Redacted Sherlock Holmes - Volume 4

Orlando Pearson

Description

Five more sizzlingly scandalous Sherlock Holmes stories from the pen of Orlando Pearson- The Baron of Wimbledon: Holmes averts an injustice and makes a dramatic self-discovery- On Consistent Luck: What an enables an industry to enjoy constant good fortune? Sherlock Holmes shows how- Variations on an Enigma: Holmes unravels one Enigma and analyses another- A Study in Red, White and Blue: A diplomatic coup after a divisive vote on a European Alliance- The Hounding of Peers Baskerville: Is the Hound back on Dartmoor? Holmes and Watson investigateMr Pearson mixes the canon with elite sport, business high jinks, a musical mystery, a literary mystery, Realpolitik and, in The Hounding of Peer Baskerville rolls the most famous of all detective stories on twenty years.A must for traditionalists, lovers of mystery, and anyone who likes a rattling good read.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 07 novembre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781787052109
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Redacted Sherlock Holmes
Volume IV
Orlando Pearson




Published in the UK by
MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor
Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2017 Orlando Pearson
The right of Orlando Pearson 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 or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of MX Publishing or Andrews UK Limited.




For My Family



The Baron of Wimbledon
In the story I have recounted under the title The Führer and his Deputies , I described how in 1937, newly widowed, I moved down to Sussex to share once more quarters with my friend Sherlock Holmes.
I confess that when I moved, I considered that my days of assisting Holmes with detective work were behind me, but I have already recounted several cases that Holmes undertook after 1937, even though he was well into his eighties.
The case that follows has the distinction of being the first case that I took part in with Holmes after my move to Sussex. Although my friend’s role in it was perhaps less prominent than I might have wished, its mode of resolution was so unexpected as to merit preservation for posterity although, as my reader will see, there are aspects of the case which will cause this story to be withheld for many years.
Our clifftop village was a quiet place. We had a thatched cottage with a garden at the back, which was of a suitable size for Holmes’s chosen retirement activity of bee-keeping. Callers were few and far between.
At about four o’clock on 13 July, Holmes and I were sitting over cups of tea that our housekeeper, Mrs Turner, had left us in a large vacuum flask. The floor was covered in newspapers as Holmes kept up with the foreign as well as the British press and had filled the day so far reading from Le Monde, Corriere della Sera and the Völkischer Beobachter.
Holmes and I had Mrs Turner, the married name of Mrs Hudson’s daughter, as our housekeeper, but she was only in the house in the mornings. Thus, when there was a knock on the front door, it was I who went to answer it. Standing on the doorstep was a slight, blond-haired man who had an expression on his face of the greatest nervousness.
“My name is Gottfried Cramm,” he said, in slightly accented English. “I am the leading tennis player in Germany and I would like to see Mr Sherlock Holmes.”
I escorted Cramm into our small sitting-room and Holmes rose to greet him.
“Perhaps,” said my friend, “you would like to tell us a little about yourself before you present your petition.”
“My full name is an aristocratic one,” he said. “On my birth certificate, it says ‘Freiherr Gottfried von Cramm’, but I always introduce myself as Gottfried Cramm. The word ‘Freiherr’ is normally translated into English as ‘Baron’. I have been a notable player of sports since an early age. The game at which I excel is tennis and it is about this I would wish to consult with you.”
“Gottfried von Cramm,” said Holmes thoughtfully. “I confess I am not a follower of any sport. Perhaps you could you get down the relevant file from the archives, good Doctor,” he said, turning to me, “and we can see what we can add to what Herr Cramm has said.”
“My name,” said our visitor helpfully, as I made to take down the file of K s, “starts with a C .”
I read out “‘Freiherr Gottfried von Cramm. Amateur tennis player,’” this brief entry coming between entries containing an article on another apiarist and material on the medicinal properties of the cranberry.
I think Holmes had been expecting slightly more than what I had read, but in the end he said, “Is that all there is? The name Cramm sounded very familiar to me, but, as I said, I do not focus much attention on sport, which I regard as a mere metaphor for the struggles of life rather than life itself.”
“I think I can add some detail to your entry,” said our visitor. “I have three times been a Wimbledon singles finalist, have been a winner of the doubles. And I won the French Open title in 1934 and again last year.”
I replaced the heavy volume on the shelf.
Holmes looked at the young man before us and asked: “So Baron von Cramm, you are evidently one of the greatest sportsmen of the age. How am I able to help you?”
There was a long pause before Cramm responded. To my surprise, Holmes, who was not notable for his domesticity, broke the silence by asking our visitor if he would like to have a cup of tea. To my greater surprise, he then laid out not one but two cups, one of which he filled for our guest.
“Next week,” began Cramm at length, having sipped from his cup, “I am playing for my country in our Davis Cup tie against the United States of America at Wimbledon. The winner advances to the final to play against the United Kingdom, the current holders of the trophy. Although Davis Cup tennis is a team event played over five matches, the tie is likely to be decided by whoever wins between the American, Don Budge, and me. Budge beat me easily in the Wimbledon final on the Saturday before last, and I want your help in turning the tables on him.”
“My dear Baron,” said Holmes, “I am into my eighties, have never played tennis, and you are one of the world’s elite players. Why do you think I am able to help you?”
“You are one of the minds of the age,” said our visitor looking straight ahead. “I have read the books written by Dr Watson here. I do not believe that there is a process in the world which you could not improve if you turned your mind to it.”
“And,” shot back Holmes, “you have come all the way down from Wimbledon to my retirement quarters in Sussex in this vaguest of hopes that I might be able to help you?”
“That is so.”
“And is there is nothing else you wish to discuss?”
“There is nothing else.”
Holmes rose from his seat. “I fear that I see no point in continuing this interview. This is a busy time of year for bee-keeping and I must attend to the hives.”
“Am I to take it,” asked Cramm politely, “that you are unable to assist me?”
“I regret that in this matter,” said Holmes pointedly, “I am indeed unable to assist you.”
I accompanied Cramm to the door. When I opened it, standing on the doorstep in the July sunshine was what I can only describe as the most striking middle-aged woman I have ever seen. My reader will recall that in the cases Holmes and I worked on in the 1880s and ‘90s, our clients, or the ladies associated with them, were often young ladies of startling beauty. The fair Mary Morstan, whom I married, was one, the glamourous Irene Adler - the woman, as Holmes aptly called her - was another. The spirited Hatty Doran, who featured in the matter I chronicled under the title, The Noble Batchelor, was not out of place in the company of the other two.
For all that she was, as it turned out, nearer fifty than forty, the lady now at our threshold was as striking as any of these women. She had the slenderest figure, a mane of golden tresses which glistered in the July sun, and eyes of the clearest and most piercing blue I have ever seen.
She ignored me and said to von Cramm in what I knew to be German, “And, was Herr Holmes able to help you?”
Cramm looked to the floor, unable to answer, so I explained in English, “My friend is not accustomed to providing help on sporting matters.”
“Sporting matters!” hissed the lady before me in accented English. “Did my son not tell you that he is being blackmailed?”
“I think you had better come back inside,” I mumbled in reply and brought Frau von Cramm and her son back into our sitting room, where Holmes had already sat down, having poured tea from the flask into the fourth cup.
“It was obvious, Herr Cramm,” my friend said after we had sat down, “that you would not have come the long way from London to here to ask me a question about tennis when it is a game of which you are clearly a master. Therefore, there was another matter on your mind. And the fact that you chose to talk about tennis once you were seated before me, told me that you had been coerced into coming to see me by someone else.”
Our visitor declined to comment and sipped his tea.
“And once,” continued Holmes, “you had declined to speak of the matter that was really on your mind, it was clear to me that that either you would return to London or that that another person would join us. Accordingly, I had a fourth cup in readiness for this fourth person. I felt that tea might be needed to have a soothing effect on what I suspected was in reality a matter far more serious than tennis. Perhaps you would now like to speak freely to me.”
Even now Cramm hesitated. He looked across at his mother and said, “Are you sure I should speak of this?”
“My dear,” she forcefully, but not unkindly, “I am sure you have no choice. Openness with Mr Holmes is the only thing that can help you. I will assist you if you stumble.”
“In 1932,” began the younger Cramm, “I made the acquaintance of a famous