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

The others scattered as best they could, but Terrence had the presence of mind - or foolishness, depending on one’s point of view - to dive for the awful thing, pick it up, and hurl it back - burning fuse and all. Unfortunately, the dynamite still detonated much too close to him. You’ve seen the results. He’s a true hero.”
    I admit to softening my feelings against Leonard. Having been wounded myself, I know how the terrors of war can drive many a good man - many a war hero - to drink. Or worse.
    â€œTerrence was invalided out of the army although, as you know, the war ended not long after that incident. He met his future wife, Lord Steynwood’s daughter, in hospital here in London where she and her sister had volunteered to help wounded soldiers. Despite Terrence’s frightful condition, he and Sylvia spent many happy years together.”
    Billy’s picture of marital bliss did not resemble his earlier description of the troubled couple. “I remember the story you told about the two of them at the Langham,” I reminded him, “how his wife drove off leaving him on the pavement. How well do they get along now? I dare say that, following the incident with the car, such conjugal visits to London must have become far fewer.”
    â€œWell,” Billy shrugged, “they did live apart for a few months following that night. But you’re too old-fashioned, Dr. Watson.” He added a derisive laugh. “A little drinking and bickering among friends is all the rage. We modernists try not to be as stifled as you Victorians. Terrence has a lot of good traits. He’s friendly, dependable, someone you can talk to.”
    â€œAnd if I may ask, what is it that the two of you talk about?”
    â€œThere’s a lot going on in my head these days, Dr. Watson. Women. Writing. My mum. Terrence has lots of good suggestions.”
    â€œI’m sure he does. Perhaps he should listen to his own advice first and fix up his marriage before he begins telling others how to behave.”
    Billy lifted his tankard for a final swallow. A small amount of stout pooled at the bottom, while remnants of white froth, like ladders of spider webs, clung to the sides. “Dr. Watson,” he said, holding the glass before his lips, “Terrence and Sylvia have got back together. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m certain things between them are going to improve. They always do.” Following this pronouncement, he finished what was left of the drink.
    The thump of the tankard as he returned it to the table punctuated his final sentence with the certainty of an exclamation mark.

IV
    When in doubt have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand.
    - Raymond Chandler, Introduction, Trouble Is My Business
    A narrow path of light-brown cobblestones leads round the side of my Queen Anne Street house to the entry of my surgery. Inside the patients’ waiting room facing the japanned door sits my nurse, Miss Shelvington, a middle-aged, thickset woman clad in white. Before her is the receiving table where she daily records the names and complaints of my patients as they enter and then offers them seats in one of the available bow-back chairs. Having got them settled, she lays the latest medical report underneath the others in the flat wooden box that sits on the small table next to the door of my consulting room. As I complete my work with each patient, I survey the new top sheet in the flat box and summon the person so described. When called upon, Miss Shelvington helps me with whatever medical procedures are required. It is a system that has proved quite efficient over the years, and it was in operation on the dreary Wednesday morning one week after my pub visit with Billy.
    Thanks to the lowering clouds that concealed the sun, one would have been hard-pressed to recognize the season as summer - and yet, rain or shine, duty called, and I was preparing to pick up the