Free The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II by David Marcum Page A

leave tracks, but I could find only the one set past the counter and down into the cellar,” Chamberlain said.
    â€œNo signs of a struggle? No forced entry?”
    â€œNothing.”
    Holmes clutched his hands together, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the worn fabric of the chair.
    â€œWhat do you make of the blood on the counter, Inspector?” I asked.
    â€œIt must have come from the man who opened the box.”
    â€œYes. The blood,” Holmes interrupted, “was from the man cutting himself when he opened the box. He was desperate to get at what was inside, and in his haste caught his skin on the splintered wood. There is nothing more to be learned from it.
    â€œThis case certainly has some curious points about it, Inspector. I should like to contemplate it further. Thank you for stopping in,” Holmes said as he stood and walked to the door.
    â€œVery good, Mr. Holmes.” Chamberlain’s brows rose. “I do have a murderer to catch. I’ll inform you if we find anything more, but, to be honest, I was hoping for better tonight.”
    â€œI’m afraid there is nothing more I can tell you. Goodnight, Inspector.”
    Chamberlain shook our hands and made his way to the door. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said with a tip of his bowler.
    The door closed behind him, and Holmes smiled at me.
    â€œAn excellent case to end my dreary days. What do you make of the whole business, Watson?” Holmes asked as he retook his chair.
    â€œPerplexing. It seems to me that the murderer certainly could be the one who signed for the package at the bookshop. He must have gone there looking for something. Who else would have known the place would be vacated?”
    â€œIt is a possibility,” Holmes said softly. “He could easily have assumed the role of an employee. And if he were searching for something, it could very well be whatever was in that box.” Holmes sat forward, put his elbows on his knees, and pressed his fingertips together. “Curious that it has the murdered man’s handwriting on it. He must have sent it to himself to avoid having it found. But why? Why not just take it along with him when he went to work? It is paramount that we find out what was inside.”
    â€œI must confess at being absolutely befuddled. What do you think we should do next?”
    â€œDinner and a walk. What do you say, Watson - are you up for a little night air? I find it most restorative to the senses.”
    â€œI should be delighted.”
    We dined and passed the time in splendid conversation. Many and varied were the subjects we spoke of. I talked about the newest advances in medicine, and how I was enjoying my married life, after which Holmes thrilled me by recounting the recent championship boxing bout between Dixon and Wallace in Soho. The evening was brought to a close with both of us lounging at Baker Street with pipes in hand, and enjoying the occasional recollection or memory. Not a word was spoken about the case. We retired early, both ready for the resumption of the case the next day.
    The next morning dawned fair. I made my way down to breakfast to find Holmes already dressed and drinking his coffee.
    â€œGood morning, Holmes.”
    â€œAh, Doctor. I trust you slept well.”
    â€œVery. Thank you,” I said as I picked up the newspaper. A small article had been emphatically circled.
    â€œThe piece you see there is about the murder. Nothing new to be reported. It reflects everything we already know. However, I have a few items I would like to look into concerning the matter. Would you care to join me?”
    â€œCertainly. Where are we going?”
    â€œThe paper that wrapped the box is nothing special in itself, but the smell of the sausage it had once covered was a particular type that is only made in one or two places in the city. I have some questions I would like to ask the proprietor.”
    â€œSounds like the