Free The Problem of Threadneedle Street (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 2) by Craig Janacek Page A

undertake it. And from what I saw there were only two possibilities.
    “Have you found anything of note, Doctor?” asked Lestrade when the silence had grown overlong.
    “Beside the fact that he was a user of morphia and that he worked with tarred ropes, like a sailor, no there is nothing.”
    “Yes, we noted those signs on his hands and arms as well. Anything else?”
    I am, in my advancing years, finally developing a subtle wisdom. I did not live for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing and had learned to keep my own counsel. But I deigned to dole out a pair of clues to Lestrade.
    “I say, Inspector, what direction did the wind blow last night?”
    “The wind?” he spluttered. “What does the wind have to do with anything?”
    I shrugged. “I think the wind’s direction may be as critical as the light of the moon.”
    “But it was a cloudy night with the snowstorm,” protested Lestrade. “The moon would have been blotted out.”
    “That is what is so critical,” I replied cryptically. Already in my mind the mystery was beginning to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. But what horrible purpose, what deep design, lay behind these events, and how did they relate to the plot that revolved around my friend?
    Determining that there was nothing more to see at the location of the incident, Lestrade and I took the dog-cart back to Egham Station and there caught a train for the twenty miles back to Waterloo.
    §
    When I finished listing the details to Holmes, I then proceeded to expound upon my theory. “And so, as I see it Holmes, there are very few methods by which the body of this unfortunate man could have ended up on that snow-covered hill.”
    “Pray tell,” said he, with hooded eyelids.
    “One possibility is that his body was launched there, by something like a catapult or trebuchet.”
    Holmes broke into a whimsical laugh. “Oh, Watson, I fear you are reading far too many adventure tales. This is not the Middle Ages! Do you think one of Runnymede’s neighbors is planning a siege? I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?”
    It took all my self-control not to smile. “I said, Holmes, that this was only the first possibility. I did not say it was the most likely.”
    “And what is?”
    “The key to this mystery is that the death of this man and the theft of the goldbeater’s skin are linked. For I recalled that goldbeater’s skin has another use beyond that of making gold leaf. It is also used to line and make airtight the reservoir bag used for the inhalation of the chloroform anesthetic. If it could contain a small quantity of gas, surely it could also be employed to create something much larger, something large enough to lift a group of men into the sky?”
    “An aeronautical balloon!” exclaimed Lestrade.
    “Southwest of Runnymede, from which direction the wind is most often blowing, there is, the town of Farnborough. I believe that is the location of the Army School of Ballooning, having moved there from the enclosed Aldershot site, after first being established three decades ago at Woolwich Arsenal. I would inquire there, Inspector, whether they are missing an engineer,” I concluded.
    “Brilliant, Watson!” said Holmes. “A veritable triumph! You have demonstrated that you have finally mastered my methods. It proves that it can be done. The only problem is that you are of my same age. I should have perhaps trained some younger person to do the same.” He shook his head. “Now we must hope that my magnum opus, The Whole Art of Detection , will accomplish the same.”
    “Then you agree?” I said, somewhat surprised to find that for once in our long association Holmes actually concurred with my deductions.
    “Oh, yes. Clearly this man was employed at the Ballooning School as you suggested. His salary however, could hardly match the cost of his opioid habit, so he was forced to supplement it by working for our Mr. Wild, or Mortlock, or whatever we shall call