Read Online Sherlock Holmes Murder Most Foul by Gordon Punter - Free Book Online
Authors: Gordon Punter
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of the cart and, indicating the virtually empty wicker baskets on the ground, glares at the three seamen smirking outside the tavern door, “See wot yer do?” He points to the cabbages and cauliflowers strewn about the street, “ Yer make bloody fine mess, na?”
Griggs laughingly nudges Straker on the arm, “E’s a foreigner. A [85] Yid! A bleedin’ Jew!”
Kosminski stoops and retrieves one of the baskets, “Yer, pay. Everyfink!”
Straker crouches and contentiously picks up a cabbage, “Yer want me t’ pay fer this?”
Kosminski nods, “Yah, everyfink’.”
Straker stands and disdainfully throws the cabbage aside, “Pay yer? Pay a bleedin’ Jew.”
Burrill sniggers, “Go on, Straker, give it t’ ’im.”
Kosminski scowls at Burrill, “This me country. Yer seaman. Where yer country?”
Grinning at Kosminski, Griggs sidles up next to Straker, “Yer’re standin’ in it, mate.”
Straker sneeringly kicks a cauliflower along the street, “Yeh, an’ it’s time…yer…left.”
From darkened doorways and alleyways, sullen men begin to emerge, stepping into the street and silently rallying round the solitary Jew.
Kosminski mocks Straker, “Now, yer go.” He points to the tavern, “Inside. Drink more. Buy whores.”
Unnerved by the ominous presence of the men, Straker glances at Griggs, “Best do as ’e says. Quickly, like.”
Griggs anxiously stares at the gathering men, “Where’d they come from?”
Burrill retorts, [86] “Rats from the ’old.”
Straker retreats and, brushing past Burrill, pushes open the door of the tavern and nearly collides with a drunken Polly, leaving.
Upon seeing Burill and Griggs behind Straker, she burps, “Three ain’t a problem, luv.”
Straker shoves past her and jibes, “Then it’s yer lucky night, ain’t it? They’re outside, waitin’ fer yer.”
Polly stumbles from the tavern and, confronted by a dozen or more men retrieving vegetables in the street, quips to herself, “Too many, luv.”
Heaving a wicker basket of recovered cauliflowers onto the back of his cart, Kosminski broodingly strokes his beard, watching Polly totter off along Brick Lane towards the Whitechapel Road.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Pausing at the corner of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road, Polly leans against a shop window and coughs hoarsely.
The shadow of a figure falls across her.
Ellen Holland, aged fifty and haggard, stares at Polly, “Whorin’ is goin’ t’ kill yer, Pol.”
Polly wearily smiles at Ellen and coughs again.
Ellen sighs, “Look, luv, come wiv me. I’ll git yer a bed.”
Trying to stand erect, but swaying, Polly places the palm of her hand on the shop window for support and groans, “I ain’t got no money. I drank it.”
Ellen gently tugs her by the arm, “All right, just fer t’night, yer can bed down wiv me.”
Polly jerks her arm away, “No!”
She brushes past Ellen.
Ellen pleads, “Where yer goin’, then?”
Polly begins to stagger off along the Whitechapel Road, “I’m goin’ t’ git fourpence fer me bed.”
Ellen shakes her head despairingly.
A single clink is heard.
Ellen looks down and spots a penny coin, lying beside the side of her foot on the pavement. Another coin drops, landing next to the first.
Inquisitively peering over her shoulder, she sees a stout man who, after wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, flicks two more coins, which also land alongside her foot.
Ellen turns about, faces the stranger and indicates Polly to him, “Why not let ’er earn the fourpence?”
The man raises an index finger and wags it disapprovingly.
Ellen stoops, casually collects the coins and cheekily grins at him, “Anywhere in mind, luv?”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Dangling dangerously below Watson, who strains fervently to hold him by the hand, Holmes loses his grip and, with a fearful expression, drops down the side of the Reichenbach Falls and descends into its malevolent fog of spray.
Frantically
Griggs laughingly nudges Straker on the arm, “E’s a foreigner. A [85] Yid! A bleedin’ Jew!”
Kosminski stoops and retrieves one of the baskets, “Yer, pay. Everyfink!”
Straker crouches and contentiously picks up a cabbage, “Yer want me t’ pay fer this?”
Kosminski nods, “Yah, everyfink’.”
Straker stands and disdainfully throws the cabbage aside, “Pay yer? Pay a bleedin’ Jew.”
Burrill sniggers, “Go on, Straker, give it t’ ’im.”
Kosminski scowls at Burrill, “This me country. Yer seaman. Where yer country?”
Grinning at Kosminski, Griggs sidles up next to Straker, “Yer’re standin’ in it, mate.”
Straker sneeringly kicks a cauliflower along the street, “Yeh, an’ it’s time…yer…left.”
From darkened doorways and alleyways, sullen men begin to emerge, stepping into the street and silently rallying round the solitary Jew.
Kosminski mocks Straker, “Now, yer go.” He points to the tavern, “Inside. Drink more. Buy whores.”
Unnerved by the ominous presence of the men, Straker glances at Griggs, “Best do as ’e says. Quickly, like.”
Griggs anxiously stares at the gathering men, “Where’d they come from?”
Burrill retorts, [86] “Rats from the ’old.”
Straker retreats and, brushing past Burrill, pushes open the door of the tavern and nearly collides with a drunken Polly, leaving.
Upon seeing Burill and Griggs behind Straker, she burps, “Three ain’t a problem, luv.”
Straker shoves past her and jibes, “Then it’s yer lucky night, ain’t it? They’re outside, waitin’ fer yer.”
Polly stumbles from the tavern and, confronted by a dozen or more men retrieving vegetables in the street, quips to herself, “Too many, luv.”
Heaving a wicker basket of recovered cauliflowers onto the back of his cart, Kosminski broodingly strokes his beard, watching Polly totter off along Brick Lane towards the Whitechapel Road.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Pausing at the corner of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road, Polly leans against a shop window and coughs hoarsely.
The shadow of a figure falls across her.
Ellen Holland, aged fifty and haggard, stares at Polly, “Whorin’ is goin’ t’ kill yer, Pol.”
Polly wearily smiles at Ellen and coughs again.
Ellen sighs, “Look, luv, come wiv me. I’ll git yer a bed.”
Trying to stand erect, but swaying, Polly places the palm of her hand on the shop window for support and groans, “I ain’t got no money. I drank it.”
Ellen gently tugs her by the arm, “All right, just fer t’night, yer can bed down wiv me.”
Polly jerks her arm away, “No!”
She brushes past Ellen.
Ellen pleads, “Where yer goin’, then?”
Polly begins to stagger off along the Whitechapel Road, “I’m goin’ t’ git fourpence fer me bed.”
Ellen shakes her head despairingly.
A single clink is heard.
Ellen looks down and spots a penny coin, lying beside the side of her foot on the pavement. Another coin drops, landing next to the first.
Inquisitively peering over her shoulder, she sees a stout man who, after wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, flicks two more coins, which also land alongside her foot.
Ellen turns about, faces the stranger and indicates Polly to him, “Why not let ’er earn the fourpence?”
The man raises an index finger and wags it disapprovingly.
Ellen stoops, casually collects the coins and cheekily grins at him, “Anywhere in mind, luv?”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Dangling dangerously below Watson, who strains fervently to hold him by the hand, Holmes loses his grip and, with a fearful expression, drops down the side of the Reichenbach Falls and descends into its malevolent fog of spray.
Frantically
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