The Devil’s Due. Bonnie Macbird

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СКАЧАТЬ Holmes! Are you all right?’ cried Lestrade. Spotting the man on the floor, the policeman exhaled in relief. ‘Well, of course you are, sir. He slipped us once, but we got onto his intentions, and it was a race to your house. If only I had come in time!’

      ‘Yes, well, you are here now,’ said Holmes. ‘This man’s intemperate attack, Lestrade, can only bolster your case.’

      ‘Oh yes, Mr Holmes. No question. Take him away, boys.’

      Lestrade’s constables hoisted the unconscious form of Charles Danforth and conveyed him out the door.

      Lestrade turned to Holmes. ‘Excellent work, Mr Holmes, and once again the Yard is grateful to you. And between us, sir, I am pleased that you, rather than Mr Billings, have brought the villain to heel. I will make sure that everyone knows.’

      ‘Please do not do so, Lestrade. I wish you to take the credit.’

      ‘But Mr Holmes, I—’

      ‘I must insist.’

      Lestrade looked relieved. ‘As you see fit, Mr Holmes. You were right about it all, including his poor wife, may she rest in peace. True about the burns on her arms. Cigarette, I would say. Oh … Charles Danforth is a beast!’

      Holmes had frozen in horror. ‘His wife? Dead?’

      Lestrade nodded wearily.

      My friend was galvanized. ‘How did she die? I advised you to post a guard to Constance Danforth’s house the moment I heard of this man’s release! Did you fail to do so?’

      Lestrade shook his head. ‘We followed your instructions, Mr Holmes, and posted a guard directly. She was alive when we did so. ’Tweren’t her husband, though. She killed herself, the poor little dear, thinking her husband had gotten away with murder and would be back.’

      ‘When? How?’

      ‘Naught we could have done. Found by her maid last night. I was informed just after I saw you a few hours ago. That would make it perhaps around midnight?’

      ‘How, I ask?’

      ‘Poison. There was a note.’

      ‘I must see it.’

      ‘I’ll have it brought to you straight away.’

      In a moment, the police had departed with the unconscious criminal. I closed the door behind them and turned my attention to my friend. Holmes had sunk motionless in the basket chair, head in his hands.

      This reaction was far more than the sudden collapse of energy I had witnessed often at the end of a challenging case. The woman’s suicide had hit him hard; clearly he had been unprepared for it.

      I sat opposite him and waited.

      ‘Holmes?’ I whispered after some minutes had passed. ‘You asked for her to be guarded. What more could you have done? Surely she felt safe with police protection.’

      ‘I should have gone there myself.’

      ‘You could not have predicted.’

      ‘She was delicate. Frightened. Despairing. She had loved her father-in-law deeply, and he had been, I inferred, her protector.’

      ‘You are a detective, not an alienist. Or a fortune-teller. How could you have foreseen a suicide?’

      Holmes did not answer.

      ‘Instead, you went after the brute and succeeded in locating him.’

      Holmes nodded but said nothing, sinking further into black rumination.

      After a few minutes, I informed him that I’d return in an hour with my things for an extended stay, and that I expected to entice him to a walk or a meal if he was not sleeping off the effects of the night. ‘Doctor’s orders, Holmes. Whatever lies ahead, it is time for recovery, not remonstrance.’

      He said nothing, and I left, determined to return as quickly as possible.

       CHAPTER 4

       Devil and Hyde

      An hour later, I returned. The rain had abated for the first time in days, and I convinced my friend that a ramble in Hyde Park would offer refreshment. We usually frequented Regent’s Park but today I suggested a change of scenery.

      We set off at a brisk pace and were soon strolling in the southern end of the park along the Serpentine. I hoped this serene, tree-lined vista would soothe my companion’s jangled nerves. Who knew how long we might enjoy the bright sunlight, with rainclouds scudding across the sky. The chill was bracing.

      I glanced at his thin figure, bundled in a long black overcoat and blue scarf, his collar turned up for warmth, as he walked beside me in silence, head down. I had forgotten the intensity of those black clouds which periodically rolled in to darken his outlook. He seemed oblivious to the gleaming waterway and the brilliant golds and oranges of the foliage.

      ‘Holmes,’ I ventured. ‘What of a dinner tonight at Simpson’s? Some roast beef, your favourite, followed by perhaps an opera? Faust, by some French composer, is on just now.’

      ‘The composer is Charles Gounod – and I have seen it already. Watson, you despise opera. I am not in the humour for conversation. Is it not enough that I agreed to accompany you on this pointless meandering?’

      ‘It is hardly pointless,’ said I.

      ‘Then what is the point?’ he asked crossly.

      ‘The point is to breathe, to take in nature, and to reset the mind. Look at those trees!’

      Above us the canopy of golds, greens and hints of orange glowed like stained glass, sparkling intermittently as the bright sun peeked through.

      He glanced up at the sky. ‘It will rain again soon. Let us return to Baker Street. I neglected to bring my umbrella.’

      He turned left and headed sharply north, in the direction of Speakers’ Corner. We had been out for less than an hour.

      ‘Holmes, shall we not concentrate on the good news? Those Queen’s honours under discussion? Not a knighthood, do you think?’

      It was as though I’d thrown vitriol on his favourite coat. ‘Watson! You know me better than that!’ His vehemence surprised me.

      ‘It is one thing to refrain from seeking accolades, but can you not at least appreciate them when they are offered sincerely?’ I said. ‘Surely this would bring in more clientele.’

      ‘Anonymity better serves my work. That journalist simply needed a story,’ he said bitterly. ‘Today I am reviled. Neither notice means anything.’

      ‘Well, what of this Gabriel Zanders fellow? I am genuinely concerned, Holmes.’

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