The Hudson Diaries Read Online Free Page A

believe we shall need him, and as he has told me his war comrades are in town, I let him take the day off from our company.”
    When we had arrived at the nearest shop, Mr. Holmes went toward the back of the shop, where the summer jackets had been stowed for winter. He felt each one delicately on the shoulder.
    After nearly twenty minutes of this odd behavior, I told him, “Mr. Holmes, these jackets are nowhere near long enough or thick enough to keep you warm.”
    “Right…quite right.” he said absent-mindedly. He then let me lead the way to the proper winter coats.
    At each shop we entered, he would repeat this eccentric study, and each time I reminded him what we were actually searching for. Finally, when all resources nearby were exhausted, we wandered home to Baker Street empty-handed. Mr. Holmes pondered the rest of the day, tobacco smoke filling the sitting room.
    The next day, when Dr. Watson returned, I apprised him of the situation. “Sir,” I said carefully, “Mr. Holmes is acting a bit…odd of late.”
    “And this surprises you?” Dr. Watson smiled; when my look of consternation met it, he coughed and attempted to be serious again.
    “Yesterday he asked me to shop with him for a winter coat, but all he seemed interested in were the summer jackets.”
    Dr. Watson’s brows knitted. “I’ll talk to him about it tonight before I leave for the war reunion.”
    That night, as Dr. Watson was leaving to meet with his comrades, Mr. Holmes bid him farewell, then suddenly said, “What are you wearing?”
    “Holmes,” Dr. Watson replied, “you know perfectly well that I was going to the war reunion tonight.”
    “This is your uniform?” he replied with controlled nonchalance.
    “Yes. May I leave now?”
    “Certainly.” Mr. Holmes shook Dr. Watson’s hand.
    “I’m not leaving forever, Holmes,” answered Dr. Watson, disconcerted.
    “Don’t be silly. If you dawdle any longer you’ll be late.”
    With that, Dr. Watson went out the door. Mr. Holmes spent the rest of the night in his study. The next morning, Mr. Holmes’s eyes were bright. He rubbed his hands together and paced impatiently, I suspect waiting for Dr. Watson to awaken. Once the three of us were assembled, Mr. Holmes proceeded to tell us his theory.
    “The material you brought me some time ago has proved to be most elusive but, thanks to Dr. Watson wearing his uniform last night, I believe I have found the answer. It belongs to the sleeve of a hunting jacket issued by her majesty’s army, I presume for a campaign in Afghanistan or India. If we were to find the jacket, I am sure we would also find an army stitch much like Watson uses somewhere near the shoulder.”
    “So that’s why you went rifling through all those jackets.” I nearly laughed aloud.
    “Precisely,” he said feverishly. “But there is still more. Even as I rubbed the cloth to make certain I was correct, under the microscope the fibers were clearly not the same as the frayed cloth. When you brought the cloth to me, there was also another clue waiting for us. It was hair.”
    “Hair?” Dr. Watson and I turned to each other, confused.
    “I confess I should have told you sooner. You see, under a microscope, the thread had a specific weave, but hair has an entirely different molecular structure, and so they did not match when I looked. Now that we have made this discovery, it should narrow the field considerably.”
    “But how?” Dr. Watson asked.
    “The hair is red,” replied Mr. Holmes. “In the light you can see the hues. Red is not all that common among us, except among the Irish. Let us hope he is not one of them. Watson, do we happen to have the army volumes still in the library? Please retrieve them.”
    “But what would those do for us, sir?” I asked, confused.
    “They give not only the names, but also all the major work of the soldiers in the service from the last decade to the present day.”
    When the volumes had been retrieved, we each took one