Sherlock Holmes Plays the Game

Leslie Coombs

Description

Sherlock Holmes Plays the Game is an interesting new collection of the further adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. It is unique in combining the style and intrigue of Holmes and Watson stories with the developing technology of turn-of-the-century Victorian England. Written in the original Strand Magazine style and told by Holmes' companion, Dr John Watson, these previously untold tales unfold with wit and humour. Although conveyed in the classic Holmes style, these adventures see the pair involved in tracking down a lost Shakespeare manuscript, illusions, railways, airships, kidnap of animals, and people, testing of alibis, coded messages, advanced communications and electric weapons. Holmes applies his highly developed powers of deduction to whole new fields of understanding, and the stories deftly mingle fiction with facts and events of the day.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 28 janvier 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780927305
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Title Page
Sherlock Holmes Plays The Game
By
L F E COOMBS



Publisher Information
First edition published in 2014 by MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,
London, N11 3GX www.mxpublishing.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed in 2015 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2014, 2015 Leslie Coombs
The right of Leslie Coombs 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. Except for certain historical personages, 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



The Abbey Mystery
Part One: The Disturbed Tomb
In which Sherlock Holmes determines who raided a tomb in Westminster Abbey, the temporary hiding place for a William Shakespeare manuscript. The controversial 16 th century play, lying among letters & tributes from friends of the deceased, contained veiled allusions to the behaviour of some who surrounded Queen Elizabeth.
Another winter morning and London’s own particular fog deadened the sounds of people and vehicles in Baker Street. The fog was so thick that, as the saying goes, you could cut it with a knife. It lay thick, yellow and sulphurous, forming a thick suffocating blanket over the city. Those who ventured out had to breathe the outpourings of thousands of chimneys and the foul vapours emerging from beneath the streets. Omnibus drivers carried torches and led their horses. Hansom and growler cabmen became completely lost as once familiar streets and turnings disappeared. Distraught elderly persons clung to lampposts not daring to venture further into the unknown. The Thames was no longer a busy highway for passenger vessels and for barges and lighters. As for those with diseases of the lungs, there was no relief. They suffered dreadfully and for many the fog was the last they would ever see.
Despite all the doors being kept closed and a big bright fire in the grate the fog still managed to penetrate into our sitting room. It was with the greatest restraint on my part that I refrained from commenting on Holmes’ tobacco smoke which added to the foul air. To my annoyance he seemed oblivious to my coughing and continued to puff away absorbed with some chemical problem that, to him, was far more important than fog. He had been busy with his chemical apparatus when I came down to breakfast and he gave no indication of having been to bed.
I attempted conversation by mentioning the evening violin concert for which he had tickets. He had invited me to accompany him. Not wanting to offend him I had agreed to sit for two hours listening to music the greater part of which would not be very pleasing to my ear. I have to admit to having very little understanding or knowledge concerning music as a whole and particularly pieces for the solo violin.
‘Holmes, do you think this fog will prevent tonight’s concert taking place? I cannot imagine how the performers will be able to find their way there.’
He did not reply immediately. He continued to peer through his microscope. Without looking up he grunted and it was a few seconds before he muttered in a voice that betrayed his annoyance at being disturbed. ‘What did you say? Oh, yes, tonight’s concert.’ There was a long pause as he made a note of something in one of his chemical experiments notebooks. ‘Have no fear on that score, Watson, artists are a very dedicated breed. It is a point of honour to never let the elements prevent them meeting an engagement. I expect we will have to walk from here.’
A walk of some distance in the foul fog was going to add to my reluctance to go out that evening.
Suddenly Holmes exclaimed, ‘Watson, if I am not mistaken a cab has stopped outside our door.’ A moment or two later Superintendent Shershay of Scotland Yard entered. ‘Good morning Gentlemen. Once again I come to disturb you,’ was his greeting.
‘Good morning,’ said Holmes. ‘I presume that when you come at this hour and in such dense fog the Yard needs my help and needs it without delay?’
‘Just so, Mr Holmes. We have responded to a message received at dawn from the Dean of Westminster Abbey to say that one of the tombs has been disturbed and an important and ancient manuscript has been stolen. Now, please forgive my presumption, but I have a cab waiting below to convey us to the Abbey. Can you help?’
‘When the Dean of the Abbey and a superintendent of the Yard together become concerned about something then it must be of some importance. Give us a moment or two and I will be ready. Oh, will you come as well, Watson?’ The thought of another investigation, particularly concerning one of the noblest places in the kingdom, set aside my distaste for the fog. I agreed to accompany them.
We were soon on our way. I should mention that Shershay was a markedly different character from Inspector Lestrade. He was tall and thin. Although his manner was somewhat abrupt there could be no doubt that beneath his austere appearance he was a member of the Criminal Investigation Department who did not rush to conclusions; particularly when a suspect’s future depended on justice. He was meticulous in the manner in which he gathered evidence and exhibited the utmost restraint when questioning a suspect. He never raised his fist as, I regret to have to say, other detectives were tempted to do when confronted by a stubborn villain or one who heaped abuse upon the head of the Metropolitan Police. Our lives had one thing in common because we had both served in the late Afghan War. That experience provided a basis of understanding between us.
During the general discussion of the new case taken on by my friend he said, ‘Superintendent, can you tell me more about the manuscript which has been stolen?’
‘All I know is what was in the Dean’s brief telegram, Mr Holmes. He mentioned that the manuscript was not only of great value in monetary terms, but was of outstanding historical importance. Furthermore, its existence needs to be kept most secret. But he did not say why.’
At the lower end of Baker Street our progress became slower and slower. The fog was becoming even more dense and soon we could not see from one side of the road to the other. It took our cabman over five minutes to force his vehicle through the dense pack of carriages, omnibuses and wagons which were entangled at the crossroads in Oxford Street. We stopped and started and progressed at a walking pace through Mayfair. Crossing Trafalgar Square I observed that Nelson’s statue was out of sight somewhere above the thick layer of choking fog. Despite keeping my muffler across my face, the horrible taste and smell of the fog could not be avoided. My mouth could detect the minute particles of solid matter held in suspension in the foul vapour. My nostrils were assailed by the compound of the noxious odours of the streets and the smoke from the thousands of fires that were kept stoked up to keep out the fog. I had read somewhere that if the burning of coal in household grates was prohibited then London might be spared what was in effect a self inflicted problem. My thoughts turned to the railways which formed a tangled web over the city and the hundreds of locomotives belching out smoke to add to the solid matter of the fog.
Two hours after leaving Baker Street we reached the North Transept door of the Abbey. Above us, soaring up until they were invisible in the fog, were the soot blackened ancient stones which at one time had been white. The Dean, Dr Wrestable was there to greet us and led us into the nave. The fog was thick even inside the Abbey and we could not see much further upward than the tops of the pillars which lined the nave. I thought, ‘how strange that the first time I find myself in the Abbey it should be not as a member of the congregation at a service, but as part of an investigation into criminal activity.’ I was certain that had the world at large known what had occurred, there would have been an outcry of rage over such desecration.
The Dean led us the down into one of the crypts. It was stygian dark and even with the lanterns carried by two constables it was difficult to discern with clarity any of the detailed features of the different tombs. We were led past a place where workmen were repairing the foundations. Their implements, wooden beams and buckets of cement took up much of the available space. The atmosphere was full of dust and everything was covered with a thick layer. In front of us was a metal grill.
‘This,’ said the Dean, ‘was installed some time back to deter thieves from getting at the ostentatious gold ornamentation on the tomb of Roger of Aspinal. Thankfully none of the gold ornamentation or furniture has been touched. We cannot get in because who ever robbed the other tomb managed to manipulate the lock so that it cannot be opened with its key. I’ve sent for a locksmith. He should have arrived by now. I presume the fog is making it difficult for people to move around.’
Holmes studied the lock for a minute or two and then took from his pocket a roll of cloth and selected one of the implements which it contained.