Free Sherlock Holmes: The American Years by Michael Kurland

hair (my own auburn thatch had flared gray at the temples), his haughty English demeanor, and—this most of all—his blasted cocksureness. The whole of it had me on the spit and was giving me a slow roast.
    “You disdain my methods,” he said. “Pray allow me to test
your
observations.
Exempli gratia
, can you describe the youngsters’ shoes?”
    Of course that boosted my temperature a few more degrees. Their
shoes?
No images came to mind. “It was dim down here,” I protested, “with all them bodies blocking out the light above.” Holmes appraised me coolly and waited. “I fancy they wore common brogans.”
    He shook his head pityingly, as if I’d confirmed myself as a fraud. “Very well, then, what colors were their
shirts
?”
    I tried to think but my wits were a hopeless muddle. “Well, not store clothes, that much I can swear. The larger boy’s shirt was—why, gray, I fancy.”
    “Olive,” he corrected, looking smug as pie.
    “And your purpose?” I inquired. “To boost yourself at blind man’s bluff?”
    “Rather to boost, as you put it, my ability to observe.” The tartness of his tone matched mine.
    “Observe
what?
” I pointed to the spot he’d inspected. “Even if you managed to find the little bastards’ footprints—what then?”
    “Precisely the question,” he replied. “
What then?
By observing where they stood, I was able to make certain discoveries.”
    I let out a harumph. “Such as?”
    His thin lips tightened in a way that suggested a pleased reptile angling in on his next meal. “For the present, it would be untimely to disclose my methods and findings.” He was lording it up to beat the band. “To do so might bear ill on this case.”
    “
Case?
” I echoed hotly. “There’s no
case
here! You’ve hitched your nag to the wrong rig if you think I’ll invest in your fool notions to get my umbrella back.”
    “It might profit you to learn,” he said in icy tones. “that I intend to proffer my services only when
asked
.”
    “Well, I ain’t asked,” I snapped back. “And I’ve got
methods
of my own. Tell you what: I’ll wager for any stakes you want that I’ll have my umbrella back within three days—and I’ll manage it without leaving my house to search! Who in perdition needs some self-labeled detective?”
    That riled him! We locked glares, our visages honed to keenest edge. Passersby might have thought us a pair of roosters squared off.
    “Assuming that you actually have one,” Holmes said, “what is your plan?”
    I considered not telling him, but pride impelled me to sketch it out.
    Instead of folding his cards at the genius of my scheme, he said bluntly, “I doubt it will work.”
    “Put up or shut up,” I shot back.
    He rubbed his long chin and considered. “I’d thought to proceed with my journey,” he said at length, “but I’ll agree to stay your three days—more if needed—and succeed where you fail.”
    We shook on it. His hand was larger but pure natural cussedness rendered me his equal. I asked what he intended.
    “Observation and deduction,” he replied, as if naming the pillars of the universe. “And employing methods some might consider . . .” His eyes followed a lingering knot of street urchins clambering over the fence. “. . . irregular.”
    I held back from guffawing. “And the stakes?”
    “When this matter concludes,” he said. “you will know them quite well.” He turned then and moved away with long, brisk,forward-leaning strides, his lean face coursing through the air like a clipper’s prow.
    In truth, I didn’t expect to lay eyes on him again.
     
    Early the next day I submitted my advertisement card to the
Hartford Courant
.
TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE DOLLARS REWARD
-At the great base ball match on Tuesday, while I was engaged in hurrahing, two boys walked off with an English-made brown silk UMBRELLA belonging to me and forgot to bring it back. I will pay $5 for the return of that umbrella in good