The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes by Paul Gilbert

are close to our destination. A few discreetenquiries at this most reputable of institutions will, I think present our provincial inspector with his first case at the Yard.’
    I seemed to be remembered by the officials at the entrance to St Barts and, as a consequence, we were soon traversing those hallowed corridors towards Stamford’s chambers. A colleague of Stamford’s, obviously ignorant of the events at the Holborn informed us of Stamford’s absence, but made no objections to our awaiting his return in his consulting room.
    Upon gaining entrance to Stamford’s rooms Holmes gestured for me to stand vigil by the heavy oak door while he began an urgent, albeit most thorough, search through the various papers contained in the drawers of Stamford’s desk.
    I kept my ear close to the door, so that I could alert Holmes to the sound of someone approaching, all the while glancing furtively in Holmes’s direction. Every so often he emitted a grunt of frustration and each utterance being followed with an increase in the intensity of his search.
    ‘In heaven’s name, Holmes! What can you possibly be looking for?’ I whispered hoarsely, out of frustration. When no reply came I glanced back towards him, to find him beaming contentedly while clutching a maroon leatherbound volume in one hand and a rather official-looking document in the other. Before I could ask him what these were Holmes had tucked them inside his coat. Then he nodded to me to open the door.
    Having calmed ourselves, we returned to the corridor outside.
    ‘We shall return at a more convenient time!’ Holmes called cheerily to the fellow who had directed us toStamford’s room. We doffed our hats towards the doorkeeper then made off in search of a cab.
    I had expected Holmes to direct the driver towards the Holborn, so I was somewhat surprised to hear him give Baker Street as our next destination. However, upon reaching our rooms he explained that he wanted to examine the items that he had taken from Stamford’s desk, before presenting his findings to Inspector Daley.
    He poured out a substantial Cognac for us both and offered me a cigar from the coal scuttle, before spreading the papers out on the table under the illumination of a small oil lamp.
    ‘Let us study these in silence for a moment, before voicing our conclusions.’ Holmes suggested. I nodded my agreement and was most careful in placing my cigar in a large glass ashtray, well away from the papers.
    The book turned out to be Stamford’s diary and the document none other than the patent for the unique spring hinges, employed in ensuring that the aluminium crutch was more comfortable than any other of its type. We had hoped that the diary would reveal some of Stamford’s innermost thoughts and thereby furnish us with a clue as to the motive behind his horrendous demise. However, this proved to be a purely professional journal, providing brief notes as to his day-to-day activities. My disappointment at making this discovery was tempered somewhat by Holmes’s excitement. He hurriedly removed the note that I had received from Stamford and laid it out next to the page in the diary that had so excited him.
    ‘See here, Watson!’ he said, breaking our silence while pointing at the note.
    I compared the two and immediately understood the implications of Holmes’s discovery.
    ‘Again, there is no similarity between the two. I say!’ I suddenly exclaimed. ‘Whoever did send the note used his knowledge of my association with Stamford as a means to camouflage his crime. This is intolerable!’
    ‘Calm yourself, Watson, there are graver implications here than your personal indignation. Read some of Stamford’s diary entries. Here, on the fourth of last month: Have agreed to increase Paulsen’s share of the proceeds from the crutch to forty per cent. I fear that this may still not be enough to satisfy him .’
    ‘Now read this entry of but a week later. Paulsen’s manner has become most