Read Online Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare by J.R. Rain, Chanel Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J.R. Rain, Chanel Smith
Ads: Link
our conversation for after dinner and made pleasant conversation on many other topics during the meal. Mrs. Watson was particularly occupied with the observations Sherlock made on the wide varieties of meadow plant and insect life in Stratford-upon-Avon. Having been raised in a rural county, she was completely engaged by the subject and it made me happy to watch their carefree banter at the table.
With dinner complete, we men retired to my office. I had barely shut the door before Holmes began to ramble about how he should have seen something sooner. I was secretly relieved that I wouldn’t have to press him about the case; in my experience, one got a rather dull response from the detective if he felt interrogated during a conversation.
He stopped his muttering and turned to me. “It’s becoming increasingly obvious that you discovered something in Stratford-upon-Avon that you’re practically bursting to tell me,” he said.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m bursting, Holmes, but I am quite sure my discovery is of significant importance to solving the case.”
“Let’s have it then,” he snapped.
I proceeded to tell him about my suspicion that chloroform had in fact been utilized to render the Galham family unconscious prior to their murders. I explained that perhaps the clue had gone unnoticed as a result of a combination of country policing and the pathologist’s inability to identify and test for the substance.
“Indeed, Watson. Tests for substances of this sort are still in its infancy, and, since a conclusion of murder and then suicide had perhaps been prematurely made by the police, the doctor would not have foreseen the need to pursue the matter.”
“That was exactly my line of thinking, Holmes.”
“It’s a plausible one. Good job, my man.” I smiled at his praise, knowing full well that there was more. “However, I think we are beyond confirming that the Galhams were victims of foul play.”
I let his comment sink in, realizing he was, as usual, ahead of me in the game, before raising the subject of his hasty retreat from the town. I asked, “What happened to you in Stratford-upon-Avon? You seemed to just disappear into the night.”
“It’s a very strange tale, my dear Watson, but the idea came to me after you left my room. I was sitting by the window smoking my pipe and just as if a brisk wind had hit my face, the notion of what the motive behind our case might be came to me.” I knew better than to interrupt him once he had started his narrative of discovery, so I took a seat by the fireplace and listened intently instead. “I wondered, could the break in at Baker Street and the subsequent theft of the manuscript have just been a smokescreen? And… if that were the case, what was its purpose? Perhaps, I thought, it was to keep us occupied with a mystery that had very little to do with the real mystery at hand. It occurred to me, Watson, that a secret as consequential as the possession of a lost masterpiece by the Great Bard himself could actually be the least of Galham House’s innuendos.
“That morning, I visited the local records office and, after quite a fair bit of digging around, I found what I was looking for: the names of all the local midwives who were practicing at the time when Lady Edith, the Dowager Countess of Galham, was residing as the Countess of Galham House.”
“Midwives? What in heaven’s name for, Holmes?” As was to be expected, he completely ignored my question and continued his recollection.
“After sifting through that list, I found there were only three of those women still alive and living around Penstone Heath, so I visited them all in person. On my second try, I met a pleasant woman by the name of Annabel Moseley, who claimed she attended to Lady Edith on all matters of the female constitution during all the countess’s years at Galham. She examined Edith regularly and had her on a very strict regimen of herbal remedies for some of the
With dinner complete, we men retired to my office. I had barely shut the door before Holmes began to ramble about how he should have seen something sooner. I was secretly relieved that I wouldn’t have to press him about the case; in my experience, one got a rather dull response from the detective if he felt interrogated during a conversation.
He stopped his muttering and turned to me. “It’s becoming increasingly obvious that you discovered something in Stratford-upon-Avon that you’re practically bursting to tell me,” he said.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m bursting, Holmes, but I am quite sure my discovery is of significant importance to solving the case.”
“Let’s have it then,” he snapped.
I proceeded to tell him about my suspicion that chloroform had in fact been utilized to render the Galham family unconscious prior to their murders. I explained that perhaps the clue had gone unnoticed as a result of a combination of country policing and the pathologist’s inability to identify and test for the substance.
“Indeed, Watson. Tests for substances of this sort are still in its infancy, and, since a conclusion of murder and then suicide had perhaps been prematurely made by the police, the doctor would not have foreseen the need to pursue the matter.”
“That was exactly my line of thinking, Holmes.”
“It’s a plausible one. Good job, my man.” I smiled at his praise, knowing full well that there was more. “However, I think we are beyond confirming that the Galhams were victims of foul play.”
I let his comment sink in, realizing he was, as usual, ahead of me in the game, before raising the subject of his hasty retreat from the town. I asked, “What happened to you in Stratford-upon-Avon? You seemed to just disappear into the night.”
“It’s a very strange tale, my dear Watson, but the idea came to me after you left my room. I was sitting by the window smoking my pipe and just as if a brisk wind had hit my face, the notion of what the motive behind our case might be came to me.” I knew better than to interrupt him once he had started his narrative of discovery, so I took a seat by the fireplace and listened intently instead. “I wondered, could the break in at Baker Street and the subsequent theft of the manuscript have just been a smokescreen? And… if that were the case, what was its purpose? Perhaps, I thought, it was to keep us occupied with a mystery that had very little to do with the real mystery at hand. It occurred to me, Watson, that a secret as consequential as the possession of a lost masterpiece by the Great Bard himself could actually be the least of Galham House’s innuendos.
“That morning, I visited the local records office and, after quite a fair bit of digging around, I found what I was looking for: the names of all the local midwives who were practicing at the time when Lady Edith, the Dowager Countess of Galham, was residing as the Countess of Galham House.”
“Midwives? What in heaven’s name for, Holmes?” As was to be expected, he completely ignored my question and continued his recollection.
“After sifting through that list, I found there were only three of those women still alive and living around Penstone Heath, so I visited them all in person. On my second try, I met a pleasant woman by the name of Annabel Moseley, who claimed she attended to Lady Edith on all matters of the female constitution during all the countess’s years at Galham. She examined Edith regularly and had her on a very strict regimen of herbal remedies for some of the
Similar Books
