Read Online Sherlock Holmes in Something the Cat Dragged In by Lyn McConchie - Free Book Online

he’ll maybe move to a better part of Lunnon.”
    I couldn’t recall Alf, so I asked after him, to be told, “Ah, he lost his last place because the boss didn’t like some of the company he keeps.” The old man’s voice faltered. “Nay, truth to tell, it were more than that. A matter of five year back they was burgled, and the boss thought Alf had told those that did it where to find the cash and best goods. I don’t think it was so, but he lost the job anyways.” He sighed. “Alf isn’t a bad man, Doctor, but he got in with a dangerous crowd about that time, and when he lost his position they found him rooms where they all live.”
    He began to cough at this point. It went on and on, the old man unable to catch his breath until he fell gasping from his chair. I heard a knocking at the door even as I dropped to my knees before him.
    â€œCome in quickly!” I shouted, unbuttoning Abernathy’s upper garments. The flimsy door slammed open and a tall, well-built man rushed in.
    â€œWhat’s to do?”
    â€œHe’s having trouble breathing. Put the kettle on to boil and bring a towel.”
    He obeyed, and after a short but anxious wait while the steam of the inhalation worked, Mr. Abernathy was again breathing comfortably. I made up a jug of the cough mixture and watched him drink half a mug, until at last he sat up and could return to his armchair.
    â€œI’m fine, lad, thanks to you.” He turned to the man beside him. “Alf, this is Dr. Watson. Reckon he saved my life.” I demurred, to be overridden. “Nay, Doctor. You visit me and often wi’out charge, you brought free lemons and that medicine for me, and you sit and talk with an old man when you’ve patients elsewhere. Think I don’t know? I do and I appreciate it. There’s many a doctor charges for every step he takes out of his surgery, and as for giving anything free, he’d rather die. Nay, I know and I’m grateful. You’re a good doctor and a better man.”
    My face warmed and the man who had come in smiled. “Don’t like to be thanked, is that right, Doctor? Well, my dad’s thanks’ll serve for us both.” He offered his hand. “I’m Alfred Abernathy and I’m grateful.”
    So this was the errant son. He was well enough dressed, and looked to be in good circumstances, so that I wondered how accurate his father had been in his description of his son’s situation. However that was none of my business and I made no comment but shook his hand and assured him that I had been pleased to be of assistance, which was true. His father had been my patient for some years and I knew him to be a decent man, and one who had been a good husband and a loving father. I may have met Alfred once or twice, but that had been many years ago and I would not have recognized him now.
    â€œWell, I’ll leave you in good hands, Mr. Abernathy. You take care, and I’ll call again in a few days.” I glanced back as I left the room, seeing Alfred bending over his father, persuading him to sip a little more of the cough mixture. Yes, bad man or not, he was a son who loved his father, and I was pleased that it be so. It is a fallacy promulgated by the rich that the poor do not care for their families. I have often seen more affection in a humble cottage or single room where a family resides, than in mansions.
    * * * *
    The next morning a constable arrived on our doorstep with a note from Harrison to say that we should go at once to the hospital. We hailed a cab as soon as Holmes finished reading. On our arrival, Harrison met us in the waiting room.
    â€œLen’s waking up,” he said briefly. “Come this way.”
    We followed him to the ward and stood by the door of the lad’s room. Lestrade was in there, along with a nurse and doctor. Someone was mumbling, and the doctor spoke now and again to Lestrade or gave