Read Online The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters: 25 Modern Tales by Masters by Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland
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to apprehend the Spotts gang and that without my help. This time, however, he hasn’t wasted an instant in contacting me, which can only mean that he has stumbled upon something unusual.”
At a nod toward the letter from Holmes, I unfolded it and, in my customary fashion, read it aloud:
“Sherrinsthorpe, Kensington
“3:30 a.m.
“My dear Mr Holmes,
“I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. So far, I have been able to keep everything as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Lord Morris there.
“Yours faithfully,
“Geoffrey Nicholson.”
“Well, this leaves little doubt as to the result of the crime,” I remarked, “but I must confess that the name of the victim is unfamiliar to me.”
“It is to me, as well. Since Mrs Hudson has been kind enough to prepare breakfast, why don’t you have something to eat while I look him up.”
As I sat down to breakfast at the table, Holmes retrieved a red-covered volume from one of the shelves and slumped down into his armchair. When, after several minutes, he stopped flipping through the pages and re-lit his pipe, I hazarded the question: “Well, what does it say?”
“That the victim was noble … not that I doubted it. No, I am afraid we shall have to begin our investigation at the scene of the crime.”
With that, I hurriedly finished Mrs Hudson’s excellent breakfast, and in no time, we had abandoned the comfort of Baker Street for a west-bound cab. Holmes, obviously excited over the prospect of an interesting case, talked animatedly of music and the theatre, but I, uncharacteristically, became withdrawn once our growler entered High Street and the precincts of my old neighbourhood. Even Hyde Park and the Gardens looked lifeless on this relentlessly cold morning, and none but the hardiest tradesmen were out and about.
Within an hour, we passed through a wrought iron gate and into a long drive, at the end of which stood Sherrinsthorpe Manor, a massive red-brick mansion of three floors. As we alighted and Holmes paid the driver, a moon-faced and somewhat dishevelled young man emerged from the entrance, said a couple of words to a constable posted by the door, and hurriedly walked over to us.
“Mr Holmes, I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation!” he said smiling.
“It is good to see you, as well, Nicholson. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson.”
“It’s good to finally meet you, sir. I hate to rush you both, but we should probably have a look at the scene before the coroner arrives to examine the body.”
“That’s fine, but let me first congratulate you on the birth of your child,” said Holmes, causing Nicholson to suddenly turn around again.
“Thank you. Our son Adam was born a few weeks ago. Did Inspector Lestrade tell you?” asked Nicholson with a hint of expectation in his tone.
“No, there are several other indicators. In fact, when I first noticed the wrinkled condition of your suit and that you looked unusually weary, even for one aroused so early, I began to worry that your domestic fortunes had suffered a decline. However, once you turned, exposing the dried milk stain upon your left shoulder, I was glad to find that quite the opposite was true.”
“Let’s hope Mr Holmes can make such short work of this murder, Dr Watson. Follow me, gentlemen.”
And with that, we entered the main hall.
“You will probably want to keep your coats on,” warned Nicholson. “As I stated in the letter, nothing has been touched, and the French doors of the study have been open all night.”
Indeed, it was absolutely freezing in Lord Morris’s study, and I was able to feel a blast of wind the moment Nicholson opened its door, which was on the left-hand side of the hall. The French doors were directly across from the entrance, and the only other window, which was closed, was on our left and
At a nod toward the letter from Holmes, I unfolded it and, in my customary fashion, read it aloud:
“Sherrinsthorpe, Kensington
“3:30 a.m.
“My dear Mr Holmes,
“I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. So far, I have been able to keep everything as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Lord Morris there.
“Yours faithfully,
“Geoffrey Nicholson.”
“Well, this leaves little doubt as to the result of the crime,” I remarked, “but I must confess that the name of the victim is unfamiliar to me.”
“It is to me, as well. Since Mrs Hudson has been kind enough to prepare breakfast, why don’t you have something to eat while I look him up.”
As I sat down to breakfast at the table, Holmes retrieved a red-covered volume from one of the shelves and slumped down into his armchair. When, after several minutes, he stopped flipping through the pages and re-lit his pipe, I hazarded the question: “Well, what does it say?”
“That the victim was noble … not that I doubted it. No, I am afraid we shall have to begin our investigation at the scene of the crime.”
With that, I hurriedly finished Mrs Hudson’s excellent breakfast, and in no time, we had abandoned the comfort of Baker Street for a west-bound cab. Holmes, obviously excited over the prospect of an interesting case, talked animatedly of music and the theatre, but I, uncharacteristically, became withdrawn once our growler entered High Street and the precincts of my old neighbourhood. Even Hyde Park and the Gardens looked lifeless on this relentlessly cold morning, and none but the hardiest tradesmen were out and about.
Within an hour, we passed through a wrought iron gate and into a long drive, at the end of which stood Sherrinsthorpe Manor, a massive red-brick mansion of three floors. As we alighted and Holmes paid the driver, a moon-faced and somewhat dishevelled young man emerged from the entrance, said a couple of words to a constable posted by the door, and hurriedly walked over to us.
“Mr Holmes, I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation!” he said smiling.
“It is good to see you, as well, Nicholson. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson.”
“It’s good to finally meet you, sir. I hate to rush you both, but we should probably have a look at the scene before the coroner arrives to examine the body.”
“That’s fine, but let me first congratulate you on the birth of your child,” said Holmes, causing Nicholson to suddenly turn around again.
“Thank you. Our son Adam was born a few weeks ago. Did Inspector Lestrade tell you?” asked Nicholson with a hint of expectation in his tone.
“No, there are several other indicators. In fact, when I first noticed the wrinkled condition of your suit and that you looked unusually weary, even for one aroused so early, I began to worry that your domestic fortunes had suffered a decline. However, once you turned, exposing the dried milk stain upon your left shoulder, I was glad to find that quite the opposite was true.”
“Let’s hope Mr Holmes can make such short work of this murder, Dr Watson. Follow me, gentlemen.”
And with that, we entered the main hall.
“You will probably want to keep your coats on,” warned Nicholson. “As I stated in the letter, nothing has been touched, and the French doors of the study have been open all night.”
Indeed, it was absolutely freezing in Lord Morris’s study, and I was able to feel a blast of wind the moment Nicholson opened its door, which was on the left-hand side of the hall. The French doors were directly across from the entrance, and the only other window, which was closed, was on our left and
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