Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Tainted Canister Read Online Free

always, regarding his intentions, he had allowed that he expected to be gone at least a week. I had, therefore, that much time to complete my own investigation, which concerned the murder of Mary Morstan Watson by Dr. Richard Anstruther.
    My obvious beginning point was to learn something of Anstruther’s current habits. For such a task, my work with Sherlock Holmes had given me a keen appreciation of the value of disguise. I decided to pass myself off as an invalided soldier in search of employment. Taking the oldest and most tattered of my army jackets, I removed the rank insignia and sewed on corporal’s stripes. With tousled hair, an untrimmed mustache, and a little added dirt, the effect, as I surveyed myself before my bedroom mirror, was reasonably convincing. My attempt at an East End accent might earn me one or two queer glances; but some of my patients in Paddington had come from the labouring classes, and on the whole I felt that I could manage fairly well.
    Making my way to Brook Street, I spent that morning and the next among cabbies, carriers, and servants on their off days, besides the mere loafers who haunt every wealthy London suburb. By the second day, I had become friendly with an unemployed carter named Wilson, although of course I called him “Bill.” Once he trusted me—or at least appeared to—he introduced me to an ex-footman of Anstruther’s, who was but recently discharged.
    â€œâ€™ere, Joe,” Bill called out to his comrade. “This gent’s a private dick. ’e wants you to tell ’im all about the great Doc H’anstruther.”
    â€œNo, I assure you—“ I began, then caught myself, for my companions were regarding me with knowing grins. Afterward, over a number of pints at the local establishment (naturally paid for by myself), Joe told me everything that I could wish to learn concerning Anstruther.
    It seemed that since arriving in Brook Street, the doctor seldom socialized and had few visitors. “Mostly doctors, when anybody comes,” said Joe. “No women—nor boys, neither,” he acknowledged, with a judicious nod. “Old Merrick says ’e’s given up soci’ty since the lady died.”
    â€œHis wife?” I could not forebear asking.
    â€œNo, mate, someone else’s!” Joe had the temerity to wink at me, and my heart dropped to my boots.
    â€œAw, h’it wasn’t wot yer thinkin.’ She loved this other doctor bloke, y’see, more than she’d loved H’anstruther, and married ’im h’instead. Merrick said h’it drove our doctor fairly wild. Cursed the fellow h’every day, ’e said, though I never ’eard ’im. Swore ’e’d ’ave ’er back again, and damn the cost! But then she died, y’see, and ’e upped and moved to Brook Street.”
    I had, it seemed, learnt something that day about servants’ gossip. “How did you come to lose your place, Joe,” I enquired, “if you don’t mind my asking?”
    â€œWell, sir, where the women are concerned, I’m not such a saint as the good Doctor H’anstruther. There was this little upstairs maid, y’see, named Elsie—”
    â€œNow, Joe,” warned his companion. “You don’t want to go tellin’ no private dick about all that. ’e’ll ’ave you in the clinker, too.”
    It appeared that Monday was the only night on which Anstruther routinely left his house. On those occasions, he usually returned quite late. Three days must pass, therefore, before I could take action. That evening, when I returned to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson advised me that she had received a telegram from Holmes, announcing his arrival home on Wednesday.
    Over the week-end, I strongly considered abandoning my plan altogether and laying the matter before Holmes when he returned. I knew, of course, that he would be of great assistance, if only to