Free My Dearest Holmes by Rohase Piercy Page B

of the blackmailer. But as I have said, I am sure there is no reason to fear an approach from that side. So, Miss D'Arcy holds the document?'
    'Well--' I hesitated. 'No, actually it is in Mr Holmes' possession. But I assure you that it will be returned to Miss Kirkpatrick once this affair is all over. I have every confidence,' I added reassuringly, 'that Mr Sherlock Holmes will soon have the matter cleared up.'
    Lord Carstairs shook my hand warmly.
    'My dear Dr Watson,' he said, 'I really am most grateful both to Mr Holmes and to you. I must say that I read your account of Mr Holmes' handling of the Mormon business with the greatest interest, and like you, I have every confidence in him. I only wish I had the good sense to consult him at the beginning of this affair.'
    With that, he bade us a hearty farewell, and we left him a much more cheerful man than we had found him.
    -- VIII --

    I T WAS PAST midnight by the time we reached Baker Street. Holmes made straight for the spirit flask on the sideboard.
    'You're not tired, Watson?' he said, as he poured two very large whiskies and soda.
    I was, in fact, at the stage where one is too tired for sleep; my excesses of the previous evening (was it only the previous evening?), my broken night, followed by the excitement of the last fourteen hours or so, had reduced me to a state of remarkable lucidity. The adrenaline pulsed through my veins, and my whole body felt light and transparent.
    'Not at all, Holmes,' I murmured; and accepting the proffered glass, I sank into the armchair with a sigh.
    Holmes curled himself up in his chair and lit a pipe. For some time he stared at the contents of his glass as though he expected to read there the identity of the mysterious 'Q.B.'
    'Well, Watson,' he said at last, removing his pipe from his mouth and downing half of his whisky at one gulp, 'what do you make of it?'
    'It is certainly...unusual,' I said dreamily, holding up my glass to catch the light, as though it were the whisky we were discussing.
    'Q.B., Q.B.,' muttered Holmes. 'Somewhere in my memory, Watson, is the key that will unlock the door to Q.B.'s identity. I know it. I sense it; and yet I cannot--quite--reach it.'
    He remained curled cat-iike in the chair, shrouded in smoke from his pipe.
    'So,' he continued, 'we will have to take the long road. We will have to start with Mrs Cecil Forrester. By all accounts, a very interesting lady.'
    'But she is in Paris!'
    'Quite so. Your capacity to absorb information, my good Watson, never ceases to amaze me. I, too, had registered the fact that she is in Paris, as Lord Carstairs so kindly informed us.'
    'All right, all right,' I interrupted peevishly. 'I was only thinking aloud. I suppose that, geographically speaking, we should begin our search somewhere in the region of Dulwich Village.'
    'My dear fellow, you scintillate tonight!'
    'We could enquire first at Mrs Forrester's Camberwell address, of course,' I continued, ignoring him, 'or we could enquire among her friends. Obviously Miss Kirkpatrick is not of her circle, but I wonder if Miss D'Arcy herself would be able to help us? She said to me that some of her best friends had been married women.'
    'My dear Watson--' began Holmes, and stopped short. Since I had determined, in my elated state, to ignore him, I took no notice.
    'Of course, if we were to approach Miss D'Arcy we would have to disclose the whole situation to her; Lord Carstairs' role in the matter, I mean. And that could be painful for her. On the other hand, surely the truth cannot be kept from her now; she is bound to put the question to Miss Kirkpatrick in no uncertain terms when she returns--'
    'Be quiet, man, for heaven's sake!' cried Holmes, uncurling himself with swift agility and springing up from his chair. I looked at him reproachfully, as he downed the remainder of his glass and began to pace the room.
    'There is no need, Holmes--'I began, but he cut me short with an impatient wave of his hand.
    'Shush, Watson. You