Free The Adventure of the Pharaoh's Curse (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) by Craig Janacek Page A

rubble. After some effort, I finally located Sherlock Holmes standing alone under the pyramid by the silent effigy of the long-deceased Pharaoh.
    Unfortunately, Holmes’ afternoon errand did not appear to have been a successful one. The expression on this face was haggard, his shoulders rounded, and he seemed to me as if he had aged ten years in a day. He leaned heavily upon his walking stick. I worried that the immense strains of this investigation and the miasmas of London were worsening his rheumatism and breaking down his once-iron vigor.
    “Ah, Watson, splendid,” said he with some animation, upon spying my approach. “I am glad that you are a shade early for our appointment. You have often accused me of withholding from you key facts so as to produce an astonishing effect. To rectify this balance I would like to inform you of my activities of this afternoon and allow you to draw your own conclusions before the other members of this drama appear.”
    “Thank you, Holmes. I would greatly appreciate that.”
    “My first destination was to Stepney, where amidst the reeking outcasts of Europe I visited the work yard of Gelder and Co.”
    “The source of the Napoleonic busts?” I exclaimed. “Is that where you suspect the scarabs were sculpted?”
    He smiled and nodded. “Very good, Watson. I then proceeded directly back to the Museum.”
    I frowned. “But you have already thoroughly searched this gallery, and those containing the treasures of Ancient Britain. Did you overlook something?”
    “No, no. My powers are not failing to such an extent. However, I was earlier guilty of leaping to a conclusion, when I had yet to perform an adequate reconnaissance of the area. The answer, or the inspiration, I should more properly say, actually lies in the nearby galleries of Ancient Greece. Finally, a few minutes’ glance through the acquisition manifests of the Museum confirmed my suspicions.”
    “Greece!” I protested. “Nothing about this case points to anything to do with Greece!”
    Holmes smiled at my outburst, but any further explanations would have to wait, as we were joined by Inspector Lestrade, Sir Evan Lloyd Williams, Mr. Walter Brundage, and three men dressed as guards: Edward Rucastle, the erstwhile Dominic Bedford, and a new man who could only be Quincy Seraphim. The latter was some fifty years in age, about five foot, nine inches in height, and once sturdily built, but now trending to portliness. The fellows’ complexion was sallow, but with thick black hair and bushy side-whiskers and moustache. He wore thick glasses which accentuated his dull grey eyes. His manner was nervous and shy, that of a man more accustomed to spending long hours with the relics of the past than with the living of today.
    Holmes glanced at Lestrade, who returned a significant look. I deduced from this that Lestrade had, at Holmes’ suggestion, drawn a cordon of constables about the Museum. “Ah, gentlemen, thank you for coming,” said Holmes.
    “Inspector Lestrade, I must protest,” exclaimed Sir Williams. “I do not know why we must continue to march to the whimsical commands of a failing mind. I for one have little faith…”
    “And what of the faith of the British public?” interjected Holmes. “Can you explain why you delayed three weeks before calling in the assistance of Scotland Yard?” he asked acerbically.
    The Director spluttered in rage, but had no ready answer to this charge of incompetence.
    Holmes turned to the guard we had met at the Alpha Inn. “Mr. Bedford, I wish to personally thank you for agreeing to return. I can assure you that after tonight there will be no more talk of curses in the museum.”
    “Are you going to perform an exorcism, Mr. Holmes?” asked the man solemnly.
    “Of a sort,” said Holmes nodding. He faced round to look at Mr. Seraphim in his questioning way. “Good evening, Mr. Seraphim. I trust that you enjoyed your night off?”
    “Yes, sir,” replied the man, his voice