Read Online The Egyptian Curse by Dan Andriacco, Kieran McMullen - Free Book Online
Authors: Dan Andriacco, Kieran McMullen
Tags: Crime, Mystery, sherlock holmes, british crime, sherlock holmes novels, sherlock holmes fiction
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no future in the streets picking up those coins. The future was in working hard and taking opportunities as they came.
âWhy are you telling me this, Wiggins?â
âI was hoping youâd want to help Hale, seeing as how you worked together on that Hangman business and the Pike murder.â
Holmes thought for a moment as he gently rotated the glass on the tablecloth. âIâm afraid he hasnât asked for my help, Wiggins.â
âThatâs a matter of pride I suppose. Or, maybe heâs waiting for you to offer.â
Or maybe he just forgot about me, Holmes thought. Maybe everyone has forgotten about me. Iâm seventy years old and I look it. Iâve been officially retired more than twenty years - not that Mycroft didnât put me to work anyway, especially during the Great War. Itâs even been seven years since Watson has published one of his highly romanticized accounts. My gait is slower now and I donât remember things as well as I used to. If Hale asked me to help, could I even do it?
Holmes stood up. As he did, Wiggins realized that his old mentor now looked the part of an older man. His clothes were somewhat dated and they hung a little loosely. His eyes were still bright, his wit still quick, but yes, the hair was grey and the movements not as spry as he remembered.
Wiggins smiled to himself and looked at his own attire - not quite as loose at it should be - and he knew the hairline was staring to recede. The sedentary life behind the desk of a chief-inspector was taking its own toll.
âItâs always good to see you, Wiggins,â Holmes said. âThank you for calling. But I think that I had best get back to my bees.â
âThen you wonât help, Mr. Holmes?â The look of disappointment on Wigginsâs face was plain.
Holmes hesitated a moment, then placed a hand on his old friendâs shoulder.
âShould Hale call for assistance I will do what I can, but perhaps my time has passed. Good day, old friend.â
An Awkward Surprise
In matters of love a womanâs oath is no more to be minded than a manâs.
â John Vanbrugh, The Relapse , 1696
Within a few hours at the Royal Liverpool Golf Club, Hale had talked to a dozen duffers, hangers-on, and golfersâ wives - quite enough for the light feature that Rathbone was looking for. The American who was playing, Walter Hagen, had won the 1922 Open. And one Scot by the name of MacIver was having none of that as a possible repeat. The old gentleman had literally followed Hale around for the better part of an hour giving his personal discourse on the game and the inherent right of a Britisher to win it (preferably a Scot). Hale allowed as how Hagen was three strokes back today and the Empire should have nothing to worry about. A £ 75 prize seems hardly worth crossing the Atlantic for, thought Hale as he made his escape from McIver. He was glad he was only a Saturday duffer.
The return trip to London by the 9.04 into Euston Station gave him the chance to organize his notes for writing, with plenty of time left over for pondering what Howard Carter had said. He sat back in the carriage and tried to think about it logically, as Sherlock Holmes would.
He even thought of calling Holmes, but that didnât seem right. Didnât the old man deserve his peace? Besides, Hale should have learned a thing or two from the worldâs greatest consulting detective. He just needed to put his mind to it. All right, then.
If Linwood Baines was a poseur who had lied about his background in order to get Lord Sedgewood to fund his expeditions - and to line his pockets - that might be a secret worth killing for. But in that case, why not also kill Carter - and whoever told him? They all knew the secret. But perhaps killing Alfie wasnât a rational act. Suppose Alfie confronted Baines and he reacted like a cornered animal. But Alfie was killed right outside the Constitutional Club
âWhy are you telling me this, Wiggins?â
âI was hoping youâd want to help Hale, seeing as how you worked together on that Hangman business and the Pike murder.â
Holmes thought for a moment as he gently rotated the glass on the tablecloth. âIâm afraid he hasnât asked for my help, Wiggins.â
âThatâs a matter of pride I suppose. Or, maybe heâs waiting for you to offer.â
Or maybe he just forgot about me, Holmes thought. Maybe everyone has forgotten about me. Iâm seventy years old and I look it. Iâve been officially retired more than twenty years - not that Mycroft didnât put me to work anyway, especially during the Great War. Itâs even been seven years since Watson has published one of his highly romanticized accounts. My gait is slower now and I donât remember things as well as I used to. If Hale asked me to help, could I even do it?
Holmes stood up. As he did, Wiggins realized that his old mentor now looked the part of an older man. His clothes were somewhat dated and they hung a little loosely. His eyes were still bright, his wit still quick, but yes, the hair was grey and the movements not as spry as he remembered.
Wiggins smiled to himself and looked at his own attire - not quite as loose at it should be - and he knew the hairline was staring to recede. The sedentary life behind the desk of a chief-inspector was taking its own toll.
âItâs always good to see you, Wiggins,â Holmes said. âThank you for calling. But I think that I had best get back to my bees.â
âThen you wonât help, Mr. Holmes?â The look of disappointment on Wigginsâs face was plain.
Holmes hesitated a moment, then placed a hand on his old friendâs shoulder.
âShould Hale call for assistance I will do what I can, but perhaps my time has passed. Good day, old friend.â
An Awkward Surprise
In matters of love a womanâs oath is no more to be minded than a manâs.
â John Vanbrugh, The Relapse , 1696
Within a few hours at the Royal Liverpool Golf Club, Hale had talked to a dozen duffers, hangers-on, and golfersâ wives - quite enough for the light feature that Rathbone was looking for. The American who was playing, Walter Hagen, had won the 1922 Open. And one Scot by the name of MacIver was having none of that as a possible repeat. The old gentleman had literally followed Hale around for the better part of an hour giving his personal discourse on the game and the inherent right of a Britisher to win it (preferably a Scot). Hale allowed as how Hagen was three strokes back today and the Empire should have nothing to worry about. A £ 75 prize seems hardly worth crossing the Atlantic for, thought Hale as he made his escape from McIver. He was glad he was only a Saturday duffer.
The return trip to London by the 9.04 into Euston Station gave him the chance to organize his notes for writing, with plenty of time left over for pondering what Howard Carter had said. He sat back in the carriage and tried to think about it logically, as Sherlock Holmes would.
He even thought of calling Holmes, but that didnât seem right. Didnât the old man deserve his peace? Besides, Hale should have learned a thing or two from the worldâs greatest consulting detective. He just needed to put his mind to it. All right, then.
If Linwood Baines was a poseur who had lied about his background in order to get Lord Sedgewood to fund his expeditions - and to line his pockets - that might be a secret worth killing for. But in that case, why not also kill Carter - and whoever told him? They all knew the secret. But perhaps killing Alfie wasnât a rational act. Suppose Alfie confronted Baines and he reacted like a cornered animal. But Alfie was killed right outside the Constitutional Club
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