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

them. So as not to offend and cause a commotion, I have learned that the best act is often to keep silent. They will generally assume that is a sign of my participation.”
    “And were your eyes closed during this blessing?”
    “Yes,” he nodded. “I did utilize the moment to do my own communion.”
    “Did anything unusual occur during this time?”
    Lowe appeared to consider this. “No, just the usual rustlings of the maid in the kitchen.”
    “And after the blessing by Revered Arden, then what?”
    “I do not know. Just as he ended, a boy arrived with a message for me. The note claimed that one of my regular clients was critically ill, so I immediately took my leave of Mr. Vaughan and his guests.”
    “You say that the note claimed your client was ill. Was he not?”
    Lowe shook his head in bewilderment. “Not at all. That was the most puzzling aspect of the entire day. When I arrived at his house, I found him hale and hearty. He denied ever writing such a note.”
    “And even if he had, how would he have known to have it delivered to Mr. Vaughan’s? You were not supposed to be there that afternoon. It was a sudden request only that morning. You should have been at home with your wife.”
    “That is true, Mr. Holmes. I had not thought of that.” Dr. Lowe appeared to sink into thought.
    “Dr. Lowe, your case interests me very much,” said Holmes. “There are some novel features here that I cannot recall ever encountering before. Nevertheless, I have every hope that you will be freed soon. But first, Watson and I must inspect the scene of the crime, and there are a few individuals in need of questioning. We will leave you now, but you will hear from us again soon.” A glimmer of hope appeared in Lowe’s previously forlorn eyes.
    We exited back into the hall, where I had the heavy duty of throwing the key to a lock that imprisoned a man whom I believed to be innocent. As we climbed the stairs, I turned to Holmes to express this very thought, but he forestalled me. “In a minute, Watson. I have one thing to do first.” He took the key from me, strode through the open door of Bradstreet’s office, and placed it on the man’s desk without a word.
    However, as he departed the office, Holmes spoke. “Oh, Bradstreet,” Holmes called over his shoulder. “The case on your chalkboard. The robbery of the house safe at the Northumberland Hotel.”
    The inspector glanced up, a puzzled look upon his plain face. “Yes, Mr. Holmes, what of it?”
    “I would round up Mr. Archibald Hatton of Homer Street, near the intersection with Crawford Street. He’s your man.”
    Bradstreet looked from Holmes to the chalkboard and back again. “But there is no suspect named Hatton.”
    “No matter. I recognize his modus operandi . I am convinced that he was involved in the case of the Duchess of Ulster’s amethyst pendant, though the proof was lacking, and it’s successful return was sufficient to permit him to slink away unscathed. I once considered him the ninth smartest man in London, but he has recently grown quite lazy and no longer varies his crimes. If you act now, he may even still have some of the items in his house, and you can finally obtain the proof necessary to procure him a nice cell in Newgate. I recommend, Bradstreet, that rather than spending your free time these holidays engaged in lachrymose Yuletide yowling, you carefully study the Yard’s portfolio of criminal cases that have occurred over the last decade. I guarantee that you will find them illuminating.”
    On that perhaps overly dramatic note, we exited the building. Holmes suddenly sprang into action. “Quickly Watson, there is not a moment to lose!” he shouted, leaping into the street and flagged down a passing cab. We quickly boarded, and Holmes instructed the driver to make haste towards Vere Street.
    As we settled back into our seats, Holmes turned to meet my questioning look. “We need to get there before the police have time to