The Brothers of Baker Street Read Online Free

please.”
    “This hand?”
    Buxton held out his right hand. Reggie opened his copy of the Daily Sun to the photo of the hand on Laura’s breast. In that photo, on the fourth finger of the suspect’s right hand, was the same garish, gold signet ring that Buxton was wearing.
    Reggie looked at the photo, and then at Buxton’s hand, and then at Buxton.
    “Thank you,” said Reggie. “I just needed to be sure.”
    Buxton looked at Reggie, at the photo, back at Reggie again, and then made the mistake of grinning.
    “The sun really brings her freckles out, don’t you think?” said Buxton.
    Reggie hit Buxton with a right cross. It had been his best punch in school, and he connected cleanly.
    But in the same instant, there was a flash of light. As Buxton fell backward onto a potted rubber-tree plant, Reggie turned and looked behind—and saw a Daily Sun photographer standing there in the open doorway.
    The photographer continued to snap and flash away as Reggie pushed past.
    Security did not stop Reggie on his way out of the building. He did not think they would. Not if Buxton had any sense of self-respect.
    But as Reggie got in his car, with the flash spots still fading from his eyes and his adrenaline throttling down, he began to realize what a huge mistake he had just made.
    Buxton had obviously positioned the photographer at the ready for whatever might take place. And Reggie had fallen into the trap neatly. Tomorrow he would once again be in the Daily Sun doing unbarrister-like things.
    Reggie drove back to Baker Street, with the stupidity of his mistake sinking in, and with the second, third, and fourth knuckles on his right hand turning blue with bruises. He bumped them twice getting out of the Jag, and again on the heavy glass door at the entrance to Dorset House.
    He walked quickly across the lobby, hoping to encounter no one.
    The lanky brunette from earlier in the morning got in the lift with Reggie again.
    He saw her give just one quick sidelong glance at the bruises on his knuckles, and then look away with what amounted to a shrug. Of course. Today’s sophisticated London woman was not impressed by the cave-man thing. In the real world, pugilistic skills did not compensate for not owning a yacht.
    And Reggie saw no hope of winning Laura back while his law career—the essence of his existence for the past fifteen years, his very identity—was failing.
    How would she respect a man who not only has next to nothing, but is no good at what he does? He was well past the age of getting by just on his potential.
    The lift opened now, and Reggie tried to shake himself out of that train of thought. He walked quickly down the corridor, toward his secretary’s desk.
    As Reggie approached, he saw that Lois was quite excited about something; she nearly leapt out of her chair in enthusiasm.
    “You have a client!” She said this as if it were a rare and wondrous occurrence.
    And of late, Reggie had to admit, it was.
    “Where?” said Reggie, looking at the empty guest chairs outside his office.
    “I mean, you are about to have, I presume. The solicitor is inside,” she said, indicating Reggie’s closed chambers door. “Hope that’s all right. Her name is Darla Rennie. Didn’t want to … you know … let one get away.”
    “Good job,” said Reggie, with a slight smile. “Mustn’t take chances. Lock them in if you must.”
    Lois sat back down, pleased with herself, and Reggie opened the chambers door.
    The light was dim inside; Lois had apparently been bold enough to let someone into Reggie’s chambers in his absence, but not to turn the lamps on for them. The two main client chairs in Reggie’s office—burgundy leather in a deep, wing-back design intended to convey a sense of power and security—faced away from the door, toward Reggie’s desk. From the entrance, one couldn’t even tell if they were occupied, and for a moment Reggie thought his new clerk must have been mistaken in some uniquely