Free The Adventure of the Tired Captain A Sherlock Holmes Case by K. Michael Gaschnitz Page B

you came into contact with the blood after you saw your final patient.
    “You have also neglected to wear a hat or overcoat despite the rain or to carry the walking stick which you favour and which was a Christmas gift from a grateful patient. This indicates that your trip was unexpected and that you probably did not leave from your own comfortable home.
    “So now Watson if my parlour tricks have impressed you enough would you kindly enlighten me as to the facts,” he said severely.
    “I am sorry to bother you Holmes, perhaps you have something more important to do,” I said beginning to rise.
    “Forgive me old friend,” he said not unkindly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You are the one with the charming bed-side manner, not I. Pray tell me what has happened.”
    Holmes poured me another brandy and lit the old black pipe which was his favourite muse when he was in a contemplative mood. He sat staring into the fire and drawing on his pipe as I narrated the events of the evening.
    “Really, Watson. You have bungled the affair quite badly,” he said when I had finished my story.
    “You are of course entitled to your opinion, Holmes but I did what I thought was best. What else could I have done?”
    “You should have left her in my safekeeping to begin with,” he said.
    “It is easy enough to say now Holmes, but when the time comes for you to be blessed with your own wife you will understand,” I said.
    “Touché, Watson. Your point is well taken.”
    “Are there any other mistakes which I have neglected to make?” I asked him sarcastically.
    “An unfortunate few, Watson.”
    “Such as....?” I asked.
    “You should not have left the women alone in the house as they will no doubt obliterate any clues which may prove vital in an investigation. And although it means only a slight delay you should have obtained a description of the two men. I may have been able to begin an investigation at once instead of going to Kensington.”
    “I am sorry Holmes my thoughts were elsewhere.”
    “Undoubtedly. Well let us forget about it old fellow. What’s past is past and hopefully there is no harm done.”
    “Whistle for a cab Watson , while I change,” he said disappearing into his bedroom.
    In a few moments Holmes joined me outside, minus his dressing gown and wearing his frock coat.
    The drizzle had stopped but the thick fog was still in evidence. As we climbed into the hansom Holmes gave the driver my address in Kensington. The poisonous yellow fog enveloped us and the trip back was a gloomy one. Holmes as was his custom remained aloof and uncommunicative and I knew better than to bother him with idle prattle. Once in a while the dark form of another conveyance would be outlined against the street lights. The smell of bread baking in one of the large bakeries wafted into the cab reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since the afternoon. At least it served to take my mind off of the evening’s events if only temporarily.
    We traveled in silence and time stood as still as one of the statues in Trafalgar Square. It was not a moment too soon that we arrived at my modest home in Kensington. I was puzzled by the fact that there was as yet no sign of the police.
    Holmes jumped from the cab, before it rolled to a stop, leaving me to pay the bemused driver. As I hur ried to catch up I could see Holmes on all fours examining the ground. I have remarked before how my friend resembled a bloodhound in action if not in actual appearance, and never before was the comparison more exact.
    “You have found something, Holmes?”
    “Later, Watson,” he replied putting his magnifying lens back into his pocket.
    He rang the bell and paced impatiently before his summons was answered.
    “Doctor Watson, I am glad you are back,” said a visibly shaken Mrs. Dobson.
    “I have returned as quickly as possible.”
    “Mrs. Dobson,” my friend said soothingly before introductions could be made, “my name is Sherlock Holmes; I am a