Kindle Notes & Highlights
'Do you know, Holmes and I only met because a friend suggested we share the rent on these rooms?' He chuckled. 'A fortuitous chance indeed!' Guy looked around doubtfully, noting the well-used furniture, the faded, smoke-blurred wallpaper. He said nothing. He was unable to imagine a state in which such rooms would be considered attractive enough to pay rent for. Clearly his turfy gentleman was less of a catch than he'd allowed himself to believe.
And do you know what? He turned out to be a close friend - indeed, the close and intimate friend, of -' 'I do hope, Guy, that you have not issued these gentlemen with one of your invitations to dine here,' interrupted Lady Esher again, hoping to stave off the name of the intimate friend. Could it be that Beardy, or Beardsley, or whatever he called himself? Surely not that awful Wilde man …
we had tea with Dr Watson in his rooms.' 'And what rooms!' crowed Guy; 'Utterly Bohemian, Miss Lillingford! So thrillingly unconventional!' 'Bohemian?' Alicia leaned forward, fascinated; Lady Esher thought she detected an unhealthy gleam in her eye. 'Yes, yes! Oh, how can one describe them? Filled with chaos, but such artistic chaos! Chemistry, tobacco, Persian slippers. Revolver practice. You see, he eschews all the petty concerns of daily life and lives in splendid isolation, either driven by the white heat of his genius, or - or -' Max chose not to leap into the breach and save his
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'Admirers of yours, as it happens.' Watson pushed a crust of toast around his plate and smiled at the shimmer of sun on the silver coffee pot. 'I would have thought admirers of yours would be a more apt description. Your little stories are gaining you a reputation you know, however inaccurate they may be, and however inappropriate a form in which to embody my professional achievements.'
Holmes rose from the table and wandered towards the mantelpiece. His silk dressing gown was knotted carelessly at the waist, but his appearance was otherwise as fastidious as ever. Watson marvelled anew that one so untidy, indeed so wilfully destructive, in his personal habits should be so neat, so correct in his dress.
He drew the bow across the instrument, paused to make an adjustment, and began to play; an eerie, wandering improvisation, ill-adapted to the sunny day outside.
Lingering briefly in the hallway she saw Mr Clements through the open door, sitting on the edge of the table while his friend picked out a tune on the piano. His hair was caught in a flame of sunlight, his face smooth and golden as a girl's. He looks like Mikey would look, thought Madeleine. As she watched, he turned his head, a delighted smile dying on his lips when he saw her. Hurriedly she turned away and scuttled towards the back stairs, one resentful thought echoing in her mind: he looks like Mikey should look.
The Cafe Royal and the Criterion are quite decadent enough for me!' Watson laughed. 'Oh, the Cri! One of my old haunts.' Happily he began to tell his young friends of his wilder days, his army career and the occasion of his return to England. Soon all three were roaring with laughter; Dr Watson was an adept storyteller, and had a repertoire of tales guaranteed to entertain. He gave a particularly amusing account of his first meeting with Holmes and his bewilderment at his new acquaintance's eccentricities that held Max spellbound; his thirst for information about his hero was insatiable.
Watson crept quietly into the room, placed his hat on its old peg and decided to use the duration of his friend's nap to carry on with his account of the Openshaw case. He seated himself at the table, bit the end of his pen, and re-read what he had last written. 'Pray give us the essential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question you as to those details which seem to me to be most important.' Watson shuddered. Thank goodness Holmes did not really talk like that; it would be quite insufferable. He'd really said something like, 'Please go on, Mr Openshaw. I will ask you to
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He smiled lovingly at the figure curled up like a cat in the armchair. Holmes was very catlike, he thought. He possessed the essential feline qualities: focus, grace, stealth and single-mindedness. And a refusal to be drawn by flattery.
'Oh thank you, Mrs Hudson. How lovely,' he said with a winning smile. Few could resist Holmes' charm when he chose to exercise it, and Mrs Hudson was seen to smile back at him, and Mr Holmes to wink at Dr Watson as she departed.
'I told you what would happen, with the new laws. The Blackmailer's Charter. There's no question that this man would never have betrayed his country were if not for his helplessness in the other matter.' Watson nodded seriously. There were few subjects upon which he'd heard Holmes express himself so vehemently as that of blackmail; and when it came to blackmail of this particular sort ...
'Are you doubting my inferences, Watson?' Holmes' voice was sharp, though his eyes remained hooded.
He watched the slender brown fingers as they received the tumbler, more steadily this time. He noted the finger ends, and remarked inwardly that the young man was a pianist of some application, and that the slight deformation of the second finger of the right hand indicated much time devoted to writing. He wondered momentarily where he got his dark colouring - that skin had a coppery tint. He wished vaguely that Watson were present.
'Just try to give me the facts as they rise to your mind, Mr Fareham. We will sort out the details later.'
Watson, ever willing to make allowances for his friend, sat back to listen.
The world is full of odd chances, and the most commonplace events are the products of infinitesimal probabilities, as I have often remarked.'
'The diamond theft could itself be said to weigh in Clements' favour, for why should someone capable of blackmail and treachery risk his reputation on the most amateurish piece of domestic pilfering I've encountered in a long while?
'Do they suit me?' Guy was holding the jewels at his collar. 'They go splendidly with the silk cravat, Guy, but not with the green carnation.' Guy crowed with delight. 'So you have noticed! I collected it from the florist on the way back. I thought you'd be as blind as a bat, and I'd have to point it out to you. And guess what, I've got one for you too!'
Madeleine was as near to panicking as she had ever come. It was him - no doubt whatsoever. She knew him by description, knew him minutely. She'd made it her business to know him. What was he doing here?
She felt a bolt of power rush through her. The house was hers - she could take it, rip it to shreds, score the mahogany and gouge the wallpaper ... but no. Business first and foremost.
We are paying a visit to our French friend's abode. He's no more French than you are, by the way; I've more Gallic blood in my veins that he has.
you are planning to make yet another unofficial entrance into a suspect's house. You're beginning to make a habit of this, Holmes; you'll be caught red-handed one of these days.' 'Well, they refuse to invite me inside in the normal way - what is the struggling investigator to do?'
'Please, sit down,' said Mr Sherlock Holmes. The other one led her to the couch and sat near her. He was a nice-looking man, she noted; soft, maybe. Holmes locked the door; she heard the key turn. 'Are you hurt, young lady?' asked the soft one with concern.
She watched his face as she spoke. It was a threadbare ruse, but she could at least gauge the extent of his knowledge. The grey eyes met hers, and she sensed a keenness of wit to match her own. And there was something else - the lean face held not a hint of anger.
'You are an unusual woman,' he said. 'You bet.' (Get round him like that? She glanced at the soft one, then back at Holmes. No. No chance. So that was something.)
'I am shamed,' went on Holmes angrily. 'I will go down in the annals of detection as a fool and bungler. Take it from me, Watson, this is what comes of allowing one's emotions to cloud the issue. I felt sorry for the girl; that was an unpardonable weakness.'
