Free Sherlock Holmes: The Coils of Time & Other Stories (Sherlock Holmes Adventures Book 1) by Ralph Vaughan Page B

connected by superstition to whatever scientific secrets resided in his workshop.
    “Couldn’t say exactly, guv,” the lad replied when Kent pressed him for details. “Things seen in the night what no one can explain, pale beasts flitting in the wild parts of the Old Deer Park and down Richmond Park, animals carried off and carcasses left with marks never made by no fox.  Just phantoms and high weirdness, if you knows what I mean, and who else is there to lay blame against but the scientific chap?  Leastwise that’s what people hereabouts are thinking, though doing no more than windows and doors are closed tight and double bolted.”
    Instructing the lad to wait for them, Holmes and Kent approached the impressive brick mansion by way of a long walkway passing through overgrown gardens.  Projecting from the main portion of the house and onto a wide lawn was an annex with frosted glass panes all about; even though a dim light wavered within, no details could be discerned.
    “That must be the workroom from which all evil springs,” Kent said caustically.
    “Simple people seek simple answers,” Holmes replied.  “We may be less than fifteen miles from the most populous, most cultured city in the world, but the folk who dwell away their lives in tiny English villages, even one that has become as much a destination as Richmond, have more in common with hut-dwellers in jungles half a world away than with their fellows in the metropolis upon their doorstep.  It is quite true, as the American writer claims, ‘All the world may be found within twenty miles of Charing Cross.’”
    “So you see Maddoc a victim of country prejudices?” Kent asked.
    Holmes pursed his lips thoughtfully.  “Not necessarily, Inspector.  Consider the furtive white shapes seen moving through the brush and the vanished and slaughtered animals – do they bring anything to mind?”
    “Why, yes, the…”  His mouth gaped.  “Good God, Holmes!  Could this be the source of the trouble in London, both the Ghosts and the Vanishments?”
    “Perhaps its genesis,” Holmes conceded, “but unlikely its centre any longer.”
    “The distance from London?”  Kent said.  “The likelihood of discovery.”
    Holmes nodded.  “Consider also the elements of Maddoc’s story, even though related as hearsay by Wells, the beasts of the future.  Do they not bear a striking resemblance to the so-called Ghosts?”
    “Morlocks?” sneered Kent.  “Morlocks in London?”
    “Presented merely as a matter of speculation at this point,” Holmes said quickly.  “Its certainty would depend upon the veracity of the tale related by Maddoc to his dinner guests than evening.”
    “A joke of some kind?”
    “One look into Maddoc’s eyes belies that thought.”
    “A lie?” suggested Kent.
    “At least not the whole truth,” Holmes replied.  “There are inconsistencies in the story related by Wells.  If he accurately recorded the tale as told by Maddoc, then the inconsistencies are Maddoc’s, perhaps introduced by design, though it is more likely they stem from Maddoc’s lack or preparedness, a tale concocted upon the spur of the moment, containing elements of experience, yet at the same time with key elements withheld or changed, for reasons unknown.  I have no doubt the story told us this night by H.G. Wells will bear only a passing resemblance to the novel he will ultimately publish, that he will smooth over all the rough spots and bend its narrative to support whatever philosophy he cherishes.”  Holmes allowed himself a slight smile and said: “Believe me, Inspector Kent, I, of all people, know what liberties writers take with the truth.”
    They approached the doorway and knocked.  Their summons was eventually answered by a small grey-haired lady pulling a dressing gown tight before her and holding out a candle in a trembling hand.
    “What do you want at this ungodly hour?” she demanded.
    “This is the home of Moesen Maddoc?”