disappear down a London thoroughfare,’ he said quietly. I noted at least three day’s hair growth on hisgaunt face and knew at once that he was bemoaning the lack of a stimulating case.
I joined him at the window and followed his forlorn gaze down Baker Street. While Holmes sat there shaking his head, I tried to observe the cause of his mood. Yet all I could see was the usual throng of hundreds of Londoners making their way to work. There was nothing noteworthy about any of them. I told Holmes as much.
‘Exactly Watson!’ Holmes exclaimed. ‘Ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, not one of them possessing that divine spark of genius or inspiration to challenge an extraordinary detective.’
Holmes’s immodesty had often annoyed me in the past, but in this context it seemed to be in very poor taste.
‘Well, I hope that not one of them would agree with you.’
‘Perhaps you are right, Watson; one unemployed detective is a small price to pay for a crime-free metropolis. Ah! Mrs Hudson has your breakfast.’ He opened the door before Mrs Hudson had a chance to knock and ushered her in bearing a large tray.
‘Doctor Watson, I have prepared something special for your visit and I do hope you can persuade Mr Holmes to join you. He barely eats enough to fill a sparrow.’ Mrs Hudson left the tray on the table and hurried out before Holmes could remonstrate with her.
‘Spare me your disapproval Watson,’ Holmes anticipated , ‘I had every intention of indulging in a slice or two of toast and a cup of coffee, prior to your impromptu visit.’
‘Well looking at you, I would say it was long overdue.’ I said while uncovering the dishes. I soon applied myself to some delicious bacon and eggs, while Holmes sat there, suppressing an amused smile.
‘I am glad to observe that married life has done nothing to suppress your appetite. So, Watson, will your sabbatical allow you time to sample some fresh Kentish sea air for a few days?’
‘I am sure it would,’ I replied between mouthfuls, ‘but in heaven’s name why?’
‘Despite my appearance and my disparaging remarks about our humdrum fellow Londoners, the wheels are turning once again.’ Holmes reached into his dressing gown pocket and produced three pages of a crumpled letter, which he tossed onto the table by my plate. ‘Ha! Now chew on that, friend Watson!’
Dear Mr Holmes,
Before I begin, please accept my apologies for troubling you on something which I am sure you will think is trivial. I would not have done so, even now, but Inspector Hopkins of the Kent Police insisted this was not a police matter, as no crime had been committed, and he suggested I wrote to you.
‘Inspector Hopkins again!’ I exclaimed, putting aside the letter for a moment. ‘His commission has introduced us to five or six of your most successful cases, even that affair of the Abbey Grange, which began so disappointingly, was something special.’
‘Ah yes the three glasses and the remarkable Captain Crocker!’ Holmes agreed and then waved towards the letter. ‘Please continue.’
I will try to be as brief as possible. My situation is this:
My ailing mother and I run a small boarding house, “Cliff Court Lodge”, perched on the steepest of the harbour cliffs , looking down on Broadsea Bay. Apart from Nellie, our live-in housemaid and two elderly permanent lodgers, we are the only occupants of this large, draughty house.
As you can imagine, our livelihood depends on our having a successful summer season, and therefore I can offer you nothing more than your rail fare to Broadsea Bay and the best hospitality Cliff Court Lodge can offer.
Now, to blind old Captain Dyson. Sixteen years ago, a period in my life still vivid, because it was at this time that my dear father passed away, there was a tragic fire on board the “Sea Lizard”. This was the largest and finest vessel in our trawler fleet, and was owned by Captain Dyson. An accident occurred in the
I joined him at the window and followed his forlorn gaze down Baker Street. While Holmes sat there shaking his head, I tried to observe the cause of his mood. Yet all I could see was the usual throng of hundreds of Londoners making their way to work. There was nothing noteworthy about any of them. I told Holmes as much.
‘Exactly Watson!’ Holmes exclaimed. ‘Ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, not one of them possessing that divine spark of genius or inspiration to challenge an extraordinary detective.’
Holmes’s immodesty had often annoyed me in the past, but in this context it seemed to be in very poor taste.
‘Well, I hope that not one of them would agree with you.’
‘Perhaps you are right, Watson; one unemployed detective is a small price to pay for a crime-free metropolis. Ah! Mrs Hudson has your breakfast.’ He opened the door before Mrs Hudson had a chance to knock and ushered her in bearing a large tray.
‘Doctor Watson, I have prepared something special for your visit and I do hope you can persuade Mr Holmes to join you. He barely eats enough to fill a sparrow.’ Mrs Hudson left the tray on the table and hurried out before Holmes could remonstrate with her.
‘Spare me your disapproval Watson,’ Holmes anticipated , ‘I had every intention of indulging in a slice or two of toast and a cup of coffee, prior to your impromptu visit.’
‘Well looking at you, I would say it was long overdue.’ I said while uncovering the dishes. I soon applied myself to some delicious bacon and eggs, while Holmes sat there, suppressing an amused smile.
‘I am glad to observe that married life has done nothing to suppress your appetite. So, Watson, will your sabbatical allow you time to sample some fresh Kentish sea air for a few days?’
‘I am sure it would,’ I replied between mouthfuls, ‘but in heaven’s name why?’
‘Despite my appearance and my disparaging remarks about our humdrum fellow Londoners, the wheels are turning once again.’ Holmes reached into his dressing gown pocket and produced three pages of a crumpled letter, which he tossed onto the table by my plate. ‘Ha! Now chew on that, friend Watson!’
Dear Mr Holmes,
Before I begin, please accept my apologies for troubling you on something which I am sure you will think is trivial. I would not have done so, even now, but Inspector Hopkins of the Kent Police insisted this was not a police matter, as no crime had been committed, and he suggested I wrote to you.
‘Inspector Hopkins again!’ I exclaimed, putting aside the letter for a moment. ‘His commission has introduced us to five or six of your most successful cases, even that affair of the Abbey Grange, which began so disappointingly, was something special.’
‘Ah yes the three glasses and the remarkable Captain Crocker!’ Holmes agreed and then waved towards the letter. ‘Please continue.’
I will try to be as brief as possible. My situation is this:
My ailing mother and I run a small boarding house, “Cliff Court Lodge”, perched on the steepest of the harbour cliffs , looking down on Broadsea Bay. Apart from Nellie, our live-in housemaid and two elderly permanent lodgers, we are the only occupants of this large, draughty house.
As you can imagine, our livelihood depends on our having a successful summer season, and therefore I can offer you nothing more than your rail fare to Broadsea Bay and the best hospitality Cliff Court Lodge can offer.
Now, to blind old Captain Dyson. Sixteen years ago, a period in my life still vivid, because it was at this time that my dear father passed away, there was a tragic fire on board the “Sea Lizard”. This was the largest and finest vessel in our trawler fleet, and was owned by Captain Dyson. An accident occurred in the
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