The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes by Paul Gilbert Page B

window. Sure enough I saw our old friend Inspector Lestrade, having just vacated a departing cab, staring up at our rooms standing next to a most singular-looking companion.
    ‘So you perceive a case in the offing?’ I asked.
    ‘Certainly the potential, Watson, although, as you know, I am loath to make assumptions without being in possession of the facts.’ Holmes smiled whilst carefully replacing the violin into its case. Reluctantly I put down the book that I had been engrossed in, Lord Lynton’s veritable tome The Last Days of Pompeii and a moment later there came Mrs Hudson’s inevitable knock on the door.
    Once our guests had entered the room, Holmes sized them up for a moment before reciprocating their greeting.
    ‘Tea for four if you would be so kind, Mrs Hudson. Please take a seat, Mr Clarke!’
    The look of astonishment on the stranger’s face was certainly mirrored by that on both Lestrade’s and my own.
    ‘I was not aware that I had previously made your acquaintance, sir,’ said the man identified as Mr Clarke.
    ‘I can assure you that you have not.’ Holmes replied.
    ‘Then in heaven’s name, what magic have you used to identify me?’
    ‘I can assure you that there is nothing magical inanything that I do.’ Before explaining himself and, I am certain, in order to create the maximum dramatic effect, Holmes turned deliberately away to prepare, slowly, his old clay pipe.
    This most singular-looking gentleman presenting himself before us stood at just below average height and his build was certainly more than a little portly. He sported a most lively-coloured waistcoat; a checked tweed jacket fashioned from a cloth of deepest maroon and a bowler hat to match. He appeared to be in his early fifties and when he spoke it was with a deep, rich baritone voice. He used his arms to a most dramatic effect.
    As I was making these observations Mrs Hudson returned with a tray of tea. Holmes waved our guests towards the spare chairs.
    After we had each had a sip of tea Clarke repeated his question. Holmes hesitated, as if he had forgotten it.
    ‘Mr Clarke, your somewhat exuberant attire, your extravagant affectations together with such a well-trained resonant voice indicates employment in a branch of the performing arts. When I observe a strand or two of straw still clinging to the base of your left heel and a light dusting of sawdust nestling within the folds of your trouser turnups I can narrow that down to a circus. Furthermore, I observe a red blister between the thumb and forefinger of your right hand, of the type that I would normally associate with a driver and his use of a whip. You are, therefore, either a trainer of animals or the ringmaster. The quality of your clothes and shoes and the magnitude of your girth seem to indicate the latter. I have observed of late a large number of posters advertising Clarke and Clarke’s Circus as being “The Only Show in Town”. Therefore you are one ofthe proprietors of said circus. Which one, of course, I cannot possibly tell,’ Holmes concluded with a flourish.
    ‘Well, upon my word! The reputation that goes before you and your powers is by no means exaggerated.’ Clarke applauded most enthusiastically. ‘I am indeed Carlton Clarke; however, I should point out that the second “Clarke” is merely another affectation of mine. I found the symmetry of my “Three Cs” motif most appealing and so do my public.’
    Now it was Holmes’s turn to give some applause. ‘Really, Lestrade, your companion is most entertaining. I fancy, however, that there is a darker motive for your visit this afternoon?’
    ‘Oh, indeed there is, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade confirmed, ‘although on this occasion I think that even your powers may be found to be somewhat inadequate.’ For a brief moment a hint of maliciousness flashed across Lestrade’s weaselly countenance, as of old.
    This was clearly not lost on Holmes, who now responded sternly: ‘That surely remains to be seen!