Die Again, Mr Holmes
Page 1
DIE AGAIN, MR. HOLMES
A SHERLOCK HOLMES AND LUCY JAMES MYSTERY
Legendary detective Sherlock Holmes makes an uncharacteristic mistake when a young woman begs him to help find her missing fiancé.
Sherlock’s daughter, Lucy James, has a missing-persons case of her own, with a strange and aristocratic English lady as her client. But Lucy must also protect Becky, her ten-year-old sister-in-law, from a vicious criminal.
No one expects the devastating news that Sherlock Holmes has been murdered.
The newest adventure in this popular mystery series takes us from the depths of the Old Bailey courthouse and the seacoast lairs of smugglers to the splendor of a grand British country estate and the posh financial headquarters of Lloyd’s of London. For Watson, Sherlock and Lucy, survival will require valor, sacrifice, and even acts that go far outside the law.
THE SHERLOCK HOLMES AND LUCY JAMES MYSTERIES
The Last Moriarty
The Wilhelm Conspiracy
Remember, Remember
The Crown Jewel Mystery
The Jubilee Problem
Death at the Diogenes Club
The Return of the Ripper
The series page at Amazon:
http://amzn.to/2Aglqj7
For a FREE copy of THE CROWN JEWEL MYSTERY – the prequel to the series – please visit http://sherlockandlucy.com
If you enjoy this book, we hope you'll consider giving it a review on Amazon. As you probably know, reviews make a big difference!
OTHER TITLES BY ANNA ELLIOTT
The Pride and Prejudice Chronicles:
Georgiana Darcy’s Diary
Pemberly to Waterloo
Kitty Bennet’s Diary
Sense and Sensibility Mysteries:
Margaret Dashwood’s Diary
The Twilight of Avalon Series:
Dawn of Avalon
The Witch Queen’s Secret
Twilight of Avalon
Dark Moon of Avalon
Sunrise of Avalon
The Susanna and the Spy Series:
Susanna and the Spy
London Calling
OTHER TITLES BY CHARLES VELEY
Novels:
Play to Live
Night Whispers
Children of the Dark
Nonfiction:
Catching Up
DIE AGAIN, MR. HOLMES
A SHERLOCK HOLMES AND LUCY JAMES MYSTERY
BY ANNA ELLIOTT AND CHARLES VELEY
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2018 by Charles Veley and Anna Elliott. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Sherlock and Lucy series website: http://sherlockandlucy.com
eBook formatting by FormattingExperts.com
Cover design by Todd A. Johnson
TABLE OF CONTENTS
OTHER TITLES BY ANNA ELLIOTT AND CHARLES VELEY
PROLOGUE
PART ONE: OUTWARD BOUND
1. AN OLD ENEMY, AND A NEW APPEAL
2. A COOPERATIVE CLIENT
3. AN UNCOOPERATIVE CLIENT
4. A MURDER VICTIM
5. A TRIP TO KENSINGTON
6. A CALL TO BAKER STREET
7. A WARNING SHOT
8. RETURN FIRE
9. A NEW ALLIANCE
10. A VISIT FROM LUCY
11. A PROMISE
12. THREE MISSING SHIPS
13. A REJECTION
14. A DEADLY DELIVERY
15. A MESSAGE
16. FOLLOWED
17. AN UNREQUITED ADMIRATION
18. NEWMAN AT NEWGATE
PART TWO: HEADWINDS
19. TO THE GRAND HOTEL
20. NEWS FROM A BELLBOY
21. A DECISION
22. A DOMESTIC ALTERCATION
23. A WARNING
24. AN INCONCLUSIVE INTERVIEW
25. AN ATTACK IN LIMEHOUSE
26. BREAKING AND ENTERING
27. A GRIM DISCOVERY
28. CONFLAGRATION
29. UNEXPECTED AID
30. FACTS AND CONCLUSIONS
31. A POLICEMAN’S WIFE IS NOT A HAPPY ONE
32. A LINK TO LONDON
33. A THREAT
34. A TRUSTED POLICEMAN
35. AN INTERVIEW WITH KAI-CHEN
36. TEA WITH MR. MING
37. NEWGATE, REVISITED
38. INTERVIEW WITH A WIDOW
39. AN UNFORESEEN EVENT
40. A CALL FOR HELP
PART THREE: CUT ADRIFT
41. COUNCILS OF WAR
42. CONFRONTATION WITH PLANK
43. ANOTHER DIRECTION
44. A CHINESE WALL
45. THINGS DO NOT GO AS PLANNED
46. A LINK TO A LETTER
47. A PLAN EMERGES
48. SIGHTING THE TARGET
49. FLYNN HAS NEWS
50. TEA WITH A SOLICITOR
51. DEDUCTIONS, AND DIRE NEWS
52. DARKNESS
53. OUTSIDE THE LAW
54. KIDNAPPING A SCOUNDREL
55. SCARING A SCOUNDREL
56. SQUEEZING A SCOUNDREL
57. A PLAN, AND A SHOCK
PART FOUR: BATTLE STATIONS
58. CAUGHT
59. A DISCOVERY
60. NO ROOM AT THE GRAND HOTEL
61. THE BALLROOM
62. A MESSAGE AND A DECISION
63. A PRISONER IN DARKNESS
64. TAKEN
65. NOT ALONE
66. DOWNWARD
67. LIES FROM OUR CAPTORS
68. A DESPERATE MOVE
69. A NEW ARRIVAL
70. TOUCH AND GO
71. THE STOLEN HOARD
72. BATTLE
73. ACTION
74. A NEW SUSPICION
75. A NEW SUSPECT
76. A REPORT
77. A TRAP IS SPRUNG
78. THE BELL TOLLS
HISTORICAL NOTE
A NOTE TO READERS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
I beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority:
To do a great right, do a little wrong.
William Shakespeare
The Merchant of Venice (1596-8) act 4, sc. 1.
PROLOGUE
London
Thursday, January 13, 1898
WATSON
Darkness had fallen by the time we reached Greenwich. A few harbor lights glittered over the wide expanse of black river, barely illuminating the low outline of HMS Daring along the dock. Secretary of War Lansdowne was waiting for us, hatless, at the entrance to the West Building, his aquiline features readily identifiable. His tall frame was stooped and hunched against the cold. He gave a momentary glance to our group, which consisted of Mycroft, Lucy and me. We had left little Becky in Baker Street, in the care of Mrs. Hudson.
To Lansdowne we were all familiar faces. All of us had been inside Lansdowne House, and with him in the adjoining Devonshire House just six months earlier when the Jubilee Ball had nearly ended in catastrophe.
On that occasion a traitor had been unmasked, and we had shared with Lansdowne a grim triumph. Now, I could not help thinking that there was no triumph. There was catastrophe.
“I am so terribly sorry for your loss,” Lansdowne said. “Lieutenant Commander Bradley is inside. I will take you to him.”
The commander, clean-faced and ruddy, about forty years old, s
tood in his blue uniform at attention outside a tall door just off the front entrance. His blue eyes looked inquiringly at our little group, then at Lansdowne as we approached.
“Commander Bradley, I shall introduce you to each of these people in turn. They are the next of kin to Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
We each shook hands with him as Lansdowne made introductions. Then he opened the door to reveal a well-lit conference room, with a large oak table surrounded by a dozen empty chairs.
On the table lay a misshapen dark pile of fabric.
“His coat,” said the commander. “It’s all we have, I’m afraid.”
I picked up the coat to inspect it, catching the scent of damp wool and river water. It was Holmes’s black tweed Inverness. I put my finger through a small hole in front of the cape, through to the coat beneath, and then through the heavy wool fabric at the back. As I did so I realized that traces of reddish liquid were coming off on my hands. There was no mistaking the coppery scent of blood, diluted though it had been by the waters of the Thames.
There was also no mistaking the inevitable conclusion. A bullet passing through Holmes’s cloak in this manner would inevitably have gone through his chest. From the angle between the holes, the shot might have missed the vital organs, but there was no question that significant blood loss would have ensued.
“A miracle that he survived to take this off and attempt to swim,” said Commander Bradley, looking from me to Lucy and to Mycroft.
We took chairs around the table. Bradley told us what had happened. Authorized by Lansdowne, Holmes had asked for his assistance to watch the Red Dragon Inn and monitor boat traffic in and out. “Something to do with opium smuggling,” the commander said. “We hove to on the south side of the river, just opposite Limehouse Basin. We had a good view of the Red Dragon. It was a gray afternoon, but the weather was clear enough.”
“What time was this?” Lucy asked.
“About three o’clock,” the commander said. “We saw a motor launch pass us, heading straight for the Red Dragon, close enough so that we could see the crew was Chinese. There was no name and no flag. The boat docked briefly under the pier, unloaded a few barrels of cargo, and then maneuvered away from the dock, to head downstream. At that moment Mr. Holmes appeared on the dock, running at full tilt.”
“You could identify him at that distance?” Mycroft asked sharply.
“Not at that time. I had my binoculars, but no, I could not distinguish his features as he ran. I did see that he was brandishing a revolver. He jumped onto the Chinese boat just as it was pulling away from the Red Dragon dock. In a few moments, however, I could identify Holmes. He was on deck, and the Chinese boat was moving rapidly in our direction. Then there were shots fired. The man I now know to be Sherlock Holmes was clearly visible, and he was hit by one of the shots. He fell into the river.”
“Could you see his face when he was in the water?”
“Yes. Plainly. It was Mr. Holmes.”
“You had met him before?”
“Yes. This was the man who had asked me to keep the Red Dragon Inn under surveillance.”
“And he had identified himself as Sherlock Holmes?”
“He did, and to confirm his identity he asked me to call Secretary Lansdowne in his presence.”
“Holmes made the request to me on the phone,” Lansdowne said, “I recognized his voice. Then he put Commander Bradley on the line, and I gave the authorization.”
“What happened then?” Lucy asked.
“I knew the water was dangerously cold. As you know, freezing water can paralyze a man’s limbs in no time. There were blocks of ice here and there, but none close enough for Mr. Holmes to hold onto. We lowered a dinghy to rescue him. I watched throughout. He was struggling to stay afloat. He took off his coat, which was dragging him down, and tried to swim to the dinghy. It was a valiant effort, but before we could reach him, he went under. He was gone.”
PART ONE
OUTWARD BOUND
1. AN OLD ENEMY, AND A NEW APPEAL
London
Ten Days Earlier; Monday, January 3, 1898
WATSON
From the upper gallery, Holmes and I had a clear view of Thomas Newman as the jurors filed into the courtroom. His close-set, pig-like eyes glittered with determination, and on his massive jaw, a purple bruise—caused by a solid punch from Holmes two months ago—had faded. I detested Newman. I had hoped to see some anxiety on his coarse features as he waited to learn whether the jurors would set him free or send him to the hangman. But to my disappointment, the leader of the East End gang known as the Bleeders sat stolid and impassive in the prisoner’s dock.
From time to time, however, Newman would glance up to the gallery opposite ours to wave—in an oddly delicate manner—to a veiled woman in the front row.
I had been told the woman was Newman’s wife. She sat quietly, as stoic in her appearance as her husband, though she never waved back.
I had seen most of the trial, and the veiled woman had occupied the same front row seat each time I had attended.
The proceedings had been difficult for the prosecution. We had known Newman was guilty, of course, but proving it was another matter. Newman rarely soiled his hands with the face-battering and leg-breaking that were the usual enforcement techniques of his organization, preferring to let other thugs do the dirty work. Holmes and I had both been his intended victims two months earlier, so we had both been able to give what I thought was completely convincing testimony as to his guilt on the charge of attempted murder.
But Lestrade wanted the death penalty. He had brought in three former Bleeders, who had witnessed Newman—they said—in the act of ordering and overseeing several murders. They were now members of a rival gang on the south side of the Thames, and Newman’s barrister had made much of that fact when attempting to impeach their credibility.
Had he been successful?
We would know the answer in the next few moments.
The judge emerged from his chambers, moving slowly, with an old man’s careful step. His powdered wig, which no doubt had fit him properly at one time, was now too large for him and made him look older still. He spoke in a reedy tenor voice. “Will the defendant please rise.”
Newman got to his feet.
The judge continued. “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor,” said the jury foreman.
“Will you please read your verdict.”
“We find the defendant Thomas Newman guilty on all charges.”
Newman never flinched. He might have been standing in a theatre queue, patiently waiting for a seat. He kept his jaw clamped shut and his chin tilted upward. His fists remained firmly clenched at his sides.
The judge nodded. Turning his gaze to the dock, he continued, “Thomas Newman, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers, of four counts of willful murder. It is my duty to sentence you. The jury has not recommended mercy, and I have been told your associates have made every effort to influence the jurors in their deliberations, first with threats and then with bribes. Your associates are not on trial here, of course, but I can take their actions into account when passing sentence.”
A murmur went through the court. The judge rapped his gavel, and the crowd grew silent once more.
The judge spoke. “Have you anything to say before sentence is passed?”
Newman did not look at the judge nor at anyone else. His beady little eyes seemed to be staring at a fixed point in the air.
Then he said, “I’m not done yet.”
The judge shook his head in irritation. “Do you mean that you wish to say more at this time? Or are those words intended to convey some other meaning?”
Newman said nothing.
Holmes stared intently at the gallery opposite us, at the end of the row farthest from Newman’s soon-to-be widow. He seemed to be watching an attractive, blonde-haired young woman, whose feathered hat was causing some annoyance to a man
on the bench behind her. The young woman was repeatedly shifting the direction of her gaze, first to look down at Newman, and then to look across at Holmes.
The judge went on, “Very well. You have had your opportunity to speak. Thomas Newman, I sentence you to be hanged from the neck until you are dead, sentence to be carried out on the morning of January the 13th, one week and two days from today.”
The courtroom erupted in cheers.
A short while later we had left the Old Bailey and were walking away in the harsh January wind, looking for a cab, when a woman’s voice came from behind us. “Mr. Holmes! Please wait!”
Holmes stopped and turned. I recognized the young blonde-haired woman we had seen across from us in the opposite gallery. She still wore her feathered hat. Her round, pleasant features widened in a glad smile of relief and she spoke rapidly and urgently. “Thank you for stopping, Mr. Holmes. You gave testimony at the trial several weeks ago, and I recognized you today. Please pardon me for staring at you so repeatedly back there in the courtroom. I fear I am very much in need of your help. My name is Florence Janine, and I need you to find my fiancé.”
“Miss Janine, I am sorry to have to disappoint you—”
But she interrupted him, her words spilling out in an even more desperate tumble, almost breathless with her anxiety to prevent Holmes from walking away. “His name is John Swafford. He is a police detective, and he works at Limehouse Station, but none of the policemen there will speak with me. I have not seen him since Christmas. John was investigating that man Thomas Newman. I came to the trial every day last month hoping I would see him, but he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t there today either. Or yesterday. Unless you saw him today and I missed him?”
“Now why should you think that, Miss Janine?”
“John said Thomas Newman had an escape plan and more than enough money to bribe his jailers. He told me he was going to speak to you about it. He said you would want to know.”
2. A COOPERATIVE CLIENT
WATSON
Miss Janine was shivering with cold, and passers-by were beginning to become a distraction, so we repaired to a nearby teashop and found a table. Soon we had a pot of tea and a plate of scones before us. Holmes was trying to be friendly and helpful, although I could tell he was still skeptical of Miss Janine. He waited patiently until she had consumed half a cup of hot tea and one of the scones.