from her sewing and I continued. “I know it rather late in the day but do you think there is any way that I could get a telegram off to Baker Street? It’s rather urgent.”
“Well, if it’s rather urgent, I’m sure the neighbor’s boy, Conner, would be happy to run a letter over there himself,” she suggested. Then added with a smile, “All you’d have to do is provide the right amount of enticement.” She winked and rubbed her forefinger and thumb together in the universal symbol for monetary compensation. I gave her a knowing smile and a nod.
While I scribbled my message to Holmes, she went out the back door to call to the neighbor’s wife and ask if we could borrow Conner’s services for the task. I ensured to give enough details in the letter that Holmes might find it imperative to come see me that evening but not too much that the clever old boy might figure things out on his own and leave me out of the mystery solving.
I laughed as soon as I had thought it, knowing with a level of certainty that the likelihood of the latter occurring was rather high.
By the time the boy stepped into the parlor with his cap in his hand, I had the letter sealed and ready for delivery and it went into young Conner’s hand accompanied by a shiny shilling.
An hour later, just as my wife was setting out the tea things, Conner returned and stood politely at the back door. She ushered him into my office where I was seated at the desk going over the Galham pathology files again and making notes on my observations.
“Did you find Mr. Holmes at the Baker Street residence, boy?” I asked him without looking up from the papers.
“Yes, sir. I did, sir.”
“Very good. Any response from him?”
“He did send a note back with me, sir,” the boy replied, approaching my desk and handing me a folded piece of paper.
“Well done, young Conner. Now run along. Mrs. Watson will have a treat of some sort in the kitchen for you to have with your tea.”
The boy smiled widely and made his way back to the rear of the house.
Once alone, I unfolded the paper and read its content, sighing loudly as I threw it onto the table in front of me.
“Well, that can’t be good news,” I heard from the doorway.
“He’s figured it out.”
“Just like that?”
“Indeed, my dear wife. That’s our friend, Holmes. Just… like… that.”
***
As my friend’s note had stated, Holmes arrived at my house just in time to join me in my study for an aperitif before dinner. It had been a week since I had returned from Stratford-upon-Avon and the exact evening he had indicated I should expect his visit.
My wife had set out a small amuse-bouche of fois gras, water crackers and thinly sliced ripe figs and apricots; I poured us each a small glass of dry sherry and took a seat in my favorite armchair. Holmes sat by the open window and lit his pipe.
I had been rather concerned about his peculiar disappearance from the public house and wondered what had prompted his behavior. More importantly, having become a bit of an expert in deciphering Sherlock’s strange behavior over the years, I knew his disappearance was directly linked to some clue or other he had untangled in the case. I was therefore rather curious to find out what he had discovered over the past week.
As a courtesy to my wife, Holmes and I kept
“Excellent!”
Chapter Nine:
The Pieces Fall
I arrived home at around half past two that afternoon, much to my wife’s pleasure.
I had eaten a light lunch on the train so she didn’t have to rush the afternoon tea for my benefit. We sat in the parlor while she finished some needlework she had been working on and though I pretended to read the afternoon newspaper, my mind kept wandering back to my conversation with Kendricks. I was uneasy and it was painfully obvious that I would not be able to think of anything else until I had related the news to Holmes.
“Dear?” I asked my wife. She looked up dutifully from her sewing and I continued. “I know it rather late in the day but do you think there is any way that I could get a telegram off to Baker Street? It’s rather urgent.”
“Well, if it’s rather urgent, I’m sure the neighbor’s boy, Conner, would be happy to run a letter over there himself,” she suggested. Then added with a smile, “All you’d have to do is provide the right amount of enticement.” She winked and rubbed her forefinger and thumb together in the universal symbol for monetary compensation. I gave her a knowing smile and a nod.
While I scribbled my message to Holmes, she went out the back door to call to the neighbor’s wife and ask if we could borrow Conner’s services for the task. I ensured to give enough details in the letter that Holmes might find it imperative to come see me that evening but not too much that the clever old boy might figure things out on his own and leave me out of the mystery solving.
I laughed as soon as I had thought it, knowing with a level of certainty that the likelihood of the latter occurring was rather high.
By the time the boy stepped into the parlor with his cap in his hand, I had the letter sealed and ready for delivery and it went into young Conner’s hand accompanied by a shiny shilling.
An hour later, just as my wife was setting out the tea things, Conner returned and stood politely at the back door. She ushered him into my office where I was seated at the desk going over the Galham pathology files again and making notes on my observations.
“Did you find Mr. Holmes at the Baker Street residence, boy?” I asked him without looking up from the papers.
“Yes, sir. I did, sir.”
“Very good. Any response from him?”
“He did send a note back with me, sir,” the boy replied, approaching my desk and handing me a folded piece of paper.
“Well done, young Conner. Now run along. Mrs. Watson will have a treat of some sort in the kitchen for you to have with your tea.”
The boy smiled widely and made his way back to the rear of the house.
Once alone, I unfolded the paper and read its content, sighing loudly as I threw it onto the table in front of me.
“Well, that can’t be good news,” I heard from the doorway.
“He’s figured it out.”
“Just like that?”
“Indeed, my dear wife. That’s our friend, Holmes. Just… like… that.”
***
As my friend’s note had stated, Holmes arrived at my house just in time to join me in my study for an aperitif before dinner. It had been a week since I had returned from Stratford-upon-Avon and the exact evening he had indicated I should expect his visit.
My wife had set out a small amuse-bouche of fois gras, water crackers and thinly sliced ripe figs and apricots; I poured us each a small glass of dry sherry and took a seat in my favorite armchair. Holmes sat by the open window and lit his pipe.
I had been rather concerned about his peculiar disappearance from the public house and wondered what had prompted his behavior. More importantly, having become a bit of an expert in deciphering Sherlock’s strange behavior over the years, I knew his disappearance was directly linked to some clue or other he had untangled in the case. I was therefore rather curious to find out what he had discovered over the past week.
As a courtesy to my wife, Holmes and I kept
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