Dr. John Watson
Once again, Sir Henry was as good as his word. We set ourselves up in his room, but this time instead of an uncomfortable night’s sleep we were rewarded with the sound of footsteps in the corridor. As Barrymore’s employer Sir Henry was able to take a very firm approach with the miscreant butler but the servant’s resolve was such that he was prepared to accept the threat of the sack until his wife appeared and intervened on his behalf. Mrs. Barrymore admitted that the escaped convict—Selden—was her brother and with Barrymore’s assistance she’d been smuggling him food.
Sir Henry and I raced outside in the hope of apprehending the fugitive and returning him to custody before he could harm anyone else, but alas he eluded us in the dark. I did, however, spot the outline of a tall figure silhouetted against the sky when the moon unexpectedly broke through the clouds to provide an instant’s illumination.
Sir Henry Baskerville I’m sure it was a prison warden or policeman, chasing their quarry.
We were right not to give any further chase . . .
Sherlock Holmes does not like this.
Sir Henry Baskerville
Adjusting to the ways of the staff in this country is taking longer than I’d expected! Take Barrymore, for example. Fortunate not to be jailed, I’d say, let alone sacked. But I took a lenient stance, only to find the man complaining that Watson and I had broken his confidence by attempting to capture his brother in law, Selden. In the end I had to give him a parcel of clothes I no longer required, just to silence his grievances.
Barrymore and Selden like this.
Dr. John Watson Outrageous! But I hope we did the right thing, agreeing not to call the police. Still, if Selden does leave the country by ship as Barrymore promised he would, it will be much cheaper for the British taxpayer than continuing to house him in jail . . .
Barrymore
It was very decent of Sir Henry to give me that parcel of clothes. I could never afford that kind of quality myself, and if they’re not quite this year’s style I don’t think Selden will mind as long as they keep him warm on the moor. One good turn deserves another, my old mum used to say, so I reckoned it was only right I told Sir Henry about the letter—well, the burned fragment of the letter—his uncle Sir Charles had received from someone who signed themselves “LL.” It was a very strange thing really, arranging to meet him the day he died . . .
Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. John Watson like this.
Mrs. Laura Lyons does not like this.
Dr. John Watson
I’m very sorry to report yet another tragedy has occurred in our midst. Dr. Mortimer’s Spaniel is missing on the moor and the poor chap is convinced the animal will never be seen again.
The Hound likes this.
Dr. John Watson As a mark of the man’s mettle, despite his grief Dr. Mortimer was able to call on his encyclopedic knowledge of the local population and suggest that “LL” could be a Mrs. Laura Lyons from Coombe Tracey. Mrs. Lyons is actually the objectionable Frankland’s daughter—abandoned by her blackguard artist husband, neglected by her misanthropic father, but set up in business through the charity of concerned local citizens.
Mrs. Laura Lyons has shared a link to Lyons’ Typing Services (Local Business)
Dr. James Mortimer, Stapleton, and Sir Charles Baskerville’s ghost like this.
Dr. John Watson
Although I feel a little guilty at profiting from the demise of so lovely an animal as Dr. Mortimer’s Spaniel, another valuable opportunity presented itself to me as a consequence of his grief. While Sir Henry was occupied playing him at cards in an attempt to raise his spirits I had occasion to speak with Barrymore at greater length than normal. During our conversation he let slip that Selden, his fugitive brother in law, had reported seeing a second man somehow scraping a living on the moors. A possible witness! And a piece of information that, along with the details of the letter from “LL” brought the total of useful leads recently provided by Barrymore to two . . .
Dr. John Watson was at Lyons’ Typing Services, Coombe Tracey.
Life has a way of finding occasions to remind me how fortunate I am to have avoided matrimonial difficulties, and my visit with Mrs. Laura Lyons was undoubtedly one of these times. I felt deep pity—mixed with a touch of cynical distrust—as she recounted details of her miserable married life, culminating with the unorthodox appointment, which she swore not to have kept, with the late Sir Charles. She claimed that its purpose was to petition Sir Charles for funds with which to procure a divorce, and that after news of his death reached her she attempted to prevent anyone finding out about the arrangement for fear of misunderstanding leading to scandal.
Dr. John Watson does not like this.
Frankland shared links to Frankland v Middleton and Frankland v Fernworth, at Court of Queen’s Bench.
Frankland likes this.
1,000 others do not like this.
Frankland Two cases, two results in my favour! I WON!!! My case against the constabulary is next. I’ll win that, too! But if the police treated me with the respect I deserve, I’d be helping them, not fighting them. I could tell them where to find the missing convict. I could tell them how to watch the boy who delivers his food every day. But they don’t, so I won’t. Ha!
The West Country Telescope Emporium likes this.
Dr. John Watson was at A Neolithic Stone Hut.
Sherlock Holmes likes this.
Dr. John Watson I followed the path the mystery boy uses to deliver food, and found my way to this hut. There’s no one here, but it shows signs of occupation—clothes, bedding, remnants of meals—plus a report on MY movements! Someone’s been watching me! But who? A malignant enemy? Or a guardian angel? There’s only one way to find out. I’ll wait.
Sherlock Holmes was at A Neolithic Stone Hut.
Dr. John Watson does not like this.
Dr. John Watson Holmes was on the moor all this time? There was no blackmail case to keep him in London? He lied to me. He didn’t trust me, after all. And all the time I spent sending him reports was wasted.
Sherlock Holmes No! Your reports were vital. I had them all forwarded to Coombe Tracey. I have them in my pocket! Look—thumbed through and well read. I only operated incognito to avoid forewarning our enemies . . .
Dr. John Watson likes this.
Dr. John Watson
Working with Sherlock Holmes is a little like climbing one of the country’s highest mountains: every time you think you’re about to reach the summit, you realise another taller, more impressive peak is behind it, hidden from your sight until the last minute.
Sherlock Holmes likes this.
Sherlock Holmes When you met Mrs. Lyons, I take it you discovered she’s close to Stapleton?
Dr. John Watson That depends what you mean by close . . .
Sherlock Holmes They write. They meet, and so on. And of course you know that Beryl isn’t really Stapleton’s sister?
Dr. John Watson Not his sister?
Sherlock Holmes No! His wife. He must have felt a “sister” would afford him a significant advantage. For example, I’d wager that posing as a single, available man he entreated Mrs. Lyons to approach Sir Charles regarding the funds for her divorce, holding out the prospect of marrying her himself, and in so doing ensuring that the cautious old man was lured out into a vulnerable position at a predetermined time.
Dr. John Watson But why? What motive could Stapleton have for doing away with Sir Charles? And how did he do it?
Sherlock Holmes I will soon be in a position to answer both questions.
Dr. John Watson It was Stapleton in the cab in London?
Sherlock Holmes I think it’s safe to assume so, though I have no definite proof.
Dr. John Watson What will Mrs. Lyons do when she discovers Stapleton is married? And that he used her as an unwitting accomplice in the murder of Sir Charles—if your hypothesis is correct?
Sherlock Holmes That, my dear Watson, is an excellent question!
>
Dr. John Watson I was so misguided, Holmes! Only now do I begin to see Stapleton as a creature of infinite patience and craft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart . . .
Sherlock Holmes has invited Dr. John Watson to the event Invoking the Fury of the Scorned Woman at Lyons’ Typing Services.
Attending: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
Possibly Attending: Mrs. Laura Lyons.
Sherlock Holmes has invited Dr. John Watson to the event Keeping Sir Henry Baskerville out of Danger at Baskerville Hall.
Attending: Dr. John Watson.
Possibly Attending: Sir Henry Baskerville.
Sherlock Holmes has cancelled the event Keeping Sir Henry Baskerville out of Danger at Baskerville Hall.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson do not like this.
Sherlock Holmes has invited Dr. John Watson to the event Removing Sir Henry Baskerville’s Dead Body at A Sheer Cliff, The Moor.
Attending: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
Possibly Attending: Sir Henry Baskerville.
Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson and Sir Henry Baskerville do not like this.
Sherlock Holmes This is terrible! It’s my fault. The greatest failure of my career. I swear to bring the culprit to justice!
Dr. John Watson Why was Sir Henry out on the moors alone? He knew the danger.
Sherlock Holmes has edited his event, which is now Removing Selden (the escaped convict’s) Dead Body at A Sheer Cliff, The Moor.
Attending: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
Possibly Attending: Selden.
Selden and Mrs. Barrymore do not like this.
Dr. John Watson He was wearing Sir Henry’s clothes! That’s why we didn’t recognise him at first!
Sherlock Holmes It’s also why he’s dead. Sir Henry’s clothes carried his scent. And that explains why his boots were stolen in London.
Stapleton was at The Scene of Selden’s Death, A Sheer Cliff, The Moor.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson do not like this.
Stapleton Oh my goodness! Is Sir Henry dead?
Dr. John Watson No. This is some other chap who was wearing his cast-off clothes for some reason. Poor devil probably fell from the cliff, suffering from exposure.
Stapleton likes this.
Sherlock Holmes I don’t know about you fellows, but I’m fed up with this case. In fact, I’m heading back to London first thing in the morning.
Stapleton LOVES this.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were at Baskerville Hall for Supper.
Sir Henry Baskerville likes this.
Sherlock Holmes Has anyone noticed that, allowing for the hair, Stapleton looks exactly like the portrait of the evil Hugo Baskerville, the progenitor of the curse?
Sir Henry Baskerville By goodness Holmes, you’re right!
Dr. John Watson does not like this.
Dr. John Watson It was pitch dark, most times I was in here. I was tired! How could I tell . . . ?
Sherlock Holmes This could account for another piece of the puzzle, gentlemen! I wager that some conscientious research will reveal that Sir Charles’ disgraced brother, Rodger, did not perish without issue in South America, after all . . .
Stapleton has joined the group Inconvenient Heirs No One Knew Existed—Until Now!
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were at Coombe Tracey railway station.
Sir Henry Baskerville does not like this.
Dr. John Watson has changed his status for Stapleton’s event Apology Dinner to Not Attending.
Stapleton likes this.
Sir Henry Baskerville does not like this.
Inspector Lestrade was at Coombe Tracey railway station.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson like this.
Inspector Lestrade Time to feel some collars . . . ?
Sir Henry Baskerville was at Stapleton’s event Apology Dinner.
Stapleton and The Hound like this.
Sir Henry Baskerville The food wasn’t too unpalatable, fortunately, but I was sad not to see Miss Stapleton. I wonder where she is? And why does Stapleton keep retreating to his outhouse? And what’s making that strange scratching sound from inside it?
Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Inspector Lestrade were at Rocky Ambush Position, The Moor.
Inspector Lestrade does not like this.
Inspector Lestrade Not a very cheerful place . . .
Dr. John Watson has shared a link to the London Meteorological Service—Likelihood of Severe Fog: 90%
The Hound likes this.
Sherlock Holmes does not like this.
Sir Henry Baskerville
Not a very nice night to walk home from Stapleton’s. I hope I don’t get lost on the way . . .
Stapleton and The Hound like this.
The Hound was at His Teeth at Sir Henry Baskerville’s Throat.
Stapleton and The Hound like this.
Sir Henry Baskerville, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Inspector Lestrade do not like this.
Dr. John Watson
I’m reckoned fleet of foot, but on this occasion Sherlock Holmes outpaced me as much as I outpaced little Inspector Lestrade. I burst through the blanket of fog just in time to see Holmes empty five barrels of his revolver into The Hound’s flank, and with a last howl of agony and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its back and fell limp, finally releasing Sir Henry from its monstrous jaws.
Sir Henry Baskerville, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Inspector Lestrade like this.
Stapleton, The British Phosphorus Company, and The Devon and Cornwall Animal Feed Cooperative do not like this.
Stapleton has joined the group Entomologists Who Don’t Know Deadly Mires As Well As They Thought They Did.
Beryl Stapleton likes this.
Sir Henry Baskerville has joined the group Hound Attack Survivors in need of a Stiff Brandy.
Everyone likes this.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE LAUGHING FISHERMAN
by Jeffery Deaver
Sometimes it’s overwhelming: the burden of knowing that the man you most admire isn’t real.
Then the depression that you’ve fought all your life creeps in, the anxiety. The borders of your life contract, stifling, suffocating.
And so slim Paul Winslow, twenty-eight, was presently walking into the neat, unadorned office of his on-again, off-again therapist, Dr. Levine, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
“Hello, Paul, come on in. Sit down.”
Dr. Levine was one of those shrinks who offered basic armchairs, not couches, for his patients. He spoke frequently during the sessions, wasn’t afraid to offer advice and asked, “How do you feel about that?” only when it was important to know how his patients felt. Which was pretty rare.
He never used the verb “explore.”
Paul had read Freud’s Psychopathology of Everyday Life (not bad, though a bit repetitive) and the works of Jung and Horney and some of the other biggies. He knew that a lot of what brain docs told you was a crock. But Dr. Levine was a good man.
“I did the best I could,” Paul now explained to him. “Everything was going along okay, pretty much okay, but over the past couple of months it got worse and I couldn’t shake it, you know, the sadness. I guess I need a tune-up,” Paul added, smiling ruefully. Even at the worst of times, his humor never wholly deserted him.
A laugh came from the mouth of the clean-shaven, trim physician, who wore slacks and a shirt during the appointments. His glasses were unstylish wire rims, but that seemed to fit his casual style and friendly demeanor.
Paul had not been here for nearly eight months and the doctor now glanced through his patient’s file to refresh his memory. The folder was thick. Paul had seen Dr. Levine off and on for the past five years and had been to other shrinks before that. Diagnosed from a young age with bipolar and anxiety disorders, Paul had worked hard to control his malady. He didn’t self-medicate with illegal drugs or liquor. He’d seen therapists,
attended workshops, taken medicine—though not regularly and only those run-of-the-mill antidepressants ingested by the ton in the New York metro area. He’d never been institutionalized, never had any breaks with reality.
Still, the condition—which his mother also suffered from—had sidelined him. Never one to get along well with others, Paul was impatient, had little respect for authority, could be acerbic and never hesitated to verbally eviscerate the prejudiced and the stupid.
Oh, he was brilliant, with an IQ way up in the stratosphere. He’d zipped through university in three years, grad school in one. But then came the brick wall: the real world. Teaching at community colleges hadn’t worked out (you don’t necessarily have to get along with fellow professors, but a modicum of tolerance for your students’ foibles is a requirement). Editing for scientific publishers was equally disastrous (the same problem with his bosses and authors). Recently he’d taken up freelance copyediting for one of his former employers and this solitary job more or less suited, at least for the time being.
Not that money was important; his parents, both bankers, were well off and, sympathetic to their son’s condition, established a trust fund for him, which supported him nicely. Given these resources, he was free to live a simple, stress-free life, working part time, playing chess at a club in the Village, dating occasionally (though without much enthusiasm) and doing plenty of what he loved most: reading.
Paul Winslow didn’t care much for real people but he loved the characters in fiction. He always had.
Lou Ford and Anna Wulf and Sam Spade and Clyde Griffiths and Frank Chambers and Mike Hammer and Pierre Bezukhov and Huck Finn . . . a hundred others made up Paul’s circle of intimates. Harry Potter was a good friend; Frodo Baggins, a better one.
In the Company of Sherlock Holmes Page 8
