Read Online The Sensible Necktie and Other Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Peter K Andersson - Free Book Online

darkness of the trees with a dreaming gaze for a few moments, then he turned to Miss Crabb. “What lies beyond the forest?”
    â€œBridle,” she said. “A very small village consisting of a small cluster of houses and a church.”
    â€œIs that where the local vicar resides?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen we must pay him a visit.”
    Holmes appeared most adamant in exploring every inch of the area, and although Miss Crabb and I were both tired and hungry, we indulged him, and so Miss Crabb led the way through the forest to the village of Bridle. I counted not more than five or six houses scattered around a village green. One of them was the vicarage, but we were spared the effort of knocking on its door, for just as we stepped onto the green, we were stopped by a man calling out to us and approaching. He introduced himself as Martin Flint, the vicar of Bridle. He seemed quite impressed by my friend’s presence in his little village, but was more focused on Miss Crabb, at whom he directed a few comforting words.
    â€œMr Flint,” said Holmes, “did you see any preliminary signs of the lunacy that has inflicted Mr Crabb?”
    â€œNone at all,” said the vicar. “I spoke to him only a couple of days before his isolation, and then he was as normal and as sharp as ever.”
    â€œYou conversed on your common passion, I take it?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, we did. He was taking an increasing interest in the pre historical remains of the area.”
    â€œWas he planning any excavation work?”
    Flint looked a bit startled by this question.
    â€œI don’t think so. Mr Crabb’s interest was on a strictly literary basis.”
    â€œI see. But you are yourself an amateur archaeologist, I understand? That dirt underneath the fingernails can be so hard to get rid of, can it not?”
    Flint looked down on his hands and evidently realised that several of his fingernails had dirt under them.
    â€œOh yes. Well, I am quite enthusiastic about it. I have been conducting a survey of the moor, excavating some of the barrows there a few weeks ago, and right now I am doing some digging close to the church, where I have reason to believe there has once been a pagan temple.”
    â€œHow fascinating! Did you excavate all the barrows?”
    â€œNo, there are several of them. I only dug out two or three, but I found nothing spectacular. Mr Crabb was with me on one occasion, and we exchanged some interesting speculations upon the age and structure of these burial mounds.”
    Holmes nodded and looked at the little cottages that surrounded us.
    â€œWho lives in the village?”
    Flint once again looked a bit vexed by this curious man’s random series of questions. “Old folks, mainly. This community is slowly fading away.”
    â€œAnd I presume the cottages have been in the same families for generations?”
    â€œPrecisely. Apart from the old smithy, of course, which was empty until a few months ago.”
    â€œA newcomer?” I asked.
    â€œAn old man. Seemed like he wanted to come here for some peace and quiet. He was seen to arrive one day with a large trunk and then he settled into the little house. I went over there a few times to welcome him to the village, but he never opened the door even though I could see he was lurking inside. He seemed harmless nonetheless.”
    â€œHe never goes out?”
    â€œNot that I have seen. Only I think he has left, for the place is starting to show signs of being deserted again.”
    Mr Flint indicated a small dilapidated cottage that lay just where the village bordered onto the woods. Holmes gestured at us to stay where we were, and then he quickly went up to the house, walking stealthily up to the window to peer in. There he stood for a minute or two before rejoining us again.
    â€œThe place is empty. There is nothing more for us to do here. Let us return to the house.”
    We bid farewell