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

perfect way to spend a morning,” I smiled.
    â€œExcellent. Let us finish Mrs. Hudson’s fine eggs and toast and we’ll be on our way.”
    Within the hour we were in a cab headed for Southall. Our ride, like many before in our partnership, was spent in silence.
    We stopped on High Street in front of a butchery. The windows displayed the rather grotesque and elongated carcasses of numerous hogs and fowl. A breeze carried the smell of cooking animal flesh. The bakers, confectioners, and brewers that lined the street added their own unique smells, resulting in an aroma that confused the senses but roused the appetite.
    We stepped inside and found ourselves between two long glass counters which contained all matter of headcheeses, rumps, and shoulders on mounds of ice. Sausages and hams hung from hooks above, and bones for soup and stock were in buckets on the floor in front of the display cases.
    â€œFancy a taste of somethin’, gents?” From behind a curtain stepped a small, thin man with large sideburns and liver spots beneath the remaining strands of hair on his head. He took off his bloodied gloves, tossed them behind the curtain, and wiped his hands on a clean corner of his spattered apron.
    â€œMy name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend, Dr. Watson. I was hoping I might take a moment of your time and ask about a customer of yours.”
    â€œMr. Sherlock ‘Olmes. Pleasure to meet you, it is. Stevens is my name. C.L. Stevens.” The man gave a nod to Holmes. “Fine work on that nasty murder of the Prime Minister’s cousin. Read about it in the paper, I did.”
    â€œThank you. Now, to the matter at hand, my good man. It is my understanding that you have done business with Jacob Collier.”
    â€œâ€˜Ow come you be needin’ to know that?” the man said, cocking his head to the side.
    â€œForgive me, Mr. Stevens. Collier is an old acquaintance of mine. Back to our college days, actually. Rugby players. I’m responsible for the scar under his eye.”
    â€œScar, Mr. ‘Olmes?” Stevens asked in some confusion.
    â€œWell, that was many, many years ago. Perhaps it has healed up completely.” Holmes pointed at the links around the ceiling. “Mr. Collier said your black sausage was the best in the city.”
    â€œBest anywhere. Recipe passed down for several generations,” he said smiling.
    â€œExcellent,” Holmes said. “I was hoping you could tell me the last time you saw Mr. Collier. His shop is closed, and I can’t seem to locate him.”
    Stevens rubbed his chin. “Always odd for someone to up and leave without tellin’ no one. Can’t say, though, if that’s the case for Jacob. Been a customer of mine since ’e bought ’is shop. Nervous little man. Likes to live the peaceful life. Tends a small farm. Supplies the ’ogs for the sausage, ’e does. Just did some dealin’ with ’im a couple days ago. Monday, it was.”
    â€œCan you tell me what time you saw him that day?” Holmes asked.
    â€œOh, ‘e sent a runner with a note. Does that sometimes. I’ll ‘ave the time in me ledger.” He stepped into a side door and back out a moment later. “Well, ‘ere it is. Just as I told you,” he proclaimed, pointing to his ledger. “I wrote it in me book at a quarter to ten. ‘Ere’s the note ‘e ‘ad brought in,” he said as he thrust the paper toward us.
    Holmes took the paper and studied it carefully. “Does he ever send one of his workers?”
    â€œâ€™E only ‘as the one, Mr. ‘Olmes. Young boy. Pushes a cart for ‘im.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you actually saw Mr. Collier?”
    â€œOh, it’s been since the week prior. Often comes in ‘imself. Once a week. Really loves me sausages. Must eat them and nothin’ else. Orders enough for two people.”
    Holmes placed a