Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond by Erik Branz Page B

matter if the Aurora does not arrive or communicate with port authorities within the next four hours.” Holmes closed the newspaper, “Unfortunately, I doubt much more will ever be heard from that ship or its crew again.”
    “Should we not inform the port of what happened?” replied Watson as he rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes.
    “I think not old friend. I am sure the authorities would classify our tale as pure insanity, and for us time is not something we can waste in filling out fantastical tales in police paperwork,” noted Holmes as he removed his travel bag from the upper berth. “We should arrive at our destination of Metz in a few more stops. As per the return address on the envelope sent to Harper, this is the town in which Count Lebda’s residence is most probably located. At the moment we have collected much information, yet I lack an exact motive for Harper’s murder or what Count Lebda’s plans are, although I am certain they involve a greater evil purpose. Surely we can gather the facts we require by calling upon him at his home, let us hope he does not mind a couple of unexpected guests.”
     
     

Chapter 20

    Metz
     
     
    The two companions descended to the platform at the train station in Metz, the steam from the train engine bellowed about them like dragons breath. The place was a bustle of activity, with many travelers and their luggage crowded about jostling for space on the small landing.
    Holmes examined his pocket watch. “It is now getting late into the afternoon and we should secure lodgings and a meal before it gets too dark. Come, Watson, let us check the local inns for a room and hearty lunch. If my French is not too rusty we should also be able to pry some information from the locals concerning this Count Lebda fellow. Let us also pick up a good vintage to accompany our meal, we are now in France after all and should enjoy the excellent wine this great country has to offer, n’est-ce pas?”
    Metz is a picturesque little French town near the German border that featured cozy ornamented cottages and narrow cobblestone lanes that intertwined about charming small parks and public areas. The busy residents seemed friendly and were clad in the colorful costumes of the area, a cultured a mix of both French and German traditions. The sun, shining brightly in an almost cloudless sky above, lent a quaint atmosphere to the entire scene.
    The directions previously garnered from the smiling ticket master back at the train station led the duo easily to a local inn and tavern whose wooden sign above translated to
    ‘The Wild Boar’. After checking into their simple sparsely furnished room and taking a moment to wash up, Holmes and Watson settled into the soft cushioned chairs of the tavern below, eager for a quality local meal. Within a few minutes two heaping plates of steaming food sat before them alongside glasses of the fine vintage they had brought along, a beautiful fruity red from the Saint-Émilion region near Bordeaux. Watson’s eyes widened at the sight of the meal and could feel the saliva that pooled inside his watering mouth.
    The lamb and vegetable stew was absolutely fabulous, and Holmes made sure the landlady knew it. “C’est magnifique votre repas mademoiselle! Vous avez le touché d’une ange.” Holmes directed the remark her way in a voice loud enough that the other patrons heard. “Merci beacoup pour votre excellente service, nous avons choisier le bon tavern pour certain.” He added in rather fluent French as he gestured toward the generous plate of food in front of him.
    The innkeeper and his wife smiled broadly at the compliment and both seemed to speak at once when they replied their thanks. “Merci monsieu, merci.”
    This simple exchange had a definite impression on the atmosphere of those seated around the pair as the duo went from being strangers to welcomed guests within minutes. Many curious locals eventually came over to say hello and enquire where