The Final Page of Baker Street by Daniel D. Victor Page B

the name, the Scottish lake so commonly associated with rumoured monsters and fantastic sea creatures.
    â€œWhat could a lake in Scotland have to do with us?” I asked.
    â€œWatson, consider,” Holmes said. “Terrence Leonard disappears; we don’t know to where. The policeman in charge of the investigation arrives with news from Loch Ness. One must conclude that, for whatever the reason, that storied lake has something to do with Leonard’s destination.”
    â€œHis final destination, Mr. Holmes,” Youghal said, pulling at his moustache. “As far as we can determine, Terrence Leonard left London Wednesday last, took The Flying Scotsman north, made his way to Inverness and then to Loch Ness, where yesterday in its murky waters he proceeded to drown himself.”
    Sherlock Holmes emitted what could only be described as an exhalation of disbelief. Then he bombarded the policeman with questions: “How do you know what really happened? Have they recovered the body? Was there a note? Don’t you find such a suicide a bit too convenient?”
    â€œI expected some doubt on your part, Mr. Holmes,” Youghal said with a wry smile.“No, there is no body - although their lads are still looking. And there was no note. But the story satisfies Lord Steynwood; and so, I’m afraid, that is that.”
    â€œâ€˜That’ is what ?” I asked. “What actually happened to Terrence Leonard?”
    Youghal tallied his points by ticking them off on his fingers. “First, a tourist boat found an empty wherry floating in the lake. Second, inside it was a small pile of clothes with Terrence Leonard’s name on a label sewn inside the jacket. Third, there were small chips of rock at the bottom of the boat, leading any sensible person to conclude that Leonard must have weighted himself down in some way with large stones that he’d brought along. Fourth - and probably most important - Lord Steynwood sent one of his solicitors on the overnight train to confer with the police in Inverness today; as a result, His Lordship is convinced that Terrence Leonard, the murderer of Sylvia Leonard, has taken his own life. And, because of the powerful connections Lord Steynwood maintains with the government - including the Crown itself - we must all be in agreement that this case is closed.”
    â€œBah!” Holmes exploded. “It is mere child’s play to set a boat adrift containing some incriminating clothes and assorted pebbles.”
    Youghal nodded. “Yes, Mr. Holmes, you could be right. But then again, you could also be mistaken. And since we have a story that satisfies the police in Scotland as well as Lord Steynwood here in London - well, my governor has closed the books on this affair. And, therefore, so have I.”
    â€œWe’ll inform Billy,” I said. “He’ll want to know.”
    â€œThank you, Doctor Watson. I assumed as much when I brought you and Mr. Holmes the news. I owed you that much, I expect.”
    We both nodded in appreciation.
    â€œI’m sure, Mr. Holmes, that you have nothing further to tell me,” Youghal said. “But even if you do believe that you have discovered something new, the Yard - with His Lordship’s blessing - is no longer interested in any wild theories about what happened that night. The investigation is over.”
    â€œIn that case,” Holmes said with finality, “I have nothing new to report.”
    Youghal gave my friend a puzzled look. Clearly, Holmes had no intention of sharing with him any information about the bullet he’d pried from the wall at the scene of the murder.
    After I had showed the inspector to the door, I re-entered the sitting room. Holmes was pacing the floor. “In my younger years, Watson,” he said with his lips tightly drawn, “I might have endeavoured to make the trip north to follow up on these matters. But that was in my youth. Today, if Youghal