The Final Page of Baker Street Read Online Free Page A

camera, photographer and model.”
    â€œOnly a photography studio? One wouldn’t need paper to cover the windows at night. Why would someone go to these extravagant lengths to conceal such a place?”
    â€œUse your imagination, man!” he scolded. “What kind of photographic activity do you expect would draw a male adolescent to its windows every night?”
    â€œI cannot imagine, Holmes - especially not at a public school like Dulwich.”
    Holmes smiled. “In fact, old fellow, it was actually a Dulwich student responsible for the scene: a young artist seeking to earn extra money had found himself a voluptuous young maid from town willing to pose for him. ‘Carmen’ is her name, a recent arrival from Spain, who needed money to send home to her family.”
    I dabbed at my lips with a linen handkerchief. “Proceed,” I said drily. “I fail to see the entire picture.”
    â€œAh, Watson,” Holmes sighed as he leaned back, “it was exactly that ‘entire picture’ that Raymond himself was trying to see. But clearly, you need everything spelled out. Imagine.” He held up his hands as if to frame a photograph for me. “The compliant young woman in question is sitting in a high-backed chair made of teakwood. For some artistic reason, she is posed on an orange-coloured shawl fringed in white. Although she is positioned rigidly with her hands on the arms of the chair, her back straight, and her knees decorously pressed together, she manages - with her white teeth quite apparent between her parted red lips - to present a smile that I’m sure some men might call provocative.”
    â€œBut what was she wearing?” I asked. “Surely, it is quite unlike you, Holmes, to leave out the most obvious part of the description. Must I always have to rely on my own imagination?”
    Holmes dropped his arms in exasperation. “Oh, Watson,” he chuckled, “you do fail to understand. She was quite naked - well-endowed, and quite naked indeed.”
    I gasped in disbelief. When I could finally catch my breath, I said, “Surely, Holmes, you exaggerate.”
    â€œPray, forgive me,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I did neglect one detail. She was, in fact, wearing long, green earrings, possibly jade or faux Fei Tsui .”
    â€œHolmes, really!” I moved my plate away, no longer able to enjoy my repast.
    â€œWhat’s more,” he continued, “to judge from the jerking movement of the boy’s right hand - his back was to me, remember - what had attracted a healthy young male to the windows of this studio every night should be quite obvious. Especially a young male suppressed by Mr. Gilkes’ stringent code of morality at school and by his mother’s strict rules of propriety at home.”
    â€œQuite the expert in psychology now, eh, Holmes?”
    â€œCertainly not in psychology, Watson; but I will say that, even though I am also no expert in matters related to the female form, the young woman in question had quite beautiful features. Small in stature, to be sure, but bare breasts shimmering like pearl in the bright lights surrounding her.”
    â€œHolmes!” I cried. “You go too far.”
    â€œMark my words, Watson. It is not an image easily forgotten - even if one were so inclined, which I am quite sure that young Raymond Chandler is not. Indeed, I suspect that the boy will retain the striking picture in his mind for many a year.”
    I merely shook my head.
    â€œOn Thursday night,” Holmes continued, as if I had registered no outrage at all, “I persuaded a local constable to join me; and armed with a mackintosh to cover the young lady, he broke up the photography session, removing both participants to the local magistrate. I imagine that paying some sort of fine should cure the two of them of their Bohemian behaviour. At least, for now.”
    â€œAnd young