Read Online The Secret Notebooks of Sherlock Holmes by June Thomson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: June Thomson
Tags: Suspense
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much later. He had gone to the Diogenes Club 6 to consult with his elder brother, Mycroft, whomat that stage of the investigation I did not even know existed.
The telegram which Holmes sent that morning prompted a swift reply that afternoon from the Reverend George Paget. He wired to say that Holmes and I would be very welcome to call at the vicarage the following day where we could meet Mrs Grafton, and suggested we caught the 10.26 train from Victoria to Chichester, the nearest station to Holbrook, where he would meet us with the pony and trap.
The Reverend Paget, an elderly, white-haired cleric with a scholarly air, was waiting for us as arranged, and we set off on the three mile drive to Holbrook, down pleasant Sussex lanes which wound their way through cornfields, the wheat not yet ripe enough for harvesting. Everywhere the trees and hedgerows were in leaf and wild flowers spilled in soft and scented profusion from the wayside verges.
The conversation was as pleasant as the view and covered many interesting topics including early church music, one of Holmes’ particular interests, 7 and rural life, about which my old friend expressed an unexpected enthusiasm to my great astonishment.
‘I can think of nothing more agreeable,’ he declared,‘than to retire to a small farm and spend my declining years observing Nature in all its myriad forms.’ 8
He made no reference to the matter which had brought us there. Indeed, he had said nothing further on the subject even to me since he had returned from sending the telegram the previous day, and I was as mystified as ever by his assertion that the anonymous letter confirmed Adams’ guilt. As for the vicar, he was of a cautious and retiring nature and his only reference to the matter in hand was to point his whip towards a large Queen Anne mansion standing in extensive grounds which we passed on our way to the village.
‘Holbrook Manor,’ he remarked.
Shortly afterwards we turned into the gates of the vicarage which was, like him, of a discreet nature, a high laurel hedge and heavy lace curtains protecting it from the public gaze.
Mrs Paget must have been even more retiring than her husband, for we did not meet her at all. Instead, we were shown directly into the vicar’s study by a female servant where Mrs Grafton, Sir Reginald’s housekeeper, was waiting to receive us, a little nervous at the prospectof meeting two unknown gentlemen, one of whom was Sherlock Holmes, the great investigative detective.
But she was a sensible, down-to-earth woman, not easily daunted, and Holmes, who has a knack of putting ordinary people at their ease when he puts his mind to it, soon won her over.
‘It was most kind of you to agree to meet us, Mrs Grafton,’ he said, smiling benignly as he shook her hand. ‘I greatly appreciate the trouble you have taken. And pray let me assure you that anything you say will be held in the strictest confidence both by me and my colleague, Dr Watson. Our sole purpose is to enquire into Sir Reginald’s well-being so that we may reassure his great-nephew, Mr Maitland, who is my client in this affair. Now, to get down to business, madam. Were you able to carry out the instructions I gave you in my telegram to the Reverend Paget?’
‘Indeed I was, Mr Holmes,’ the lady replied and, opening the large black reticule she was holding in her lap, she took out a small bundle of envelopes, tied together with tape, which she handed to him. He examined them swiftly, first the postmarks on the envelopes and then the letters themselves which he removed, unfolded and hurriedly scanned.
For my benefit, he remarked, ‘They are similar to the one we have already seen, the same postmark, the same threatening messages spelt out by the same method of using words and letters cut from a newspaper. And the same newspaper, as well, which confirms my theory.’
He said no more, returning the bundle to Mrs Grafton with the enquiry, ‘No one will notice they are
The telegram which Holmes sent that morning prompted a swift reply that afternoon from the Reverend George Paget. He wired to say that Holmes and I would be very welcome to call at the vicarage the following day where we could meet Mrs Grafton, and suggested we caught the 10.26 train from Victoria to Chichester, the nearest station to Holbrook, where he would meet us with the pony and trap.
The Reverend Paget, an elderly, white-haired cleric with a scholarly air, was waiting for us as arranged, and we set off on the three mile drive to Holbrook, down pleasant Sussex lanes which wound their way through cornfields, the wheat not yet ripe enough for harvesting. Everywhere the trees and hedgerows were in leaf and wild flowers spilled in soft and scented profusion from the wayside verges.
The conversation was as pleasant as the view and covered many interesting topics including early church music, one of Holmes’ particular interests, 7 and rural life, about which my old friend expressed an unexpected enthusiasm to my great astonishment.
‘I can think of nothing more agreeable,’ he declared,‘than to retire to a small farm and spend my declining years observing Nature in all its myriad forms.’ 8
He made no reference to the matter which had brought us there. Indeed, he had said nothing further on the subject even to me since he had returned from sending the telegram the previous day, and I was as mystified as ever by his assertion that the anonymous letter confirmed Adams’ guilt. As for the vicar, he was of a cautious and retiring nature and his only reference to the matter in hand was to point his whip towards a large Queen Anne mansion standing in extensive grounds which we passed on our way to the village.
‘Holbrook Manor,’ he remarked.
Shortly afterwards we turned into the gates of the vicarage which was, like him, of a discreet nature, a high laurel hedge and heavy lace curtains protecting it from the public gaze.
Mrs Paget must have been even more retiring than her husband, for we did not meet her at all. Instead, we were shown directly into the vicar’s study by a female servant where Mrs Grafton, Sir Reginald’s housekeeper, was waiting to receive us, a little nervous at the prospectof meeting two unknown gentlemen, one of whom was Sherlock Holmes, the great investigative detective.
But she was a sensible, down-to-earth woman, not easily daunted, and Holmes, who has a knack of putting ordinary people at their ease when he puts his mind to it, soon won her over.
‘It was most kind of you to agree to meet us, Mrs Grafton,’ he said, smiling benignly as he shook her hand. ‘I greatly appreciate the trouble you have taken. And pray let me assure you that anything you say will be held in the strictest confidence both by me and my colleague, Dr Watson. Our sole purpose is to enquire into Sir Reginald’s well-being so that we may reassure his great-nephew, Mr Maitland, who is my client in this affair. Now, to get down to business, madam. Were you able to carry out the instructions I gave you in my telegram to the Reverend Paget?’
‘Indeed I was, Mr Holmes,’ the lady replied and, opening the large black reticule she was holding in her lap, she took out a small bundle of envelopes, tied together with tape, which she handed to him. He examined them swiftly, first the postmarks on the envelopes and then the letters themselves which he removed, unfolded and hurriedly scanned.
For my benefit, he remarked, ‘They are similar to the one we have already seen, the same postmark, the same threatening messages spelt out by the same method of using words and letters cut from a newspaper. And the same newspaper, as well, which confirms my theory.’
He said no more, returning the bundle to Mrs Grafton with the enquiry, ‘No one will notice they are
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