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Authors: Ken Greenwald
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down
the stairs leading into the club room,” said the young lady.
“Why did you
move him?”
“We wanted him
to be comfortable.”
“That’s the
worst thing in the world you could have done,” I said in dismay, “never move a
person with an injured skull!”
“Is he going to
be all right, doctor?” said the young lady.
I examined the
gentleman as she spoke, then, heaving a great sigh, I turned to the lady.
“No, madam, I’m
afraid he isn’t. His neck is broken. He’s dead.”
“Julian, dead!”
the lady exclaimed, her hand against her trembling mouth.
“You are sure of
that, doctor?” the tall man asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Of course I’m
sure of that, my good man. I’m afraid you need an undertaker now, not a doctor.”
The tall, gruff
looking man leaned over the body a moment, shook his head, then turned towards
the door.
“I must tell the
others,” he said. He entered the main room and raised his arms.
“Quiet,
everybody, quiet! Julian is dead.”
A murmuring was
set up as the various beggars and well dressed people began to talk among
themselves. A few of the club members stepped forward and went into the room to
observe the now dead Julian.
“This is
terrible,” said one small man dressed in impeccable clothing. “Who is this man?”
“He’s a doctor.”
“For Heavens
sake, we must get him out of here at once. We don’t want any strangers nosing
about!”
Some of the
members began protesting my presence with anger.
“Just a minute,”
I said loudly to assuage their nervousness, “I assure you, ladies and
gentlemen, I haven’t the slightest desire to stay here one moment longer. If
you’d direct me to the door again, madam, I’ll try to find a cab myself, in
this God forsaken district, and go home!”
“Show him out
and give him his money!”
“Follow me,
please,” said the young lady who had called upon me for my services. She
directed me to the door, and accompanied me outside.
“Do you mind, if
I don’t drive you home, doctor?” she said apologetically.
“Frankly, young
lady, I should much prefer it. After this experience I feel my nerves are not
in the best of shape.”
“You mustn’t be
angry with me, Doctor, please.”
“To whom shall I
send in my bill, madam?”
“Here is a five
pound note. That should cover your time and trouble, shouldn’t it?”
“No, no. It’s
far too much, madam,” I said in surprise at the large amount she was willing to
pay me.
“It’s late at
night, doctor, and it hasn’t been a very pleasant case for you. Please take it.”
“Very kind of
you. Very generous, indeed. I was wondering, however, how you happened to come
to me in the first place?”
“I was driving
about looking for a doctor, and a policeman directed me to your house. May I
come around in the morning for a death certificate?”
“Of course,
madam. Do you remember my address?”
“Yes, but I don’t
know your name.”
“Watson. Dr.
John H. Watson.”
“Dr. Watson?”
she said, “not the Dr. Watson who is associated with Sherlock Holmes?”
“Well, madam,” I
said, quite pleased, “I’m flattered that you know of me.”
She backed away,
a look of fright on her face.
“Good night,
doctor. And please, forget about everything you’ve seen here tonight!”
With that, she
turned and ran back into the warehouse, the rain obliterating her in a swirl of
darkness. I stood perplexed for a moment, unable to fathom not only her fright,
but the entire reason behind such an unusual band of people assuming such
enterprise as this club they were a party to. As luck would have it, I spotted
a Hansom a short distance away, turned up my coat collar to protect me from the
biting rain and ran to catch it. It was not long I was once again on my way
across town, this time to return to the comfort of my warm lodgings. As I sat
in the Hansom, I pondered on this amazing late-night rendezvous and decided
that it would be best to tell my good friend
the stairs leading into the club room,” said the young lady.
“Why did you
move him?”
“We wanted him
to be comfortable.”
“That’s the
worst thing in the world you could have done,” I said in dismay, “never move a
person with an injured skull!”
“Is he going to
be all right, doctor?” said the young lady.
I examined the
gentleman as she spoke, then, heaving a great sigh, I turned to the lady.
“No, madam, I’m
afraid he isn’t. His neck is broken. He’s dead.”
“Julian, dead!”
the lady exclaimed, her hand against her trembling mouth.
“You are sure of
that, doctor?” the tall man asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Of course I’m
sure of that, my good man. I’m afraid you need an undertaker now, not a doctor.”
The tall, gruff
looking man leaned over the body a moment, shook his head, then turned towards
the door.
“I must tell the
others,” he said. He entered the main room and raised his arms.
“Quiet,
everybody, quiet! Julian is dead.”
A murmuring was
set up as the various beggars and well dressed people began to talk among
themselves. A few of the club members stepped forward and went into the room to
observe the now dead Julian.
“This is
terrible,” said one small man dressed in impeccable clothing. “Who is this man?”
“He’s a doctor.”
“For Heavens
sake, we must get him out of here at once. We don’t want any strangers nosing
about!”
Some of the
members began protesting my presence with anger.
“Just a minute,”
I said loudly to assuage their nervousness, “I assure you, ladies and
gentlemen, I haven’t the slightest desire to stay here one moment longer. If
you’d direct me to the door again, madam, I’ll try to find a cab myself, in
this God forsaken district, and go home!”
“Show him out
and give him his money!”
“Follow me,
please,” said the young lady who had called upon me for my services. She
directed me to the door, and accompanied me outside.
“Do you mind, if
I don’t drive you home, doctor?” she said apologetically.
“Frankly, young
lady, I should much prefer it. After this experience I feel my nerves are not
in the best of shape.”
“You mustn’t be
angry with me, Doctor, please.”
“To whom shall I
send in my bill, madam?”
“Here is a five
pound note. That should cover your time and trouble, shouldn’t it?”
“No, no. It’s
far too much, madam,” I said in surprise at the large amount she was willing to
pay me.
“It’s late at
night, doctor, and it hasn’t been a very pleasant case for you. Please take it.”
“Very kind of
you. Very generous, indeed. I was wondering, however, how you happened to come
to me in the first place?”
“I was driving
about looking for a doctor, and a policeman directed me to your house. May I
come around in the morning for a death certificate?”
“Of course,
madam. Do you remember my address?”
“Yes, but I don’t
know your name.”
“Watson. Dr.
John H. Watson.”
“Dr. Watson?”
she said, “not the Dr. Watson who is associated with Sherlock Holmes?”
“Well, madam,” I
said, quite pleased, “I’m flattered that you know of me.”
She backed away,
a look of fright on her face.
“Good night,
doctor. And please, forget about everything you’ve seen here tonight!”
With that, she
turned and ran back into the warehouse, the rain obliterating her in a swirl of
darkness. I stood perplexed for a moment, unable to fathom not only her fright,
but the entire reason behind such an unusual band of people assuming such
enterprise as this club they were a party to. As luck would have it, I spotted
a Hansom a short distance away, turned up my coat collar to protect me from the
biting rain and ran to catch it. It was not long I was once again on my way
across town, this time to return to the comfort of my warm lodgings. As I sat
in the Hansom, I pondered on this amazing late-night rendezvous and decided
that it would be best to tell my good friend
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