The Lost Radio Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Ken Greenwald Page A

be almost impossible to say how long it has been here. Nevertheless, I
am convinced that this is a recent corpse, and undoubtedly, that of Sir George
Clavering!”
    “What makes you
so sure, Holmes?” I said, quite puzzled.
    “The writing in
the diary. The 18th century used an S that looked like an F, it is true, but
never at the end of a word. You will recall, Watson, that you were reading
h-a-F, haf, for h-a-S, has.”
    “That’s
perfectly true, I was.”
    “That would be
incorrect in genuine 18th century writing. No, obviously this is an extremely
clever attempt to disguise the comparatively recent murder of Sir George
Clavering.”
    “But this is
terrible, Holmes,” said the Professor, “and yet I believe you are right!”
    “I’m sure of it!”
    “What are you
going to do about it?” I said.
    “Do? You and I
will mount guard over the body, Watson. You, my dear Whitnell, if you don’t
mind, will be good enough to go and fetch the police.”
    And so it was
that Holmes’ old friend Evan Whitnell went for the police, leaving us in the
limestone cave. It was cold and dreary and, without the lantern to give us
light, totally dark. No matter how hard I tried, I could not see Holmes through
the pitch black of the cave. Only our voices told us where we were as we sat
upon the limestone floor.
    “Holmes,” I
finally said in fatigue, “what do you suppose is keeping the police? Whitnell
must have gone over an hour ago, and the lantern with him. Here we are sitting
in this dreadful darkness in a smelly cave fifty feet under the cliffs, with a
mummified corpse.”
    “Quite true,
Watson, but I don’t . . . ah ha, here comes the lantern.”
    I stood up,
turning to the bright light that approached us.
    “Whitnell, over
here!” I yelled.
    “That you,
Whitnell?” said Holmes.
    We could hear
footsteps on the cracked and broken limestone as the lantern hung in the air as
if by magic, getting closer and closer to us.
    “That lantern’s
blinding me, Holmes. Is that you, Whitnell? Answer, can’t you?”
    I could barely
make out a form behind the blinding light of the lantern. I turned to Holmes
who quickly stood up, a look of trepidation on his face.
    “Look out,
Watson!”
    Suddenly I was
hit across my shoulder and head. I fell dizzily to the ground as Holmes leapt
forward to struggle with the mysterious figure behind the lantern. In a brief
second Holmes collapsed lifeless to the ground, and just before I fell into
unconsciousness I could hear the peeling of demonic laughter coming from the
figure that stood over us, the sound echoing and echoing through the giant
caverns!
    II
    “Watson, old
fellow, wake up. Come on, that’s it!” I heard Holmes’ distant voice become
clearer as I regained my senses. I felt, rather than saw my old friend
crouching over me.
    “What the devil
happened, Holmes?” I said as I unsteadily got to my feet.
    “Whoever that
was with the lantern knocked you down with a spade. I fought with him, but my
feet slipped on the crumbling limestone and our adversary got the better of me.
I’m afraid he was able to knock both of us unconscious.”
    “Good gracious,
my head feels like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer,” I said, feeling the
damage.
    “Anything
serious, Watson?”
    “No. Just a bad
cut on the back of my neck; the blood has already coagulated. I think I’ll be
all right.”
    “Well, our
assailant had the advantage. With that blinding lantern it was impossible for
either of us to see what was going on until it was too late. I only came round
minutes before you, Watson.”
    “Where the devil
are we?” I said, again trying to see in the darkness.
    “I took the
liberty of checking that out. It seems we are in the bottom of a deep, and
narrow pit. Our assailant must have dragged us here when we were unconscious.”
    “Can we get out,
Holmes?”
    “Possibly,” he
said, “get your coat off, and your shirt. I’ve already done with mine, and tied
them together. Come on,