Free Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra by Paul D. Gilbert Page B

make after the fellow. My previous vision of the man was so fleeting that I had been unsure of what I had witnessed and, consequently, I could not even bring myself to mention it to Holmes. The traffic was infrequent and so, despite my aching leg, I sprinted over to the opposite corner with the intention of confronting our stalker.
    I am not normally prone to flights of fancy, but I could swear that this phantom had vanished into thin air by the time that I had reached the corner where the figure had stood but a moment before. I turned round in a circle and ran this way and that, but all to no avail. Despite all of my best efforts and the improved visibility created by the ever strengthening sun, I was forced to concede that the strange apparition was nowhere to be seen!
    Eventually I gave up my search and returned to 221B, determined that this second sighting was certainly no mere illusion. I was entirely convinced that the phantom’s appearance at two supposedly random locations was by no means coincidence, and I immediately lengthened my stride towards home.
    In my excitement I took our stairs two at a time, yet, to my surprise, I was greeted by Holmes at the door to our rooms. He held a cautionary finger before his lips, thereby beseeching me to silence.
    ‘Watson,’ Holmes whispered, ‘if you have any important news to impart to me, please do so at a later time.’ He crooked a discreet finger in the direction of two familiar figures that were seated by the fire.
    Sure enough, there was Inspector Lestrade, perched uncomfortably on the edge of his seat with anxiety etched indelibly into his ferret-like features, sitting next to Mr Alistair Dodd, who appeared to be as pompous and pugnacious as he had been on board the
Matilda Briggs
the previous afternoon. They both halfrose by way of a greeting and I nodded briefly in return.
    ‘Good day to you Doctor … er.’ Dodd began.
    ‘Watson!!’ I snapped, still feeling frustrated at having to suppress the recounting of my news.
    Holmes moved over to the fireplace and began fumbling for some tobacco from the Persian slipper, while young Collier sat patiently in the corner, evidently ready to resume reading from his father’s letter. Once Holmes had replaced his lit pipe on the mantel he turned around fiercely to face our guests. With his hands on his hips, a stance that splayed out both vents of his long, black frock-coat most menacingly, he glowered down at them.
    ‘Gentlemen, to what do we owe the dubious pleasure of your company this morning?’ Holmes asked of them.
    Lestrade merely stammered nervously and it was left to Dodd to state the reason for their visit.
    ‘To be frank then, Mr Holmes, against my better judgement and advice my clients have nonetheless decided that you are the best man to carry out the investigation into the
Matilda Briggs
tragedy on their behalf. I was not at all impressed by your cavalier attitude on board the ship yesterday and your apparent indifference to the seriousness of the situation does not recommend you to me, either.’
    ‘Mr Dodd, I am hardly likely to be apathetic towards a case that promises to be every bit as stimulating as any that have come my way of late,’ Holmes disdainfully retorted.
    ‘That is as maybe; however we did not bring this matter before you merely to provide you with some stimulation. We require results and we expect them with as little fuss and within the shortest time as is practicable. Who might this person be?’ Dodd asked as he gestured towards Daniel Collier. ‘I trust that he is not another client and one who might further distract you from your work.’
    ‘This person just happens to be the son of the renowned explorer and historian, Sir Michael Collier. He is also an old friend of my family,’ I indignantly responded.
    ‘Bravo, Watson,’ I heard Holmes murmur under his breath. ‘Mr Dodd,’ Holmes continued in a somewhat louder tone, ‘the only person here distracting me from my work is