The Adventure of the Manufactured Miracle (The Midwinter Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) Read Online Free

that knowledge and my daily calls to his house were generally pleasant. I have seen his like a few times in my career. He was a man at peace.”
    “And yesterday’s visit?” queried Holmes. “Was there anything unusual about it?”
    Lowe considered this for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, there were several things. The first was the fact that Mr. Vaughan was more animated than I had seen him in the preceding days. He was sitting up in bed, and generally looking stronger.”
    “Had his condition gone into remission?” I interjected.
    He shook his head. “Without going into confidential specifics, I can assure you that his disease continued to run its course. But I have seen patients who manifest temporary rallies, often when their mind determines that they must feel better for a time, often for a special occasion. In any case, he seemed buoyed by my visit and even proposed a toast, crediting me for his improvement. I demurred, knowing that I had done little to actually help him, and not wanting to take false credit. But he would not be put off, and insisted that I fetch two glasses of Scotch whisky from the kitchen.”
    “Where was the maid?” Holmes interrupted.
    Lowe shrugged. “I asked him the same question, and he informed me that she was busy preparing for a holiday party. I was greatly astonished by this announcement, but assumed that this event was the raison d' être that explained both his fixation upon his projected life-span to this date as well as potentially his temporarily improved health. Not wanting to induce a relapse in his condition, I decided to humor his request, though it was far too early in the day for me to be indulging in a Scotch whisky. I had quite a few more patients to visit! Still, I descended to the kitchen and asked the maid where the Scotch was kept. She seemed little surprised by the oddity of the situation, and pointed me towards the spirit bar. I poured two draughts, a large one for my client and a smaller one for myself, and then carried them back to his room.”
    “Did you have any difficulties carrying both glasses and your medical bag up the stairs?” asked Holmes.
    Lowe smiled wanly. “I did not, for the simple reason that I had left my bag behind.”
    “Ah, of course. Please carry on.”
    “When I finally returned to the room, Mr. Vaughan seemed to lose interest in the whisky. He did take a small sip, which I mirrored before I concluded my visit.”
    “And the second unusual thing that occurred?” Holmes probed.
    “Well, he insisted that I return that very afternoon after I completed my daily rounds to attend his holiday party. I could tell from the intensity of his gaze that this was no mere request, so I again acquiesced. This was very atypical behavior for me, as I generally avoid any fraternization with my clients, but I rationalized it that it was being done as a favor to a man who was, very frankly, dying.”
    “So you returned?” asked Holmes.
    “Yes, but it was a very curious holiday party. It was just four individuals, not counting the maid. There was Mr. Vaughan, who was alert but looking rather feverish, the Reverend, and Mrs. Molyneux. As I did not know the latter two individuals, nor was I much accustomed to socializing with a patient, it was an awkward gathering. Furthermore, I sensed that my arrival had interrupted some sort of argument between the three of them, as Reverend Arden and Mrs. Molyneux kept flashing undecipherable looks between them. However, they seemed calmed by my presence, and we all eventually settled into some comfortable chairs around a small table. The maid soon appeared with four mugs and a steaming ewer of wassail. Before Mr. Vaughan poured the drinks, he turned to the Reverend, asking him to give us a Christmas blessing.”
    “Given that you are a member of the Hebrew tribe, how did you participate?”
    Dr. Lowe pursed his lips and shrugged. “Most people simply do not realize that I practice a different religion than