low over his face. I paused at a book stall and tried to get a better look at him, but he had a long red muffler wrapped about his face, hiding his features from view. Who he was or what he hoped to gain by following me I could only guess, but the fact remained that he was following me and I proposed to do something about it.
Holmes would have easily shaken this pursuer in the back alleys and twisting paths that he knew so well, but I lacked his intimate knowledge of London’s byways. Still, I did my best to elude the man in the crowded marketplace, but each time I turned another corner or struck out in a new direction, a glance over my shoulder or a brief reflection in a shop window confirmed that he was still behind me.
At length my circuitous path led me out of Oxford Street and into the less populated Cavendish Square. Here we were nearly alone on a long stretch of the avenue, and so it was that I decided to stop running andconfront my pursuer. I whirled round and called out a challenge, but the figure reared up and headed down a side-street, evidently unwilling to risk a confrontation with me. I gave chase and very soon we were back on Oxford Street, where the figure now attempted to lose me by darting in and out of the thick crowds.
By now my old war injury had begun to ache, but still I increased my speed, nearly upsetting a fruit cart as I dashed after him. Even so I could barely keep him in sight, and as I attempted to push myself still harder, my leg gave out completely and I tumbled forward onto the pavement.
I was not seriously hurt, but it was clear that my pursuit was at an end, and as a half dozen or so of the passers-by helped me to my feet, I was just able to make out the broad brim of my quarry’s hat rounding a distant corner.
Eleven
H OLMES R EAPPEARS
I was still somewhat shaken when I returned to Baker Street. I am not accustomed to being followed about London by men with disguised features, and I found the experience most disquieting. Settling myself before the fire, I pondered the events of the past two days and attempted to distill some sort of logic from them. First there was the threat against Houdini and his fallacious imprisonment. Then we became aware of the Gairstowe theft and its diplomatic entanglements. And now, finally, there was my curious interview with the Countess Valenka and the subsequent adventure in Oxford Circus. Again and again I turned these events over in my mind, though I could see little where Holmes would no doubt see so much. But as my companion had not yet returned from his mysterious errand of that morning, I was left alone with my speculations and doubts.
By midday I was quite exhausted with this fruitless theorising, and so I passed the remainder of the afternoon attempting to divert myself with a book of sea stories. As this distraction proved futile I stepped round to my club for a light supper, checking all the while to be certain I was no longer being shadowed. After dining I was invited to play a fewrubbers of whist with my club-mates, who took advantage of my obvious preoccupation to bet heavily against me. Returning home in no very sweet humour I found Holmes still absent. I waited past midnight before retiring, and when at last I did fall asleep my dreams were troubled with the image of Houdini lashed to his chair in that most outlandish fashion, imploring aid which I could not give.
I arose the next morning red-eyed and ill-tempered. I snapped unnecessarily at Mrs Hudson when she laid breakfast for two, and left instructions that I did not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day. That morning and most of the afternoon were spent pacing about our rooms, smoking no fewer than seven cigars, and imagining at every turn that I heard Holmes’s tread upon the stair. My thoughts continued to dwell upon the case, though I had long since given up trying to make sense of it. Rather, my thoughts were those of one who, upon hearing a snatch of melody drift
Holmes would have easily shaken this pursuer in the back alleys and twisting paths that he knew so well, but I lacked his intimate knowledge of London’s byways. Still, I did my best to elude the man in the crowded marketplace, but each time I turned another corner or struck out in a new direction, a glance over my shoulder or a brief reflection in a shop window confirmed that he was still behind me.
At length my circuitous path led me out of Oxford Street and into the less populated Cavendish Square. Here we were nearly alone on a long stretch of the avenue, and so it was that I decided to stop running andconfront my pursuer. I whirled round and called out a challenge, but the figure reared up and headed down a side-street, evidently unwilling to risk a confrontation with me. I gave chase and very soon we were back on Oxford Street, where the figure now attempted to lose me by darting in and out of the thick crowds.
By now my old war injury had begun to ache, but still I increased my speed, nearly upsetting a fruit cart as I dashed after him. Even so I could barely keep him in sight, and as I attempted to push myself still harder, my leg gave out completely and I tumbled forward onto the pavement.
I was not seriously hurt, but it was clear that my pursuit was at an end, and as a half dozen or so of the passers-by helped me to my feet, I was just able to make out the broad brim of my quarry’s hat rounding a distant corner.
Eleven
H OLMES R EAPPEARS
I was still somewhat shaken when I returned to Baker Street. I am not accustomed to being followed about London by men with disguised features, and I found the experience most disquieting. Settling myself before the fire, I pondered the events of the past two days and attempted to distill some sort of logic from them. First there was the threat against Houdini and his fallacious imprisonment. Then we became aware of the Gairstowe theft and its diplomatic entanglements. And now, finally, there was my curious interview with the Countess Valenka and the subsequent adventure in Oxford Circus. Again and again I turned these events over in my mind, though I could see little where Holmes would no doubt see so much. But as my companion had not yet returned from his mysterious errand of that morning, I was left alone with my speculations and doubts.
By midday I was quite exhausted with this fruitless theorising, and so I passed the remainder of the afternoon attempting to divert myself with a book of sea stories. As this distraction proved futile I stepped round to my club for a light supper, checking all the while to be certain I was no longer being shadowed. After dining I was invited to play a fewrubbers of whist with my club-mates, who took advantage of my obvious preoccupation to bet heavily against me. Returning home in no very sweet humour I found Holmes still absent. I waited past midnight before retiring, and when at last I did fall asleep my dreams were troubled with the image of Houdini lashed to his chair in that most outlandish fashion, imploring aid which I could not give.
I arose the next morning red-eyed and ill-tempered. I snapped unnecessarily at Mrs Hudson when she laid breakfast for two, and left instructions that I did not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day. That morning and most of the afternoon were spent pacing about our rooms, smoking no fewer than seven cigars, and imagining at every turn that I heard Holmes’s tread upon the stair. My thoughts continued to dwell upon the case, though I had long since given up trying to make sense of it. Rather, my thoughts were those of one who, upon hearing a snatch of melody drift
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