Free The Final Page of Baker Street by Daniel D. Victor

day’s first medical report. Before I had the chance to exit my office, however, I heard a great commotion in the adjoining room; it seemed to issue from somewhere near the front door.
    â€œStop!” I distinctly heard Miss Shelvington shout.“You can’t go in there!”
    As I rushed into the waiting room to see what was the matter, I did manage to catch a glimpse of my next patient, the elderly Mrs. Wallingham, who suffered from migraines; but it was the activity going on at the reception table that demanded my attention. Attempting to wrench his left arm free from my nurse’s iron grasp was the startling spectre of scar-faced, white-haired Terrence Leonard. Only when they both saw me approaching was Leonard able to break away.
    â€œMiss Shelv - ” I began, but was stopped cold in my tracks when I observed the small pistol in Leonard’s right hand. For the moment, with the gun pointed downward, his arm hung limply at his side.
    â€œDr. Watson,” she cried, “I tried to tell him you were engaged, but he burst right past me!” Miss Shelvington had not yet spied the weapon,
    â€œI must speak with you now, Doctor,” Leonard demanded. His eyes were bloodshot. “I know you’re busy, but you must hear me out.”
    â€œThe gun,” I said. “Give it to me.”
    Miss Shelvington took the opportunity to scream; looking up, Mrs. Wallingham moved not a muscle, save to shape her lips in the form of a circle. At the same time, Terrence handed me the small pistol. It was a Derringer; and while I’m no expert in firearms, I knew enough to smell it and determine that it had not been recently fired. I removed its single bullet and put it and the gun into the pocket of my white coat.
    â€œNow,” I countered, “you’ve given quite a fright to my nurse and to my patient!”
    â€œDamn your nurse!” he shouted with a wild gleam in his eyes. “Damn your confounded patient!” And then he had the effrontery to march into my consulting room.
    For her part, Mrs. Wallingham, a most sympathetic soul, remained with her mouth agape. I seated my nurse beside her, spoke a few soothing words to them both, and told Miss Shelvington I had to attend to this emergency.
    When I entered the consulting room, I saw Terrence Leonard with his back to me. He was leaning over my desk using both hands to support his upper frame. I closed the door behind me and was about to issue him a dire warning. But he spoke before I could utter a word.
    â€œShe’s dead,” he said. “Murdered.”
    â€œâ€M-murdered? Wh-who?”
    â€œSylvia. My wife.”
    It took a moment for the shock to register. I’d never met her, of course, but Billy had told me stories. “You must
    inform the police,” I said.
“No! What I must do is push off. They’ll think I did it. I found her body in her father’s town house. Then I left. With her gun. I went looking for Billy; he’s been so decent to me, I thought he could help. But I couldn’t find him, so I came here. Tell him what’s happened. Tell him not to try looking for me. I can only say that I haven’t killed anyone. Now I must be gone.”
    Before I could raise the briefest of protests, he bolted from the surgery and disappeared somewhere out on Queen Anne Street. It was obvious that I couldn’t stop him, but I certainly could try to find Billy. With an apology to Mrs. Wallingham and instructions to my nurse that I was out of the office for the remainder of the day, I sent a telegram to Billy’s digs in Bloomsbury and another to his mother’s house in Forest Hill. Certainly, at one of those two locations, I should be able to alert him to the emergency involving his friend Terrence Leonard.
    * * *
    It had already gone 8:00 that evening when Billy appeared at my door.
    I had actually dispatched three telegrams earlier in the day, the two to Billy’s addresses