Free The Oriental Casebook of Sherlock Holmes by Ted Riccardi Page A

anarchist and bomb thrower Kakovetsky, whose whereabouts had been unknown for many years. There was Rizzetti, the poisoner of entire families, living as a shopkeeper; Thallmann, the inventor of the deadly Salzburg rifle, earning a meagre existence as an old map seller; Caspariste, a groom in the stables of the German Kaiser, who suddenly went mad and left a string of horrors from Warsaw to Messina, now running a spectacle repair shop; and the infamous Anna Miramar, the Spanish gypsy, wanted for the murder of Lord Harrow, now the rich owner of a brothel and the chief supplier of young Nepalese women to the bordellos of India. All of this, Watson, in an area smaller than the distance from Trafalgar Square to Piccadilly. Like a beautiful forbidden fruit, Nepal had begun to attract a large number of maggots, ready to feed on its soft, sweet flesh.
    “I shall not deny to you, Watson, the pleasure that I imagined in bringing these criminals to justice, but I realised the difficulty of doing so in a country where the criminal justice system was of a rather crude order. I sensed, also, rather surprisingly one might think considering my stated attitudes in the past, the absence of Scotland Yard, particularly of Gregson and Lestrade, for though I have been harsh at times in my judgement of their intellectual capabilities, their physical presence has enabled me to pull through many a narrow scrape. And, if I may say so, dear Watson, at times such as these, I missed your companionship and wished that you could share with me these strange moments abroad.”
    “How I wish,” I said, “I could have been there with you. But pray, continue.”
    “Back in my room, more troublesome thoughts emerged in my brain: was the presence of all of these rogues here on the very edge of the civilised world due to accident, or was there some hitherto unsuspected evil intelligence lurking in the shadows, another prime mover of crime whose design was so subtle and so complex that perhaps even the major actors in his plans were unaware of his thoughts and actions, or perhaps even of his existence?”
    So much did this and other like thoughts disturb him, he said, that for several nights he could not sleep. One night, he awoke some time after midnight. He dressed and read for a time by candlelight. Though his eyes ached, he could not sleep. He looked out his window. The city was quiet. The Clock Tower struck two. He peered into the pitch-darkness and decided to walk into the bazaar.
    “I descended the stairs, walked through the courtyard, then into the front hall of the hotel, where I picked my way gingerly over the bodies of the servant boys asleep on the floor. I unbolted the door and let myself out into the dark. You know my penchant for nocturnal wanderings, Watson. Each new city requires several prowls by night. It is the time when the scent of the criminal is at its strongest.”
    The night air was cold, damp with Himalayan mist, and he wrapped myself tightly in a woollen shawl so that only his eyes were visible. He wore a black Nepalu topi , the Nepalese cap, so that he would not arouse suspicion in the event that he were seen. But he had little to fear. The night was moonless, the sky cloudy, and the black enveloped one immediately.
    The city was filled with stray and wild dogs who began their horrible yelping at dusk and continued until they fell asleep around midnight. They were quiet now, but every so often one growled suddenly from the darkness. Holmes moved on, tripping every so often over the occasional person asleep on the road. He made his way to the market square called Asan. He perceived dimly a few figures performing some nocturnal worship, but except for the occasional sounding of temple bells, the city had entered a silence as deep as the enveloping darkness. He walked slowly down a lane opposite the temple, holding on to the buildings with his left hand as he tried not to stumble on the rough stones of the gully. The ancient bricks