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

that Terrence’s wife is Lord Steynwood’s daughter.”
    â€œWhy, Lord Steynwood is worth millions!”
    â€œI know all that. It was the family connection that Terrence told me about - how, following the death of Lord Steynwood’s wife some twenty years ago, His Lordship raised Sylvia and her younger sister Cora on the family estate in Buckinghamshire - just outside Marlow.”
    â€œLord Steynwood,” I said again, still intrigued by the reference. “One of the most influential newspaper publishers in the country, and not always influential in the best of ways.”
    Billy shrugged. “Terrence and I don’t comment on His Lordship’s business. We just enjoy the odd drink together. We discovered the Crown and Eagle one evening when Terrence came round to my place. It’s quiet. We like it, and we’ve spent many an evening here.”
    I held up my tankard. “A pint or two of stout every so often is no sin,” I offered, “and yet...” My voice trailed off as again I recalled the two occasions I had met the inebriated Mr. Leonard - once drunk in my home and the other, drunk on a public pavement not too far from where we were now sitting. Terrence Leonard, the son-in-law of one of the most powerful men in England. It was hard to digest.
    â€œActually,” Billy said, “Terrence is a gin drinker. He’s introduced me to cocktails made of gin and lime juice, Rose’s Lime Juice. ‘Gimlets’ they’re called.”
    Billy took a long drink and let out a contented sigh.
    â€œBe careful, young man,” I said, shaking my head. “Too much steady drinking at an early age can lead to a lifetime of toxic consumption.”
    Billy smiled as he took another pull on his Guinness. “Don’t dwell so much on the drinking, Dr. Watson. Terrence and I idle away most of our time just talking. I’ve told him of my schooling and time on the Continent, and he’s told me his own history.”
    â€œHis own history,” I scoffed, “some sordid tale, I should imagine.”
    â€œOn the contrary, Doctor. He fought bravely in the Boer War.”
    â€œDo tell,” I said, sceptically. “I’m the first to admire a noble war story.”
    â€œTerrence was in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment under Colonel Robert Kekewich. As Terrence recounts it, sometime in April 1902, they were camped at a hillside in a place called Rooiwal. The Boers had scouted it before our lot had dug in; seems like the Brits got sent there due to some cock-up elsewhere on the battlefield - two units assigned to the same spot or some such miscalculation.”
    â€œAll too common, sad to say.”
    â€œWhen those bittereinders discovered our boys in a position the Boers had originally thought was clear, they charged us anyway. A brave show on their part, outnumbered as they were. They rode in on horseback, firing rifles as they came. They did overwhelm some of our mounted infantry, but ultimately our artillery put the blighters on the run.”
    I remembered something of the sort in the record of the war written by Dr. Doyle, my literary agent. His historical account was, in fact, the work that earned him his knighthood. Yet despite the story of Kekewich’s men, Billy had told me nothing specific about Terrence Leonard.
    â€œAnd your friend?” I asked. “What happened to him at Rooiwal?”
    â€œAs you know, Doctor, the Boers were masters at guerrilla fighting, however unsporting we might think such tactics to be.”
    â€œQuite,” I agreed, recalling with anguish the horrific casualties I myself had witnessed in the service of Her Majesty in Afghanistan.
    â€œThey used hand bombs,” Billy said, “sticks of dynamite they lit while on horseback and tossed into enemy positions.”
    â€œMy God,” I whispered.
    â€œTerrence was positioned in front of a group of men when one of those sticks flew in.