Read Online The Final Page of Baker Street by Daniel D. Victor - Free Book Online

and ominous when I first espied it, offered an oasis of welcome tranquillity within the bustling neighbourhood. One could well understand why Billy enjoyed spending time in the taproom amidst the dark hardwood panels, shiny brass fittings, and porcelain draw-handles.
    Billy arrived a few minutes after I did. By that time, I’d already found a small table and begun rejuvenating myself with a pint of Guinness; he ordered the same. Although I noted with some concern that he and the publican seemed old friends, Billy and I greeted each other warmly; and with great fanfare I returned to him his silver-headed cane. It seemed just the thing to complement the boater with its school-tie band that he was currently sporting.
    We exchanged the usual pleasantries; and then with slight trepidation based on past experience, I dared to ask Billy about his work.
    â€œI just completed my teaching post at the College,” he reported. “It went very well.”
    â€œGood,” I replied with relief. “And your writing?”
    â€œMy writing,” he repeated with little enthusiasm. “Oh, I’m still contributing poems to The Gazette and The Academy , and The Alleynian has taken some of my other pieces.” Granted that his successes were limited, but even those few should have produced some joy. Yet he spoke with no excitement. Indeed, much to my amazement, he announced, “What I really wanted to talk to you about is how my friend Terrence Leonard is managing.”
    â€œYour friend ?” I could not prevent a judgemental scowl.
    â€œThings are different now,” Billy said. “It’s been months since he made that beastly appearance at your house the first time you saw him.”
    â€œAnd the second,” I put in.
    â€œAgreed. But I wanted to meet today so I could tell you how he’s got himself back on a solid footing. I thought you should know - to set the record straight. A rich friend offered him a job for a few months that got him settled.”
    Imagining the scarred face of Terrence Leonard frightening away the customers in any sort of reputable establishment, I asked sceptically, “A job doing what?”
    â€œI believe he acted as some sort of steward in a gentlemen’s club, someone who helped maintain the order and such.”
    â€œA gentlemen’s club,” I scoffed. “Do you know what it’s called?”
    â€œThe Tankerville. Near St. James’s Square.”
    â€œThe Tankerville,” I repeated, vaguely recognizing the name. “Some sort of playing-cards scandal associated with the place a number of years ago. If I remember correctly, Sherlock Holmes helped clear a British officer accused of cheating at the card table.”
    â€œDr. Watson, you yourself just said that’s ancient history. I’m sure the club’s reputation has improved.”
    â€œNo,” I said, trying to recreate the story in my mind, “there was something else - ”
    â€œWhatever it was,” Billy interrupted, “working there helped Terrence re-establish himself. In fact, he’s resumed living with his wife. They make their home in Marlow, not thirty miles from here - although he does comes into the city every so often to the family’s town house in Mayfair.”
    â€œMayfair,” I observed. “So that’s where he lives. Funny how he couldn’t remember. With a house in that district and another in Marlow, I shouldn’t doubt there must be quite a bit of money in his family.”
    â€œHis wife Sylvia’s family, actually,” Billy said. “Her father is Lord Steynwood.”
    â€œLord Steynwood? The publisher?”
    Billy nodded.
    â€œJust a moment,” I said. “Weren’t you writing a piece about Lord Steynwood’s birthday celebration that night you first met Terrence Leonard?”
    Billy laughed. “You can see how poor a reporter I was. At the time, I didn’t even realize