Free Sherlock Holmes and the Ghosts of Bly by Donald Thomas Page B

heart sank at the prospect of Miss Henslowe in the witness-box telling the world how fairly Reginald Winter had conducted his identification parade. But Holmes seemed entirely satisfied with her and merely asked, “Miss Henslowe, would you do me a very great favour?”
    â€œIf I can, sir.”
    â€œWould you come to the school now and look at a photograph? I promise that we shall have you back here in no time, but it is of the very greatest importance and urgency.”
    Miss Henslowe looked at Mrs Franklin. The older sister shrugged.
    â€œOf course she will. Go on, Violet!”
    Holmes had timed it to perfection. We arrived in the headmaster’s corridor a minute after 8.30. It was the one time of day when Reginald Winter was guaranteed to be absent. I caught an organ groan drifting from the chapel as we passed and then two hundred voices at full volume.
    Will your anchor hold in the storms of life ,
    When the winds unveil their wings of strife ?
    When the strong tides lift, and the cables strain ,
    Will your anchor drift, or firm remain ?
    Somewhat to my surprise Holmes was humming this Evangelical refrain as a tune long familiar to him. I had sometimes pondered over his childhood religion. A tin-roofed sailors’ chapel had not been among my imaginings until now.
    The main building was silent, and we reached the headmaster’s corridor without a challenge. The assistant postmistress was quiet and apprehensive until Holmes stopped before a recent school photograph on the wall.
    â€œNow, Miss Henslowe, have the goodness to examine this. Disregard the importance of spectacles and of uniforms. Taking away those things and suppose that one of these boys, as Mr Winter suggested, must be he who visited you on that Saturday afternoon, which one would it be?”
    â€œI already picked Mr Riley.”
    â€œIgnore him. Try again.”
    She ran her eye along the rows and pointed to another, still bespectacled. Holmes made a note in his pocket-book.
    â€œAnd just one more.”
    She repeated the scrutiny and touched the glass where a boy of about fourteen, better-built than the previous one, stood without spectacles or Engineer braiding.
    â€œVery good,” said Holmes. “And now if we may, Miss Henslowe, we shall escort you back. You have no doubt been uneasy at the prospect of involvement in a court case with its examination and cross-examination of your testimony, the attendant publicity in the newspapers. I think I may promise you that you will not be troubled any further.”
    She seemed startled rather than relieved.
    â€œHow can you be certain of that, Mr Holmes?”
    â€œDear madam, I have a long experience of giving opinions in such matters. So far, I have been invariably proved right.”
    Miss Henslowe moved away and walked ahead of us. Holmes seemed to dawdle. Presently, not far from the door to the courtyard, he tugged at my sleeve, his finger to his lips. I turned and looked at the object of his interest, a far smaller picture framed among several others. It showed a rowing eight from a previous term plus their cox, five boys sitting and four standing behind them, crossed oars mounted on the wall.
    At the centre of the front row sat the Captain of Boats, holding a small silver cup. The face might have been the double of the one that Miss Henslowe had pointed out to us a moment before. Yet it could not be the same, for the date on this smaller photograph was five years earlier. Moreover, on a team photograph the names of the members are printed underneath—as they could not be for all two hundred boys.
    I recalled the voice of Patrick Riley, talking of his tormentor.
    â€œHis step-brother’s a cruiser captain and his real brother was here a few years ago. He’s at Dartmouth now.”
    The name below the double of Miss Henslowe’s choice was “H. R. Sovran-Phillips.”
    As we stepped out into the sunlight, Holmes remarked, “Perhaps we shall