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

and the other to Inspector Youghal of Scotland Yard, who, in fact, had arrived but a few minutes before. Ignoring convention, Billy rushed into the sitting room well ahead of Mrs. Meeks, cutting off my description to the inspector of Terrence Leonard’s frantic visit to my surgery earlier that day. The lad stopped short at his recognition of the detective. Perhaps a trifle more grey at the temples and a bit thicker round the middle, the moustachioed Youghal really hadn’t changed much in appearance from that day years before when Billy the page had summoned him in the matter of the Mazarin Stone.
    â€œI’ve been out all day,” he said, catching his breath. “I just got your message.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Dr. Watson,” Mrs. Meeks explained, “but the young man just pushed by me and - ”
    â€œThat’s all right, Mrs. Meeks,” I reassured her. “We’re dealing with a matter of great urgency.”
    Mrs. Meeks stalked off, mumbling to herself something about “young people today.”
    Pulling on his moustache, Inspector Youghal stared at the young man who was still breathing quickly. “Not Billy the page from Baker Street,” he said at last, “not the boy what helped me find Lord Cantlemere’s diamond all those years past?”
    â€œThe same,” Billy said, “but it was Mr. Ho - ”
    â€œTerrence Leonard was here this morning,” I broke in. I knew the lad was going to defend Sherlock Holmes, but this was not the time for debate. I cut him off in mid-sentence and recounted for Billy what I had already told Youghal - how Terrence Leonard had barged into my surgery, how he had been carrying his wife’s Derringer, and how he had told me about her death.
    Billy said nothing. He just stared at me; then he turned to the policeman.
    Youghal pulled at his moustache again. “‘Tis a fact, Dr. Watson,” he observed, “that we are indeed investigating the murder of a woman at the Mayfair town house of Lord Steynwood. His older daughter Sylvia - Mrs. Terrence Leonard - she was bludgeoned to death almost beyond recognition.”
    â€œBludgeoned?” I said.
    â€œYes, why do you ask?”
    â€œIt’s just that Leonard had the gun. I assumed she was shot.”
    â€œNo, Doctor. She was not. Quite a messy scene, actually. In the south drawing room. Blood and brains everywhere. A bullet would have been much neater. Lord Steynwood was at his club when the tragedy occurred; and the butler, a bloke named Norris, saw Leonard running out the front door.”
    â€œHe’s certain it was Leonard?” Billy asked in disbelief. He had turned quite pale at the inspector’s graphic description.
    â€œOh, he was certain all right. ‘White hair and scars,’ he said, “which, as I understand it, describes the man in question. Yes, the butler was quite sure.”
    Billy sank into a nearby armchair. “I can’t believe it.”
    â€œBut Leonard proclaimed his innocence,” I put in. “And when I saw him, he wasn’t covered in blood as he would have been if he’d bludgeoned her as you said. Is there no room for doubt?”
    â€œIf doubt there is to be, Doctor,” said the inspector, “it is rapidly disappearing with every additional moment Mr. Leonard is absent.”
    â€œI know the man,” Billy said. “We’ve spent time together. He’s not capable of such an unspeakable act.”
    Inspector Youghal smiled. “I remember you as a boy when you was working for Mrs. Hudson. It was you what fetched me to put the cuffs on those jewel thieves. But you see, son, not all criminals are so easy to detect as that Count Negretto Sylvius. If they were, our job at the Yard would be that much easier.”
    Billy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no longer a boy, Inspector. Are you suggesting that I’ve been taken in by a cowardly murderer who beat his own