Read Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning Online
Authors: Ian Wright
Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning
The Dark Reckoning
By Ian Wright
The Dark Reckoning
First Kindle Edition, August 2013
Copyright © 2013, Ian Wright
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any
form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.
Use of the Sherlock Holmes characters created by Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle by permission of Conan Doyle Estate Ltd.,
www.conandoyleestate.co.uk
.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, events, places or organisations is
unintentional and entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to everyone who offered support and
encouragement whilst I was writing it, especially my sister, Jacqui. I thank
you all.
Table of Contents
The cold December air chilled the fingertips of Sherlock
Holmes, as he hurriedly walked along the cobbled streets of London towards Baker Street. As he approached Marble Arch, he noticed that a crowd had gathered just
inside Hyde Park. Curiosity, as well as a distinct lack of investigations, led
him to walk across Park Lane to determine the reason for such a presence.
Sherlock Holmes was one of the most renowned private
detectives in London, and was often called upon to help solves crimes that
baffled the police. He was a restless man, 40 years of age, who could not
abide idleness. For several weeks there had been no cases that were of
sufficient interest to him, causing him to become increasingly depressed and
frustrated. His apartment showed signs of his frustrations, being littered
with newspapers and records of old cases all over the floor. His landlady had
been kept busy trying to tidy up after him, a habit that he found infuriating
as nothing was ever where he left it.
Waiting for an approaching carriage to pass, Holmes noticed
the panting of its two horses as they cantered by, the heat of their breath
causing steam to issue from their nostrils. The driver of the carriage was
wrapped in a thick cloak and was wearing his hat low, so that only his eyes and
grimy cheeks showed between the garments. He appeared very weather-beaten and
Holmes guessed he had worked outside for many years. He seemed impervious to
the bitter coldness in the late afternoon air.
Holmes crossed the road, noticing that the street lamps were
being ignited. He entered Hyde Park by Cumberland Gate and made his way
towards the crowd. Weaving his way through the dense mass of people was no
easy task, even for the slim built Holmes. Owing to his height, just short of
six feet, he did not have to advance too far into the crowd before he could see
over the heads of the onlookers. Several feet in front of where he stood, a
wall of policemen shrouded a figure lying perfectly still on the ground. With
a strange mixture of frustration and excitement, Holmes pushed himself forwards
through the people and made his way towards one of the policemen.
“I’m sorry Sir, but I can’t let you pass. Please move
along now,” said the policeman in an authoritative voice.
“Who is in charge here?” snapped Holmes somewhat impatiently,
having become somewhat agitated after fighting his way through the crowd.
“Inspector Lestrade,” replied the officer.
“Well, where is he, man?” asked Holmes in a raised voice
“Over there, Sir,” said the officer pointing the inspector
out.
“Thank you. Now, will you
please
let me pass?” said
Holmes, pushing his way past the policeman, who immediately tried to restrain
him and pull him back. “Lestrade!” shouted Holmes.
Inspector Lestrade glanced over and saw the welcome figure
of Sherlock Holmes. “Ah, Holmes, I’m glad you’re here. It’s alright officer,
you can let this man pass”. Holmes noticed the strain evident in Inspector
Lestrade’s face. He was a shorter man than Holmes and stood 5 feet 7 inches.
Holmes did not know his age, but thought him to be in his mid forties. He had
dark brown hair that was hidden under a hat. His hair was beginning to turn
grey at the temples, as were his rather long sideburns. Although not fat, he
did have a potbelly and his nose was always red, indicating that he was a
frequent drinker. He had lived in London all his life and was from a working
class family, which was evident in his accent.
Lestrade began to speak as the two men walked towards the
figure being shielded by the wall of police. “It’s a nasty one, this. I hope
you haven’t just eaten anything”.
Holmes quickly smiled his acknowledgement and then looked
down at the figure lying on the grass. It was that of a rather stout man
wearing very expensive clothing; shoes made of the finest leather, and, beside
the body, a cane embossed with a silver handle fashioned in the shape of an Alsatian
dog. A cloak made from tweed, and a marriage ring on a chubby purple finger
suggested this had been a wealthy man. All this Holmes noticed in an instant,
as his eyes were drawn towards the body’s head; but it was not there.
After a few seconds of sickening shock, Holmes composed
himself. Regaining his great reasoning powers he wondered why, on such a cold
day, this man should be out without gloves on. “Was this crime committed here?”
he asked, looking back at Lestrade.
“No, there is evidence to suggest the victim was dragged
here,” replied Lestrade, pointing to marks present on the grass. Holmes saw
that it was futile to follow the trail since the crowd had trodden it in too
much.
“Damn!” he whispered to himself. He stared into the
assembled crowd angrily and then looked back at the body. “May I please
examine the body, Lestrade?”
“Erm, I suppose so. Just don’t touch anything. You know
what the chief can be like,” replied Lestrade, somewhat hesitantly.
Holmes nodded in agreement and knelt down to take a closer
look at the decapitation wound. The cut appeared fairly clean and there were
two lines visible across the wound, one about half way through the neck and the
other just cutting into the spine. This suggested that an instrument such as a
meat cleaver had been used to cut off the victim’s head. The angles of the
lines were slightly diagonal with the right-hand side, as one looked from the
end of the body, being inclined towards the ground. Furthermore, the bottom of
the initial cut was about one quarter of an inch further into the neck than the
top of the second. Holmes deduced that the murderer must have been
right-handed and, owing to the depth attained with each cut, suspected it to be
a particularly strong male. The spine itself had been struck several times
with the blade but it didn’t appear to have been cut completely through. It
appeared as if, after several attempts to cut through it, the murderer had
twisted the head violently to snap the spine.
The light was beginning to fade too much for Holmes to
continue investigating and nightfall was gradually drawing in. He stood up
and, as he did so, noticed that the cloak of the dead man was not damaged,
except for a small amount of blood immediately in the area of the wound. Also
there was not much blood on the ground, confirming Lestrade’s earlier statement
that the murder had been carried out elsewhere. Perhaps the victim had been
abducted and held prisoner for some time, thus his cloak was not on his person
when he met his end. “Are there any clues as to his identity, Lestrade?”
enquired Holmes.
“We think it might be Sir Charles Grey, the Tory
politician. He was reported missing a few days ago. Without a head, though,
we can’t really be sure that it is him.”
“Yes, I read of his disappearance in the newspapers. Where
is the body to be taken?”
“It will be taken to the city morgue. Why do you ask?”
“Oh do come along, Lestrade! You surely don’t imagine that
I will decline the opportunity to conduct my own investigation into his
murder? I will leave you now, but please be assured I shall be contacting
you.”
Holmes smiled, as he turned and walked away in the direction
of the trail where the body had been dragged. It proved to be a fruitless
venture as the trail had been obliterated by the crowd, many of whom appeared
quite desperate to see what had happened. Holmes continued in the same
direction, but could not pick up the trail and, after a short while, he gave up
his efforts.
Continuing his journey home, Holmes walked briskly along Oxford Street. He looked around him at the horse-drawn carriages scuttling around the
streets and all the people walking in different directions, each with their own
purpose. He wondered if anyone knew anything, but concluded most were too
wrapped up in their own affairs to have noticed much. He saw a tramp begging
for money from anyone who passed close by him. Holmes observed that most
people simply gave the tramp a disapproving frown and offered him nothing.
Holmes thought it possible that the tramp had seen something of what happened
in the park. He ventured towards the tramp and offered him a few coins. The
tramp immediately gave a toothless smile to Holmes.
“Thank ya, Sir! It…it’s so cold. This’ll pay for me bed
tonight. I didn’t much fancy gettin’ meself stuck out ‘ere,” said the tramp,
with appreciation.
“I quite understand,” acknowledged Holmes. “Tell me, did you
see anything of that awful business inside Hyde Park?”
The tramp suspiciously eyed Holmes and then looked quickly
from left to right. “Are you the police?” he asked awkwardly.
“No. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am a private
detective. It would help me if you could tell me anything that you know.”
“Yes Sir. I did see somfin,” added the tramp.
“Go on,” prompted Holmes.
“It was ‘orrible. I saw it. The bloke didn’t ‘ave an
‘ead. And I’ll tell ya somfin else. There was…” The tramp suddenly stopped
talking.
“Please continue,” prompted Holmes.
“No! I said too much already.”
Holmes thought for a moment and then removed a pound note
from his wallet. He held it out to the tramp, who made a sudden grab for it.
Holmes quickly withdrew his hand and looked the tramp in the eye.
The tramp studied the face staring at him. It was rather
long and thin in appearance, with a slightly prominent nose. It was a very
distinguished face and gave the impression that its owner was a man of great
intelligence. The eyes were dark and piercing. They were staring at him in
the most uncompromising manner and it made him feel uncomfortable. The thin
lips slowly broke into a smile and the detective started to speak. “Tell me
what you know and I shall give you this pound note.”
“What? Really? You ain’t jus’ kiddin’ me?” asked the
tramp, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“Of course I’m not. Now please, I
implore
you. Tell
me what you know,” replied Holmes.
The tramp again looked left and right, as he considered the
offer being presented to him. It didn’t take long. “Well Guv, it’s like
this. I saw this coach go past. Posh one it was. Anyway, I watched it go up
the road an’ in the park gates. I ‘ad a walk up, like, to see if it ‘ad
stopped.”
The tramp paused and spat onto the pavement. “It ‘ad
stopped, so I went up to it to see if I could beg a few pennies, like. Anyway,
I catched up wiv’ it and saw someone was in it. The bloke inside said I could
‘ave ten shillings if I ‘elped the driver move this sack that was inside.
Bloody ‘eavy it was too. So we moves it out of the coach and onto the grass.
The bloke pays me an’ tells me to clear off.”
“What happened next?” asked Holmes.
“Well, I walked off like the bloke said, but I didn’t clear
right off, no Sir! I hid behind this tree and watched ‘em. There was two of
‘em and they made out they was working on a bush, like they was trimmin’ it.
They was doin’ that for a long time until no-one was about.” The tramp stopped
talking and looked down at his feet.
“So, what did they do when they believed there was nobody else
about?” asked Holmes, now genuinely intrigued by the tramp’s story.
“They dragged the sack about 20 yards, maybe. Then they
opened it wiv a knife and tipped it over, and…” The tramp paused, looked at
Holmes and then continued, “So, they tipped it over and a body fell out! It
was a
dead
bloke!”
Holmes remained silent for a moment, before asking, “Did you
see what these two men looked like?”
“No Sir, it’s me eyes. They ain’t what they was.”
“Were they well spoken?”
“One of ‘em was; the one that gave me the ten shillings, but
the driver never spoke.”
“Can you describe anything about them to me?”
“Not much. Me eyes really ain’t good. The driver was big,
really big and very strong. The other one ‘ad ‘is coat done up tight and ‘is
hat pulled down low, so I didn’t get much of a look at ‘im. He stayed in the
carriage while I ‘elped the driver move the sack.”
“I see,” said Holmes thoughtfully. “What time did all this
happen?”
“I can’t tell the time, Guv. It weren’t long ago. In between
when the clock struck three times and four times.”
“Thank you for your help,” said Holmes thoughtfully. “Here
is your pound note. Oh, by the way, you don’t still happen to have the ten
shillings, do you?”
“No, Guv.”
“Never mind. Once again, thank you for your help.
Goodbye.”
“Cheers, Guv.”
Holmes left the tramp and continued his journey to Baker Street, where he rented an apartment. He was glad to leave the tramp, whose smell had
been overwhelming.
It was almost dark as Holmes drew close to Baker Street, the skyline of buildings and treetops were silhouetted against a dark blue
sky. There were thousands of stars visible, like bright glittering speckles in
a vast expanse of indigo. A few wispy clouds looked like ghosts haunting the
moon, being gently illuminated by its glow.
The bright warm glow of gas street lamps was diffused by the
frostiness in the night air. In the street there was a fresh pile of horse
manure, sending ribbons of steam up into the cold atmosphere. A man walked
across the street, gazing into the irresistible light of an upstairs window;
hoping to catch a glimpse of clandestine activities within. With his gaze
firmly fixed on the window, the heel of his foot landed heavily in the manure.
The man’s foot slid a little, causing him to stumble, and he quickly looked
around hoping that nobody had seen him.
Holmes saw what happened and tried to suppress his mirth, as
he didn’t want the unfortunate chap to see him laughing. He walked passed the
man, who was trying to look as dignified as possible, as if nothing had
happened. Holmes had to bite his lip to stop himself from bursting out
laughing as he walked by. The man wiped his shoe on the curb and then began to
follow Holmes, until turning off into a side street.