Free Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds by Steve Hayes, David Whitehead Page A

two fools trying to prove?’
    Without taking his eyes off Holmes; Howard said through gritted teeth: ‘Respect has a price.’
    ‘So does lying,’ said Holmes.
    Howard’s anger flared and he backed away from Holmes’s blade. ‘Damn you, mister, you’ve gone too far now! No one calls me a liar!’
    ‘Then what else does one call a man who was christened with one name and yet goes by another?’ 
    ‘Holmes…?’ questioned Watson.
    As he straightened up, Sherlock Holmes said: ‘This man is not Thomas Howard. He goes by an altogether more celebrated name – that of the outlaw Jesse James!’

CHAPTER 8

Grecian Fire
    T ension continued to crackle between the two men.
    Then Howard – Jesse James, if Holmes was to be believed – reached a decision and tossed his sabre aside. ‘Reckon there’s no use in me denyin’ it,’ he said wearily.
    ‘Not a bit,’ Holmes replied.
    Beside him, Elaina stared at Jesse in shock.
    ‘When did you peg me?’ Jesse asked Holmes. ‘Where’d I slip up?’
    ‘You didn’t, Mr James.’ Holmes set his own sabre aside. ‘But the London Times carried your picture some six weeks ago. I recognized you as soon as I saw you.’
    ‘How come you didn’t call me on it?’
    ‘I was curious to discover what had brought you to England. Your story of a missing younger brother was clearly a smokescreen. When I first questioned you on the matter, you were, to your credit, obviously reluctant to compound the initial lie with still more.’
    ‘So why am I here?’
    ‘I could make an educated guess, but I prefer not to indulge in speculation. I will leave it to you to explain.’ 
    Before Jesse could reply, Elaina said in hushed disbelief: ‘If you really are Jesse James, what are you doing here?’
    ‘It’s a long, grim story, ma’am. But maybe some of your fine British sippin’ whisky’ll make it easier to swallow.’
     
    They left the armoury and returned to the library. After Fordham had served the drinks and left them alone, the man from Missouri began his tale.
    ‘You know my name and you know my reputation. I ain’t denyin’ or makin’ excuses for either. I’ve killed and robbed and though I ain’t proud of it, I’ll more’n likely do it all over again before I meet my Maker.’
    He turned to Holmes. ‘You were right when you said I had Welsh ancestry. My pa came from Wales. He was a Baptist minister … which I reckon makes what I’ve done all the worse. Still, we were raised decent, my brother Frank and me. It was the War taught us how to fight and kill and, after a fashion, how to live with the fightin’ and the killin’ afterward. We learned our lessons well. The Unionists called us bushwhackers . We saw ourselves as guerrillas, fightin’ stronger forces the only way we knew how, by hittin’ them hard and then runnin’ before they could mount a counter attack.
    ‘Eventually we fell in with a feller named Bloody Bill Anderson, a cold-blooded killer who helped us hone our skills, if I can use such a word. After that, Frank joined up with an outfit known as Quantrill’s Raiders, and later I joined him.’
    ‘William Clarke Quantrill,’ Holmes mused. ‘I’ve read about him. He was responsible for a particularly bloodthirsty raid on Lawrence, Kansas, was he not?’ 
    Jesse nodded. ‘Yeah. But that was before I hooked up with him. You were right about somethin’ else, too, Holmes. I was shot in the chest – on two occasions – and your miserable English weather does make those wounds act up….’
    He paused, his mind drifting back to his early days. ‘Anyways, after the war, times were hard in Missoura. Reconstruction robbed us of ’most all our rights. We couldn’t carry guns, own slaves, work in government, not even preach … nor lawfully prevent Yankee carpetbaggers from commandeering our livestock or land. Only choice left us was to take what we needed by force.’
    ‘Not everyone chose that road,’ Elaina reminded him softly. Ever since