Sherlock Holmes: The Coils of Time & Other Stories (Sherlock Holmes Adventures Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

wall,” she reported.  “I picked it up from the carpet.”
    Holmes examined the remains of the bullet.  “Perceive, Watson, a soft revolver bullet.  There’s genius in that, for who would expect such a thing fired from an air-rifle?  The police search for a weapon and a murderer they believe must be close at hand when it was actually fired with great accuracy from extreme distance.  All right, Mrs Hudson, I am much obliged for your assistance in this matter.”
    The landlady paused.  “There is one thing, Mr Holmes.”
    “Yes, Mrs Hudson?”
    “I thought I heard a sound from your room,” she explained.  “It was so slight, I scarce thought I heard anything at all, but when I tried the door it was locked. I would have sought to open it, but there was no time.”
    “I’m quite sure it was nothing, Mrs Hudson,” he assured her.  “It could have been the house settling or a mouse scurrying, or even a sound from the street.”
    “Yes, sir,” she agreed, though her brow remained slightly furrowed. A mouse, indeed!
    When she had left the two friends alone, they sipped sherry, smoked furiously and Holmes explained the particulars of the murder of Ronald Adair, which had so mystified Londoners, Watson included, so thoroughly.  To Watson, it was so very much like old times that he had to wipe furtively at a watery eye.  Presently the night’s excitement slipped away, leaving Watson exhausted and yearning for his pillow.
    “There is one point which continues to puzzle me,” Watson said.
    “What’s that, old fellow?”
    “The matter of the sentry posted by Colonel Moran.”
    “Ah, yes, the garrotter Parker who plays the jew’s-harp so well.  What of him?”
    “He was placed to watch the flat when your enemies learned of your return to London, and he must have reported your return to Baker Street to his master,” Watson expounded.  “Else how could you have expected Colonel Moran to come after you?”
    “Quite right,” Holmes agreed.  “What of it?”
    “Having seen you enter, this Parker would have keenly watched everyone come and go from the building,” the doctor said.  “He certainly would have seen you leave, even disguised as the bookseller I encountered today earlier in Oxford Street.  I was taken in completely by the guise, but I had no reason to watch for you, while Parker had every reason.  If he had seen anyone leave the building he had not observed entering, his suspicions would certainly have been raised.  Indeed, your talent for disguise and mimicry is so well known I’m sure he would have been ordered specifically to watch for just such a subterfuge.  Even given the amazing likeness of the wax bust, Colonel Moran would not have been as completely taken in had he suspected there was even the slightest chance you had left the building, disguised or not.  And yet he came on, as if there was no chance at all of trickery.  Something of it just doesn’t sit right.”
    “It is a good thing, then, that the likes of Parker, lacking your keen wits, was set to watch for me and not you,” Holmes said with a great laugh.  He looked at the clock on the mantle.  “It’s time you were in bed, my dear Watson, and your drooping eyes agree.  Good night.”
    Watson sighed wearily.  Questions and doubts still plagued his mind, but he was too tired to make any sense of them.  Perhaps later, when he looked through his notes, he could bring some semblance of order to the events of this afternoon and evening.  Bidding his friend farewell, Watson exited the familiar building, hailed a passing hansom and made for his home in Kensington.
    Alone, Holmes closed the door, but did not lock it.  His visitor would arrive soon.  He read the notes he had received, one addressed in a most familiar hand, the other passed to him by his brother Mycroft, to whom he owed the preservation of his flat and the funds allowing him to pursue certain clandestine investigations the past three years.
    The