Sherlock Holmes and The Flying Scotsman

John Worth

Description

Into a complex international scenario of espionage, intrigue and assassination are thrown a mixed bag of characters. The young visitor to the household of Sir Adrian Fettice, himself something of an enigma, his opposite number of the German Secret Service, some almost innocent bystanders, a deadly assassin - and Sherlock Holmes. A trap is set, but the outcome is not as expected. Only the quickness of mind of the greatest detective is capable of achieving the most unexpected but brilliant final result. Following shortly after publication of John Worth's brilliant evocation of the Victorian era East End of London in his novel 'The Making of a Man', this latest offering from the same writer is a fast moving Holmesian novella. It will engage all who enjoyed the first novel.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 11 décembre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780925615
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE FLYING SCOTSMAN
by
John Worth



Publisher Information
First edition published in 2013 by
MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,
London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.com
Digital edition converted and distributed in 2013 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2013 John Worth
The right of John Worth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.
Cover design by www.staunch.com



Introduction
The fat man sat regarding his visitor with something approaching annoyance upon his usually imperturbably bland face. ‘I do wish you would try to be a little more punctual, Sherlock’ he grunted, ‘I did say in my note it was a matter of some importance - and good god man, I wish you would tidy yourself up sometimes’.
Wish wish wish - If wishes were dishes, you would be even fatter than you are’, replied his brother airily, not in the least put out at is brothers tone.
‘Oh don’t play the fool, Sherlock. I called you here to discuss a serious matter, It involves a rather senior - how shall I put it - a very much covert Government official, whom I am afraid may have got himself into something rather murky; I want you to look into it. From what I have been informed, it seems to be something to do with infighting within the German Secret Service. Our man seems to have become involved, without my being informed, and I don’t like it one bit.’ He glared coldly at his brother. ‘And I won’t have it.’ He shoved a small dossier towards Sherlock, at the same time indicating with a jerk of his head that the interview was over.
‘Why me, if I may ask?’ The answer was blunt; ‘For one thing, I need this to be absolutely hush hush, not through official channels, and the other thing, I know because of your dissolute behavior of late, you are extremely short of funds.’ They exchanged a long look. ‘And also, by good chance, your friend John Watson knows this chap - take him along for an introduction.’



Chapter One
Sir Adrian Fettice went across to adjust the drapes at the window of the conservatory; the early sun came in across the lawn, flooding the room with warmth and light. He stood for a moment or two, surveying the scene, basking in this unexpected delight. He was snatched back from his pleasant contemplation by a half stifled groan of agony. His friend Ariel Stentz lay upon a chaise lounge beneath a tartan blanket, off to the side of the room. It was only days since they had made the dangerous, secret crossing from France, with Stentz wounded. Not sure at the time, by whom - or why - his friend had been shot, Sir Adrian had decided the safest haven was his own house, here in England.
As he recuperated from his wound, the conservatory had become a favorite spot for Stentz to begin the day. Sir Adrian had just brought in to him his copy of the Times.
‘For goodness sake - what is it old chap? Is it your wound troubling you?’ as he rushed to the side of his friend.
Stentz sat sunken, face in one hand, groaning. In answer to the concerned query, he mutely held out the newspaper. Hastily scanning the paper, Sir Adrian found it. In a small box on the inside of the paper, a brief news item. He read it intently.
An explosion had killed the proprietor of a book antiquary in the old town quarter of Zurich. According to the Swiss police, the man had apparently been opening a box of books consigned to his premises; a police spokesman surmised it had been booby-trapped. The item was small, spare. There were no further details.
‘But Ariel, it doesn’t mention your partner Alois by name, we can’t be sure’ - Stentz cut him off.
‘The address. It said the Alt Stadt. Our bookshop is the only one in this district. And the books he was unpacking could only have been the very ones I myself consigned from Budapest. The swine! The, cold-blooded murdering bastard!’
Stentz had slowly got to his feet, and he was a terrible sight. His face was ashen white, the student dueling scar upon his cheek showing livid, as though freshly made. He was trembling all over, as much from fury as from physical weakness. Very concerned, Fettice put out a hand to help his friend, but it was pushed gently away.
Not for the first time in their long acquaintance, Sir Adrian was struck by the remarkable self-control of Stentz. When he spoke again, his voice was almost normal and his face more composed. Apart from his pallor, only a tick jerking in his left cheek betrayed his distressed state.
‘We’ll speak shortly Adrian, if you don’t mind.’ He said in a quiet voice. ‘I must go out into the garden to think over this, and to regain control of my emotions. If you will be so kind as to bear with me.’ And he let himself out through the French doors, holding himself very stiff and erect.
Some time later, as Sir Adrian was preparing to leave for the City, Stentz came in from the garden. He was by now calm; icy cold in fact, thought Fettice. Stentz looked at him for a moment, seeking to marshal his thoughts. By the resolute set of his face, he seemed to have made some momentous decisions. He began without preamble: ‘Well Adrian, it has come to this. I blame myself’ - he held up a hand to stem Sir Adrian’s protest - ‘No old friend; I should have seen this coming, I should have protected Alois.’
He swallowed and took a second or two to regain his hard wrought composure. ‘You see, my poor partner in the book business died because of me. His widow will never forgive me, and I don’t blame her. The swine was out to kill me; he obviously assumed that I would be opening that box myself. he’d already tried once in Zurich, then again in Paris, where without you, old friend, I believe he would have succeeded. Apparently he has decided that I am dangerous to him.’ His smile was grim, without humor. ‘He doesn’t know just how dangerous.’
‘But who?’ - Broke in Fettice, to be interrupted himself.
‘- My own Abteilung chief; his name is Haldemann. Heinz Dieter Haldemann.’ Came the calm reply, ‘he seems to be playing some mysterious game of his own; I foolishly threatened to go above his head with a report detailing some odd inconsistencies, some frankly blatant overstepping of his authority, etc. The long of it was I gave in my resignation.’ Stentz paused, again the sardonic lop-sided smile.
‘My stupidity lay in accusing him, telling him of my suspicions. I underestimated his ruthlessness.’ He gave Fettice a long, level look. ‘But I think he has seriously underestimated me in return.’
Sir Adrian took out his fob watch - he had five minutes to catch his train -
‘Look here, Ari, I’ll be back this afternoon. I want you to rest as much as possible. You can’t do anything until you are in better health.’ He thought for a moment, chewing at his moustache. ‘I will get hold of everything we know about Haldemann; and I mean everything. Where he lives, habits, associates etc. Oh yes, we know of him of course. Always been a bit of a swine, apparently.’ Stentz took hold of his friend’s hand, clasping it warmly.
‘That could be extremely helpful Adrian, and thank you. You realize I am going after him, don’t you?’
Putting on his hat and coat, Sir Adrian paused as he turned to go.
‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less, old friend. In the meantime get some rest, I beg of you. Oh and another thing; I am expecting a visit from a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Bear with him if you will; apparently he is something of an odd sort of chap but a clever detective so I’m told.
Even before this dreadful news, I had already decided to take some precautions. I originally requested someone from Scotland Yard, but for some reason they are sending down a private detective, this Holmes chap. Holmes has offered to check out the area, keep an eye out for any one suspicious - perhaps agents of Haldemann who may be about the place.’ He gave a tight grin as he went out through the door.’ - other than yourself, of course.’
On the train to London, Sir Adrian sat anonymous amongst the sea of City workers, all very similarly dressed, wing collar, furled umbrella, bowler hats almost de rigeur these days, with only a few august persons still wearing top hats . Nobody spoke to each other, of course, andhe’d often remarked how private such travel was, how conducive to thought. And today Sir Adrian Fettice had much to think about. His thoughts carried him back to that last meeting in Paris.
He’d placed himself amongst some potted palms, unobtrusive, the better to observe the scene. The crowd appeared to be largely made up of diplomats and their entourage from the different legations and embassies. Not entirely surprising; the Corps Diplomatique was expected to grace such important embassy receptions, this one being at the American Embassy.
Ah - there is Ari Stentz, he noticed, amongst a fair sprinkling of military attaches of different nationalities. Stentz himself was probably present under this loose coverall of ‘military attache’. As Fettice watched, he saw the wry, lop-sided, self-dep