Читать книгу The Return of Sherlock Holmes: A Classic Crime Tale - Philip Harbottle - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

Cold autumn midday sunshine slanted into a room in Dr. Shlessinger’s London nursing home. It was a clinical-looking room, with white walls, centrally located French windows with net curtains, and plain-coloured curtains. It was furnished with a writing desk, table, and chairs. On one side was a door from the hall, and on the opposite wall was a half-open second door that led to the laboratory.

Lady Frances Carfax lay in an easy chair. She was beautiful, but pale. Her eyes were closed, as if asleep. Through the laboratory doorway Cecilia Shlessinger could be seen as she worked in the laboratory. She was attractive in a rather cold way, thirtyish, and wearing a smart nurse’s uniform.

Lady Frances suddenly woke up and cried out: “Oh—oh, my God! No—no! Nurse Cecilia!”

At the anguished call Cecilia came hurrying out of laboratory. “All right, Lady Frances.…”

“Quickly—quickly!”

Cecilia reached Lady Frances’s side. “What is it?”

Lady Frances was now fully awake. “I’ve had a terrible nightmare. I was being attacked by.…”

The nurse took her hand, and sought to calm her. “You’re all right now. You’re quite safe.”

Lady Frances gave a little shudder. “It was a man…a big man…he was dressed like…like.…” She shook her head. “He was going to kill me…yet he was smiling and friendly.”

“No one is going to kill you,” Cecilia soothed.

“But he was! While he was smiling, and he had on this…this black coat.…”

The nurse smiled. “It was just a silly nightmare, I tell you. Now, just stay quiet—and I’ll bring you your medicine.”

“He was a big man—and smiling—”

“Yes, yes. Just you lie quiet.” Cecilia hurried back to the laboratory.

Lady Frances called after her: “Is it more of that horrid medicine?”

“No, no. This will be much nicer,” the nurse said reassuringly. “I promise you.”

“You’re sure?” Lady Frances asked doubtfully.

“Quite sure. My brother’s made it nicer to taste.” The nurse came out of laboratory with a small tray holding a medicine glass, a small jug of water and a medicine phial. She placed them on a table beside Lady Frances, who looked at the tray doubtfully.

The nurse poured medicine into a glass, then after adding a little water, she handed it to Lady Frances.

She took the glass somewhat reluctantly. “Are you sure it’s a nicer taste?”

The nurse nodded. “I promise you it is.”

Lady Frances drank the medicine and gave a little shudder. “Ugh! It’s horrible…horrible!”

She returned the glass to Cecilia, who put it back on the tray, turned, and hurried with it to the laboratory.

Lady Frances took a sweet from her handbag and quickly popped it into her mouth. “Even the sweet doesn’t take away the taste. I’m sure this new doctor my brother’s got for me won’t prescribe such horrid stuff.”

Cecilia stood in the laboratory doorway, and stared at Lady Frances with a frozen expression. “No, Lady Frances,” she said tightly.

Lady Frances looked up. Instantly the nurse’s expression changed. “What did you say his name is…Dr.—Dr Wilson?”

“Watson,” Cecilia corrected.

“Dr, Watson…that’s right! Well, I hope he’ll have something to say about my medicine.”

At that moment, a grim-faced man entered from the hall. Dr. Shlessinger was a big man, wearing striped trousers with a black morning coat. As Lady Frances turned to look at him, his expression changed as he quickly adopted a benevolent ‘bedside’ attitude.

He gave a quick nod to Cecilia, who closed the laboratory door behind her and waited.

He came straight across the room where Lady Frances sat in her easy chair.

“Good morning, Lady Frances,” he smiled expansively.

“Oh, Doctor! The medicine’s horrible…,” Lady Frances complained. “Even worse than before!”

Shlessinger glanced across to Cecilia. “You are serving our patient the correct dose, of course?”

The nurse gave a little shrug. “Yes, I’m following your instructions precisely,” she answered formally. Then, with a curt nod to Lady Frances, she crossed the room and went out into the hall.

Shlessinger turned to Lady Frances and looked at her reassuringly. “Now, Lady Frances, you wanted to see me. About…?”

Lady Frances appeared to pull herself together. Reaching for her handbag, she took out a letter from it. She looked up at the doctor.

“Your sister says this came by hand, last night,” she said briefly.

Shlessinger nodded. “Yes, that’s so,” he assented.

Lady Frances glanced down at the letter. She appeared deeply upset. “It’s from…from Philip Green. I’ve tried to read it, but I can’t believe what it says. Read it to me, please.” She handed letter to Shlessinger.

“I’m sorry it has upset you so much,” the doctor murmured, taking the letter.

Lady Frances dabbed at her eyes. “He says he doesn’t want to see me again.”

“I’m sure he can’t mean that.”

Lady Frances sniffed. “Read it for yourself.”

“If you wish,” Shlessinger said, with every appearance of reluctance. He read the letter aloud:

“‘My dear: If I have given you cause to believe I cherish feelings for you that are more than friendship’.…” He broke off as Lady Frances interjected:

“We were engaged to be married.”

Shlessinger paused respectfully for a moment, then continued reading:

“‘I am deeply sorry. I feel it better for us both that we should not meet again. Before you receive this, I shall have gone away. Please forgive me. Philip Green’.”

Lady Frances began to sob gently.

“I can’t believe it, I won’t believe it.…”

Shlessinger gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure Mr. Green will realize he has made a dreadful mistake and will want to return to you.” He handed the letter back to Lady Frances, who agitatedly crumpled it in her hand.

He paused, then added hesitantly: “There is a postscript that I…er…didn’t read.…”

Lady Frances looked up sharply. “Postscript? What does it say?”

“Really, I…er.…” Shlessinger spoke awkwardly. “I think it is only for your eyes, dear lady.”

Lady Frances looked down at the letter clutched in her hand and slowly smoothed it out. In a low voice she read: “‘As for the bonds, I intend to hang on to them. No one will know where they are’.” Tightening her lips, she crushed the letter again and threw it to the floor with a shudder of disgust. Then turned in appeal to Shlessinger.

“You will never mention this to anyone—ever. Please. I forbid you.”

“Very well,” Shlessinger murmured.

Lady Frances sighed, getting a grip on her emotions. “Now, there’s something else,” she said hesitatingly. “My brother, I’m afraid, isn’t satisfied with my progress.”

“I’m very concerned to hear that,” Shlessinger said, frowning slightly.

“He was here yesterday, and—”

Shlessinger gave a start. “Lord Henry called here?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Lady Frances affirmed. “And he insisted—”

She broke off as Cecilia entered from the hall.

“Dr. Watson is here, Lady Frances,” she announced. “Forgive me for interrupting.”

Shlessinger gave a start. “Doctor…Watson? Who…?”

“Lady Frances’s new doctor,” Cecilia told him calmly.

“I was about to explain,” Lady Frances put in.

“Dr. Watson, did you say?” Shlessinger still appeared disconcerted.

“I’ve taken him to your room,” Cecilia told Lady Frances. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Very well, I’ll go along.” Cecilia helped her to rise and then escorted Lady Frances out. She looked at her gratefully. “Thank you. Perhaps Dr. Watson will get me well soon, and I’ll be able to manage by myself.”

Cecilia glanced back over her shoulder and gave Shlessinger a warning look, then turned to Lady Frances and smiled. “I’m sure he will.”

Getting Cecilia’s message, Shlessinger got a grip on himself. “Yes, of course, I’m sure he will,” he called after them.

After they had gone Shlessinger stood in the middle of the room, scowling and muttering to himself. “Dr. Watson? It can’t be.…”

He broke off as he thought he heard a sound outside the French windows. He started to go across to them, then stopped and shook his head, still muttering to himself. “No, no, it can’t be; all the same, something’s wrong.” Going over to the door, he looked after Cecilia and Lady Frances for a moment, then turned back to the centre of room. “First the damn’ brother and now.…” He spun and looked to the doorway as Cecilia returned.

“What’s been happening?” he demanded. “Who’s this Dr. Watson?

“Keep your voice down,” Cecilia admonished him.

Shlessinger was still angry. “Not only do you let Lord Henry see her.…”

Cecilia spread her hands. “He called out of the blue. I couldn’t shut the door in his face, could I?”

Shlessinger calmed slightly. “And now this Dr. Watson—do you realize he must be an imposter?”

Cecilia shook her head.

“No, it’s the real one.”

“But it can’t be,” Shlessinger protested. “He hasn’t been heard of since Sherlock Holmes’s death in Switzerland.”

Cecilia remained adamant. “I tell you.…” She broke off as the doorbell rang. “That’ll be Milverton.” She crossed to the door and turned to look back before going on into the hall to admit the caller. “You’re expecting him. He’ll tell you about Dr. Watson.”

Shlessinger exhaled violently. “This is supposed to be a quiet nursing home. It’s more like Paddington Station,” he muttered, and began pacing up and down, Suddenly he paused, going over to French windows again, and staring out. He failed to see anything, and turned as he heard Cecilia talking to Milverton as she admitted him into the house.

A few moments later Milverton and Cecilia came into the room.

Milverton was a man of about fifty, with a perpetual frozen smile. His keen eyes gleamed brightly behind horn-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a morning suit of perfect cut, and a fur-lined overcoat with collar and cuffs of astrakhan. He was carrying his hat in his hand. He waited, smiling at Shlessinger.

“Mr. Milverton, for Dr. Shlessinger,” Cecilia said, formally.

“Good morning, my dear Doctor,” the newcomer said affably, his voice smooth and suave. “Charles Augustus Milverton at your service. Charmed to.…”

Shlessinger ignored his visitor’s extended hand. “All right,” he said sourly, “cut the soft soap…save it for your victims.”

Cecilia smiled thinly. “I’ll leave you two to chat.” She turned and went out

“Victims?” Milverton gave an imperturbable smile. “Victims?” he repeated, beaming. “I may be called the greatest scoundrel in London, the mere sound of my name may cause many to blanch, but then, as I try to reassure them, I do you no harm—on the contrary, I protect you against harm, danger, disgrace. So long as you continue to contribute a reasonable sum at intervals convenient to you.…”

Shlessinger waved a deprecating hand. “All right. But what’s this about Dr Watson?”

Milverton shrugged. “Well, what about him?”

“He’s the friend of the late Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who I thought had disappeared without trace. He’s here attending our patient.”

“You haven’t got it quite right,” Milverton said quietly.

“It’s what Cecilia’s just told me,” Shlessinger insisted. “I say he’s an imposter.”

“What I mean is,” Milverton explained patiently, “is that Sherlock Holmes is no longer ‘the late’; on the contrary, he’s very much alive.”

“What?” Shlessinger was clearly shocked. “But…but he went over the Reichenbach Falls with Moriarty—”

Milverton nodded. “That’s what was supposed to have happened. But though Moriarty died, Holmes survived.”

“My God…Sherlock Holmes alive.” Shlessinger appeared shattered by the news.

“No need to let it worry you,” Milverton assured him.

“Worry me? Don’t you see what’s going on?” He paused to follow Shlessinger’s gaze and saw that Cecilia had came back into the room. “So it is Dr. Watson,” he went on. “Sent to spy on us by Sherlock Holmes.”

Seeing her brother’s evident agitation, Cecilia glanced at Milverton. “Have you given him the good news?”

“I was coming to that,” Milverton said.

Shlessinger looked at him sharply. “Good news?”

“Colonel Moran is taking care of Holmes,” Milverton told him complacently.

As realization dawned, Shlessinger gave a grim smile, visibly relaxing. “Moran! Who was Moriarty’s closest friend?”

Milverton nodded. “And who is determined to avenge his death.”

“So you’ve nothing to worry about,” Cecelia added.

“You can forget Sherlock Holmes,” Milverton told Shlessinger. “Lady Frances is all you need concern yourself with.”

“But what about her brother?” Shlessinger said, looking at his sister.

The woman shrugged. “He’s out of the way now…Zurich…urgent business. He went last night, so.…”

“Which brings me to the matter of the letter,” Milverton interposed. He took a letter from his inside pocket and handed it to Shlessinger. “Just check that it’s the same as the fake her ladyship received.”

Shlessinger took letter and began to read bits of it aloud: “‘My dear, If I have given you cause to believe…I shall have gone away…please’.…” He returned the letter to Milverton. “It’s identical,” he grunted.

“Postscript and all,” Milverton said complacently.

“Postscript and all,” Shlessinger agreed.

Milverton pocketed the letter and smiled. “My speciality.”

Cecilia looked at their visitor. “Any trouble with her ex-fiancé?” she asked.

“The Colonel’s looking after him, all right,” Milverton said confidently. He turned to Shlessinger, adding: “Now, to business. I need five minutes with your patient, that’s what I’m here for.”

Cecilia spread her hands “Dr. Watson’s with her at the moment.”

“Damn the man!” Shlessinger snapped.

“Look, why not leave her a note?” Cecilia suggested. “Say it’s urgent, and that you’ll come back this afternoon.…”

“Good idea!” Milverton nodded. He went over to the writing desk and, using his fountain pen, began writing on the notepaper he found already on the desk.

“I’ll see she gets your note,” Cecilia said.

Wolverton looked up. “What time shall I say I’ll be here?”

Cecilia thought for a moment. “Say three. I’ll fix it.”

Milverton finished the letter, placed it into an envelope, and sealed it. He handed it to Cecilia. “I haven’t signed it ‘Milverton’, of course. I’ve called myself Tamworth…George Tamworth.”

Cecilia nodded. “Of course, ‘Mr. Tamworth’.”

Unseen by the three in the room, a tall figure momentarily flitted past the French window.

“If there’s any hitch…,” Milverton said, considering, “…if she can’t see me…telephone me.”

“I’ll make sure she sees you,” Cecilia assured him.

“There’s no time to lose,” Shlessinger said.

“Back at three, then.” Milverton crossed to the door and went out, followed by Cecilia.

Frowning, Shlessinger looked back and at the French windows and hesitated.

“Come along,” Cecilia told him sharply. “We’d better see how Dr. Watson is getting on with our patient.”

Shlessinger continued looking at the French windows for a moment, listening intently, then gave a shrug and turned away. “All right, just coming. Thought I heard someone in the garden, but there’s no one.”

A few moments after they’d left the room, the fleeting tall figure appeared again outside. Suddenly Shlessinger returned, and stood in doorway, looking again at the French windows.

But the figure had gone. Shlessinger waited a moment, then with a shake of his head, turned and went out again. As he did so, the figure reappeared outside.

There came a click of a lock being turned, and Sherlock Holmes entered the room. He was wearing an ordinary suit and hat. Quickly crossing to Lady Frances’s chair, he picked up the crumpled letter she had thrown down. He pocketed it and then going quickly to laboratory door, he opened it and entered. A moment later Holmes came out of laboratory with a phial, which he glanced at before slipping it into his pocket. He shut and relocked the laboratory door.

He paused as he heard Lady Frances and Dr. Watson speaking in the hall. Turning back into the centre of room, he took off his hat and awaited their arrival.

Seeing the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes as she entered, Lady Frances gave a violent start.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Holmes!” Watson exclaimed as he followed her into the room. “But no one said you were here!”

“That is because I took good care that no one should know.”

“This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” Watson introduced hastily, as Lady Frances continued staring at Holmes, who gave her a little bow.

“How do you do, Lady Frances?” Holmes said, smiling.

Watson glanced at Lady Frances. “As I explained, your brother had a word with Mr. Holmes after his visit here.”

“And he seems to think I can be of help to you…over a certain matter,” Holmes told her.

Lady Frances frowned at him. “I know I agreed to Dr. Watson’s being here, but I didn’t think.…” She broke off as Shlessinger strode into the room, leaving the door ajar.

“Lady Frances,” he began immediately, “I wonder if.…” He stopped as he saw Holmes. Instinctively, he pretended not to recognise him. “Who’s this? Who are you, sir?”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Shlessinger,” Holmes said evenly.

“You have the advantage of me, sir,” Shlessinger lied. “But how did you get in here?”

“Mr. Holmes is here at Lord Henry’s request,” Dr. Watson interposed quickly.

Lady Frances sighed. “I know my brother is interfering, but, since he is my brother, with my welfare at heart.…”

Holmes called out, interrupting her: “Do come in, Miss Shlessinger. You’re causing a slight draught, from which I’m sure you wouldn’t want your patient to suffer.”

Cecilia, who had indeed been listening behind the door her brother had left open, pushed it further open and came into the room.

“Like my brother, I thought you were dea—“ She broke off quickly as she saw her brother’s glare. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

“I fancied a certain Mr. Milverton brought you news that reports of my demise have been grossly exaggerated?” Holmes told her challengingly.

“Milverton?” Shlessinger kept up his pretence. “I don’t believe we know anyone of that name.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Charles Augustus Milverton?”

Shlessinger looked at his sister. “Can you recall a Mr. Milverton, my dear?”

“Not really…no. Milverton, did you say?”

“Almost the greatest scoundrel in London,” Holmes said dryly.

“Of course, we’ve never heard of such a person,” Shlessinger blustered.

Cecilia looked defiantly at Holmes. “I really can’t think of anyone.”

Holmes smiled cynically. “Yet only a few minutes ago, in this very room, the three of you were discussing a matter of supreme importance. Not only to yourselves, but to Lady Frances.”

A nonplussed expression gusted over Shlessinger’s face. Then he glanced from Holmes to the French windows and realized it had been Holmes he’d heard outside. He continued to try and bluff his way out. “What are you saying?” He turned to Watson. “Really, Dr. Watson, your friend.…”

Lady Frances looked at Shlessinger fixedly. “Is this true?” she demanded. “That you were discussing me with Mr.—Mr.—?”

“I assure you that Mr. Holmes is imagining things,” Shlessinger said.

Lady Frances swung her gaze back to Holmes. “You seem to know something which I don’t! What has my brother been telling you?”

“He believes you to be in some danger…,” Holmes told her.

Shlessinger bridled. “Danger? What nonsense! Why—” he stopped as Cecilia tugged at his arm.

Lady Frances turned to Dr. Watson. “But I’m not really ill, you said.”

“Dear Lady Frances,” Cecilia said insinuatingly, “I’m so sorry you’re being distressed in this way.”

Lady Frances wavered. “What should I do, Dr. Watson?” she appealed to him.

Watson spoke firmly. “Perhaps you should listen to what Mr. Holmes has to say.”

Lady Frances looked again at Cecilia, then Shlessinger, who glanced at Cecilia. His sister gave a little shrug.

“No doubt Mr. Holmes is anxious to earn the fat fee he’s been paid,” she said. “I suggest that we allow him to try his best.” She signalled to her brother: “Come along, my dear.”

“Very well.” Shlessinger spoke reluctantly. He looked coldly at Holmes. “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to let us know when you’re ready to leave.”

Lady Frances turned to Watson as he brought forth a chair and invited her to sit down.

Cecilia smiled at her sympathetically and turned to leave, followed by Shlessinger.

“A moment, Miss Shlessinger,” Holmes said sharply. The Shlessingers stopped and turned to him. Holmes extended his right hand. “The letter, please. May I see it?”

They glanced at each other, then at Holmes, as if mystified.

“Letter? What letter?” Shlessinger blustered.

“Letter, Mr. Holmes?” Cecilia frowned.

Holmes crossed to her, continuing to hold his hand extended.

Cecilia gave him a frozen smile.

“If you please?” Holmes said firmly.

Cecilia affected to suddenly realize to what Holmes had been referring to. “Oh, that letter.”

Shlessinger became alarmed. “What is it? Some prescription or something? Give it here.” He held out his hand.

“Isn’t it addressed to Lady Frances?” Holmes said sharply. Cecilia hesitated momentarily, then shrugged and gave the letter to Lady Frances.

She started to open it, then handed it to Dr. Watson. “You read it for me, Dr. Watson, please.”

Watson glanced at Holmes, who gave a nod. He took the letter and opened it. After a quick scan, he summarized its contents:

“It is from a Mr. Tamworth, requesting an appointment. He says it’s something very confidential about which he can help you.”

Lady Frances frowned, “But who is Mr. Tamworth? I don’t know anyone of that name.”

“Perhaps I may explain,” Holmes interposed crisply. “‘Tamworth’ is an alias adopted by the aforementioned Mr. Milverton, who happens to be a notorious blackmailer!”

Lady Frances looked aghast. “A blackmailer?” she whispered.

Holmes continued his revelations. “Criminals when choosing an alias, invariably pick a name which has some connection with the crime they are planning.” He paused, and then addressed a question to Shlessinger, who, with Cecilia, had been pretending to look shocked. “What is this address, by the way?”

“Address? Address.…” Shlessinger looked at his sister. “What does he mean?”

“It’s the Laurels Nursing Home, Tamworth Road, of course.” Watson pointed out dryly.

Holmes nodded. “You see, Mr. Milverton runs true to form in his choice of another name.”

“But what am I to do?” Lady Frances faltered.

Shlessinger attempted a bluff. “I think we should fetch the police—” he glared at Holmes—“unless you leave at once.”

Lady Frances became alarmed. “Police! No, no, that’s the last thing you must do.”

Holmes smiled sardonically. “Believe me, Lady Frances, it is the last thing he will do.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Shlessinger snapped. He turned to his sister. “Come along, my dear, we…we must consult our solicitors about this matter.” He took her arm.

Cecilia allowed herself to be led from the room. “Yes, yes, of course, our solicitors.…”

“Sue for slander, that’s what we’ll do…,” Shlessinger muttered as they went out.

Holmes moved over to where Lady Frances was sitting dazedly on the chair Watson had provided.

“Now, Lady Frances, I’d like to look at your hands.” He glanced at Watson who was hovering solicitously at her side. “Dr. Watson?”

Watson nodded as Lady Frances looked at him. “Mr. Holmes is an authority on poisons.”

“Poisons?” She extended her hands quickly.

Holmes examined them carefully.

“The medicine you took a short while ago…,” he murmured, raising an interrogative eyebrow,

“Which Nurse Shlessinger gave me?” Lady Frances asked, her voice wavering.

Holmes nodded. “It made you feel cold?”

“Yes, very cold…deathly…as I told Dr. Watson.…”

“I’ve changed the prescription, of course.” Watson said promptly.

“And rather dizzy?” Holmes continued, releasing her hands.

“Yes. I couldn’t think properly.”

“What you have been taking,” Holmes explained, “was administered to you for the precise purpose of weakening your willpower, preparatory for an attempt at blackmail.”

Lady Frances stared at him in disbelief. “Blackmail? Oh, my God!” She swung to Watson. “Is…is this true?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You have been the victim of a deliberate plot,” Holmes told her. “But fortunately, your brother suspected, and came to Watson.”

“You mean, Dr.…Dr. Shlessinger and his sister…?” Lady Frances whispered.

“…are notorious criminals, who intend to bleed you of every penny you possess!” Holmes finished bluntly.

“Oh!” Lady Frances slumped in her chair.

Watson took her hands comfortingly. “You are safe now. Absolutely out of danger.”

“What…what had the man with the two names got to do with all this?” Lady Frances asked.

“I will explain everything later,” Holmes assured her. His tone became urgent. “But now, we must get you away from here.”

“But where shall I go?”

“An hotel, where your brother has arranged for you to stay,” Holmes told her. “You can stay there until all this has blown over.” He pointed to the French windows. “Dr. Watson will see you safely by way of the garden. I’ve got a cab waiting.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s all according to plan.”

Watson and Lady Frances followed Holmes to the French windows.

He was just opening the windows for them when Shlessinger and Cecilia came into the room. Shlessinger strode forward angrily.

“What the devil’s going on?”

“They’re kidnapping our patient,” Cecilia commented.

Holmes ushered Watson and Lady Frances out into the garden. “Hurry, hurry.…”

When they had gone he closed the windows and turned calmly back into the room.

“Damn your eyes!” Shlessinger snarled.

Holmes tapped his pocket where he’d put the phial taken from laboratory. “I’ve got here the poison you were giving to Lady Frances. “Evidence to jail you both.”

“The phial! He’s got the phial!” Cecilia screeched furiously.

Cecilia following, Shlessinger lunged forward, his hands extended. “You can’t think you’ll get away with this!”

They halted in their tracks as Holmes suddenly produced a small revolver from his other pocket. “Put your hands up!” he snapped.

Shlessinger started to obey, but Cecilia resumed moving forward.

“It’s only a toy!” she cried. “He’s bluffing! Stop him!”

Shlessinger moved towards Holmes, only to halt abruptly as the detective fired a shot at his feet.

“My God!” Shlessinger shouted. “He’ll kill us!”

“I shan’t warn you again,” Holmes said evenly. “Hands up and keep them up!”

This time both Shlessinger and his sister obeyed. Keeping them covered and forcing them back, Holmes crossed quickly to the open door. Still keeping them covered, he took out the key from it with his free hand. At that moment a loud taxi-hoot sounded from the street.

“Just coming!” Holmes murmured, darting out and slamming door after him.

Shlessinger and Cecilia rushed towards the door, then halted as they heard the key turning in the lock.

Shlessinger began wrenching at the door handle. “He’s locked us in! You’ll pay for this, Holmes!” he shouted.

“Yes!” Cecilia screeched in rage. “Colonel Moran will see to that. D’you hear, Mr. Bloody Sherlock Holmes? Moran’ll settle your hash!”

She quivered with rage as another taxi-hoot sounded outside.