The Devil’s Due. Bonnie Macbird

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СКАЧАТЬ another headline: “Baker Street Braggart Sherlock Holmes fails spectacularly.”

      ‘I know. Let me apply some coffee to my fogged cerebrum.’ He poured himself a cup and once again sank into the chair.

      I drew the offending paper from the table and sat opposite him in my old chair. ‘Shall I read it aloud?’ I asked.

      ‘No, thank you. I have tasted those bitter spirits two hours ago.’

      I turned my eyes to the article and finished it with increasing revulsion. I looked up. Holmes was lighting a second cigarette to accompany his coffee.

      ‘What a ghastly business, this Sebastian Danforth murder!’ said I. ‘A well-respected MP and esteemed philanthropist who made his fortune in paper, stabbed sixteen times with a dull letter opener by his own son!’

      ‘Seventeen times. And yes, a son did it.’

      ‘This article says you named the wrong person.’ I pointed to the fourth paragraph and read aloud ‘“The erroneous evidence provided by that deranged poseur Sherlock Holmes” – “deranged poseur”, great heavens!’

      ‘Your indignation should be directed at the word “erroneous”, Watson, not “deranged poseur”. My evidence was flawless and damning. The eldest son Charles Danforth was clearly the culprit. There were a number of indications, but a tiny splatter of blood on the murderer’s watch chain was conclusive.’

      ‘Well, this Titus Billings fellow disagrees vehemently. Why? And who is he?’

      ‘Billings is an unknown quantity, late of the foreign office and has been given some kind of sovereignty over at the Yard that I cannot fathom,’ he remarked casually – then vigorously exhaled a plume of smoke. I noted his foot tapping silently.

      ‘Tell me of the case, Holmes.’

      Holmes leaned back in his chair. ‘This murderous son, Charles Danforth, who was initially gaoled on my evidence, believed his father had suddenly written him out of his will. Charles was already known to be unstable, and upon hearing this news – false, as it turns out – a shouting match ensued, with the son cursing like a fiend at his father. Shortly after, the old man was discovered, expiring from multiple stab wounds. Upon my evidence, Charles was arrested, but “new evidence”, to which I was not privy, was submitted, supposedly implicating Sebastian Danforth’s younger son. As of last night, Charles was running free. His younger brother – quite innocent – was charged with the crime and waits in gaol. But it will all be set right soon.’

      ‘I should hope so,’ said I, ‘if nothing more than to clear your name.’

      ‘My reputation is nothing in the grand scheme of things,’ said Holmes. ‘But this gross error allowed a monster to roam free throughout London last night.’

      I was astonished at this last. ‘It is unlike you, Holmes, to be sleeping late when there are such doings afoot.’

      Mrs Hudson entered with a tray of sandwiches. ‘Mr Holmes has been in his bed for less than two hours, Doctor.’ Turning to her lodger, she remonstrated, ‘You endanger your health, Mr Holmes, with all this gallivanting about at night.’

      She poured me a coffee without asking. Handing it to me, she added, ‘Just see how tired he is!’

      Holmes sighed. ‘I located the villain and communicated his whereabouts to Inspector Lestrade some four hours ago. This worthy endeavour involved a rather dangerous chase at the docks, and a visit to a brothel in the guise of a doctor.’

      ‘Remarkable! I take back my remonstrance. Apologies, Holmes.’

      He smiled, but the smile dropped as he added, ‘I have had to proceed unofficially, as I was blocked from the case by this new man, Billings. But Lestrade has the facts in hand now, and no doubt the murderer as well. I am confident he will see things through to conviction.’

      Once more my friend had brought justice to bear, while giving all credit to the local police. His selflessness was one of the things about him I most admired.

      ‘Holmes, what a remarkable night’s work. You are to be congratulated! Perhaps you may want to rest. If so, I am happy to stay and read until you arise. We might enjoy a meal out later?’

      ‘If you wish, Watson. But I shall first pay a visit to the murderer’s rather delicate wife. Constance Danforth will surely be relieved at her husband’s capture. I interviewed them both, separately of course, and perceived that she was terrified of him. Although she would not admit it, I saw evidence of burns along her arms, as if from a cigarette.’

      ‘Good God!’

      Holmes got up and began to stir the embers of the fire, which had nearly gone out.

      ‘While one cannot resurrect her late father-in-law, I am convinced that this investigation will at least serve to save the life of that innocent young woman. How much time have you free?’

      ‘A fortnight. Mary has gone—’

      ‘Splendid! Your room is vacant, should you care to stay.’

      He began to add coals to the dwindling fire. I found myself uncommonly pleased and surprised at the extremity of my emotion.

      ‘I shall retrieve my luggage, then—’ I began, when a sudden bang drew my eyes to the door, and a heavyset, muscular man of about thirty-five exploded into the room.

       CHAPTER 3

       Attack!

      My first impression was of a whirling black coat and silk hat, and a silver-tipped walking stick. But it was the man’s reddened face – wild-eyed with fury and venom, his eyes nearly popping – that froze me in alarm. Spotting my friend kneeling by the fire, the intruder crossed the room in three bounding steps, stick raised to strike.

      I had only time to cry out, ‘Holmes!’

      Just as the fiend was about to smite my friend with what threatened to be a fatal blow, Holmes leapt up, and with the grace of the fencing master he was, whirled and blocked the descending stick with the fireplace poker in his left hand. It clanged like a church bell. In one continuous move, Holmes dealt a hard right to the man’s jaw. There was a sharp crack as his fist connected, and the strapping fellow dropped like a stone onto the bear rug in front of the fire. There he lay still, face down and pressed against the great beast’s grinning countenance.

      It was as if Holmes had eyes in the back of his own head, so smooth had been his remarkable defence. He now stood, gazing calmly at his attacker. With one slippered foot, he nudged the shoulder of the unconscious man, rolling him onto his back.

      ‘Charles Danforth,’ he remarked, as though commenting on some fruit selection at an outdoor market. ‘Truly one of the most vicious murderers London has seen in some time.’ Holmes looked up at me. ‘It took tremendous strength and rage to kill his father with a dull letter opener, Watson. A ghastly way to bring about an end.’ He rubbed his forehead tiredly. ‘Though I did think Lestrade would have had him in custody by now.’

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