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

completely disturb every scrap of evidence,” he explained.
    “Then you think that Dr. Lowe is innocent?”
    “I am certain of it, Watson. He would have to be a bold rouge to fabricate Vaughan’s illness, which is a very simple thing to confirm through questioning of the man’s prior physician, Sir Jasper. Therefore, why would Lowe bother to kill a man that was already dying? More so, it would be a rare murderer who would rather swing than violate the confidentiality between a patient and physician. No, Watson, I think that Dr. Lowe is a man of strong moral fiber. He is not the type to poison one man, no matter how great the injury, much less two innocent bystanders.”
    “Then who poisoned them?”
    “That is what we need to ascertain, Watson. It is no use trying to convince Bradstreet and Lestrade of Lowe’s innocence. They are too convinced by the evidence, circumstantial though it may be. In order to free the doctor, we must discover the true murderer. The game is afoot, Watson!”
    I shook my head in consternation. Only a few hours earlier I was enjoying the peace and happiness of the holidays, and now I was hurling across London hoping to find the evidence that might save an innocent man from the gallows.
    When we arrived at Vere Street, we found the house of Mr. Vaughan swarming with constables. Holmes shook his head in dismay at the disarray that they had caused. “Well, there are certainly no clues left in situ upon the floor, that is for certain,” said he acerbically. Spotting an old acquaintance, he voiced his displeasure. “Do I have you to thank for this stampede, Lestrade?”
    The inspector in question turned at the sound of his voice. “Holmes!” he exclaimed irritably. “What in the devil are you doing here? This is no matter for you! We have our man, and are simply gathering up the evidence needed to seal the case,” he said, rubbing the side of his whiskered cheek.
    Holmes shook his head regretfully. “Lestrade, in the spirit of the holidays, I shall give you the gift of my services, which will save you from the grievous error of hanging the wrong man.”
    “Oh, so you say, do you? Well, I tell you Holmes, that all your deductions will be wasted here. This case is as clear as crystal. You and the good doctor should spend your time more productively. I hear that there is an excellent band and some carolers over in Florin Court off Charterhouse Square. Some festive melodies would put you in the proper spirit!”
    Holmes snorted in amusement. “Perhaps you are right, Lestrade. But if you don’t mind, we’ll take a look around all-the-same.”
    “Suit yourself, Holmes,” said Lestrade, with a smirk and an overly magnanimous wave of his hand.
    I expected that Holmes would head straight for the table where the poisoned glasses lay, so was surprised when he first began to examine the other rooms of the house. From the grunt issued by Lestrade, I could tell that he was equally puzzled by Holmes’ actions. He spent a considerable amount of time in Mr. Vaughan’s office, studying the varied objects upon his desk, including several pieces of golden jewelry inlayed with dark green stones. He noted the titles of the books lined up neatly on the fine shelves, and even the contents of the waste-bin. In the dining-room, Holmes took only a few moments to glance at the table where the four individuals had gathered for the deadly goblets of wassail. Finally, Holmes appeared satisfied by his scrutiny, and turned to the inspector. “Have you found any clues, Lestrade?”
    Lestrade smiled broadly. “Only one. But it’s all we will need. We found the bottle of poison!” He gestured to a nearby constable, who held up an evidence bag containing a small vial.
    “Ah, yes, Fowler’s solution,” Holmes nodded. “I thought as much. Tell me, Lestrade, where exactly did you locate it?”
    “It had rolled into the corner of the room,” Lestrade pointed. “Behind the oriental screen that partially blocks