Read Online The Final Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Volume 1 by John A. Little - Free Book Online

absence of its inhabitants. There were no telltale signs of struggle or blood stains, although it was clear to me that someone had been living there that same day. Fires were dying out in the kitchen, main bedroom and drawing room, as though they had been deprived of coal for several hours. The remains of a shared lunch sat upon the kitchen table. A chilly breeze blew through a wide-open door to the rear of the pantry.
    It was only when Holmes lit a candle and pursued a twin set of deeply rutted tracks through the mud out to the hay barn, that our unspeakable fears were finally realised.
    The wheelchair lay on its side beside the entrance. Holmes stiffened, as though steeling his body for some terrible blow. I raised my Webley and steadied my hand. He pulled back the door and we entered the barn cautiously together. The flickering candle cast ghostly shadows around the walls.
    â€˜Too late, Watson. Too late. Oh, dear God. Father. I am so sorry.’ Holmes’ strangled whisper was strangely unfamiliar to me as it echoed throughout the barn.
    It was empty, except for several bales of hay in one corner and the raddled naked body in the centre. It knelt forward in a large red pool, its bluish skin sagging, its blindfolded head touching the ground, its hands and legs bound together with grey bandages. From the wrapping around the face and the amount of blood, it was clear to me that Edward Siger Holmes had been granted a ‘murder method’ every bit as brutal and amateurish as that of his son Mycroft. The Goatslayer had beaten us to it.
    I was about to rush over to the body to check its pulse, when Holmes intervened.
    â€˜Watson. We will walk slowly around the edge. There may be foot prints that we can use.’
    I did as he asked, but the old man was definitely dead. For six hours or more, I surmised. While Holmes took off his Inverness cape and laid it tenderly over the body, I scanned the barn, searching for clues as to the Goatslayer’s whereabouts amongst the shadows. But there was no sign of anybody, not even the girl Ellie, whom I hoped with all my heart had been fortunate enough to be enjoying her day off when the villainous murderer arrived.
    â€˜Watson, go into the house and telephone for the police. Before they arrive and clump all over the barn, I shall hopefully have examined the floor thoroughly. There should also be a note somewhere.’
    â€˜A note?’ I queried.
    â€˜Yes.’ Holmes’ voice was dead. ‘A note to tell us the name of the next victim, as did the last note. Except that I was too stupid to recognise it for what it was.’ He took out his lens and scoured the earth patiently for footprints.
    I marvelled at Holmes’ calmness as I made my way carefully back to the kitchen, keeping my pistol cocked and a sharp eye out for any untoward movements. Once I had got through to the local exchange and asked for their Emergency Services, I started looking around for some sort of note. I had finished in the kitchen and was about to move into the drawing-room when Holmes returned, holding a thin slip of paper in his hand.
    â€˜It was stuffed down the side of the wheelchair,’ he explained.
    â€˜Any footprints?’ I asked.
    â€˜Plenty. All made by those wellington boots outside the pantry door. I shall examine them later.’
    Holmes gazed at me with his deadly earnest heavy-lidded eyes.
    â€˜Watson.’
    â€˜Yes, Holmes.’
    â€˜When we catch this homicidal maniac, it is my desire that he will not be subject to the due process of law. Do you understand?’
    â€˜I think I do. However. I believe that you will feel differently when faced with the prospect of being his judge, jury and executioner.’
    I had never seen Holmes look so dangerous. Yet I could not imagine him as a vigilante. His entire life had been dedicated to upholding the law, even if he sometimes allowed a crime to go unpunished when he thought that it was deserved, as with