The Secret Fiend Read Online Free

brambles here and there. Sherlock spies a clump of them about even with the spot where the pair would have entered the water. Rushing forward, he sees two sets of footprints in the cold mud – a man and a woman’s – leading from the water into the bushes. Five steps into the brambles, he finds a piece of black cloth, bordered with green…. Then he hears a moan.
    “Over here, Beatrice!” he cries.
    Sherlock hears something moving, scurrying away, about fifty feet or so down the shore. When he looks that way, he thinks he sees a shadow, rushing off. He wants to follow, but he must look for the girl –
that is what matters
.
    It doesn’t take much searching. He finds her, lying under the bushes, covered by them. Louise is insensible, but alive. Up ahead, the shadow has vanished.
    “Oh, Lou!” cries Beatrice and kneels beside her.
    There is a note pinned to Louise’s dress, written in red on a large piece of white paper.
    I HAVE RETURNED!
    Sherlock pulls it off and stares at it.
    No watermark. Careful writing, not rushed, almost feminine, a young hand.
    A handful of frigid water scooped from the Thames and splashed onto the young lady’s face brings her around immediately. Her green eyes, which go charmingly with her curly red hair, snap open and she starts. Surprisingly, she has no cuts, no apparent bruises, and rises to her feet without much trouble. Her purple dress and dark blue shawl have somehow already dried, are just a little damp. Sherlock frowns, glancing back and forth from the victim to the note. He throws his frock coat over Louise’s shoulders and helps the girls up the embankment before seating them on a bench near the Parliament grounds. He crosses his arms and frowns at them again. Beatrice glances up at him, then back to her friend, then up again, appearing concerned about Sherlock’s reaction.
    “Do you two mind telling me what this is all about?”
    “I don’t know that I follow you, Sherlock. I ’ave told you what ’appened.” He thinks he detects a slight tone of guilt in her voice, but isn’t sure.
    “What really transpired here?”
    “It is as I said.”
    “Yes, Master ’olmes, it is as she said. And I is much obliged, I’m sure.”
    “How do you know what Beatrice said, Miss Louise?”
    “I … I imagines it. I imagines she said what ’appened, true and clear. Beatrice is an ’onest sort, always ’as been.”
    “But you are not bruised from your mighty fall, you have no cuts, your dress and shawl are almost dry, you are not traumatized. It was easy to find you. This … this
note
looks like it was written on a desk in a clear hand, not scribbled by an agitated fiend. What could he have wanted with you? He did nothing to you. He simply fled.”
    “It ain’t for me to judge what a devil wants. ’e ’as evil intent for women.”
    “Did he act out that intent?”
    “Sherlock!”
    “We must get to the truth of this, Beatrice. Did he, Miss Louise, act out his intent? Did he lift your dress and undergarments and brutally –”
    “NO!”
    “Then, why?”
    “Louise said that it was not for ’er to know why such a fiend does as ’e does … and she is right.”
    “This fiend from a Penny Dreadful magazine? This figure, this bogeyman for the children of England, who has so many times appeared in drawings looking more terrifying and vivid than anything Mr. Dickens might imagine?”
    “Imagine! Is that what you think? What could be our purpose?”
    “That, Miss Beatrice, is for you to tell me.”
    “Why do you stand ’ere talking rubbish? This villain must be caught and punished! You ’ave friends at ScotlandYard. You must go to them. We will come with you and make a full report.”
    “I wouldn’t dare.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I would not dare confront Inspector Lestrade with such a fairy tale.”
    “FAIRY TALE!”
    “Why did you do this, Beatrice … do I not pay you enough attention at –”
    The slap that strikes his face is unlike any crack of a