The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters: 25 Modern Tales by Masters by Mike Resnick, Michael Kurland Page A

Mandeville was tangible, and for a moment I was afraid he might actually strike his younger brother.
    “You know how father spoke of Dr Watson,” Edward continued defensively. “You know how he read and collected his stories about Sherlock Holmes. Father knew someone was trying to kill him, and I thought Dr Watson would be able to help. After hearing the circumstances of father’s murder, I hoped he would be able to get Sherlock Holmes involved.”
    Involving Sherlock Holmes would, of course, have been impossible, since he was off somewhere working on his own, labouring over a long, difficult, and quite personal case. So long and difficult, in fact, that he had put forth the story that he had relocated to Sussex to keep bees. But only John, Mr Holmes’s brother Mycroft, and myself knew this, and while we knew the truth behind his “retirement,” even we did not know where he was.
    “Edward, for once and for all, nobody killed father,” Phillip said through clenched teeth. “His death was perfectly natural.”
    “A dickey ticker,” Charles confided to us, tapping his chest for illustration.
    “But I spoke with him repeatedly,” Edward shot back, “and father believed he was being poisoned.”
    “ Believed , Edward, believed !” Phillip cried. “You know that father was not himself in the last few months. He was delusional.”
    “I refuse to believe that,” Edward muttered.
    “I am sorry to have intruded,” John said. “Perhaps it is best that we go and leave this house to its mourning.”
    “Leave?” I moaned. “Now? John, I simply cannot face that train trip back tonight.”
    “We shall stay the night in the village, then,” John decided. “Is there an inn near here?”
    “Phillip,” said Edward, “it is my fault they are here, and I would feel terrible turning them away. Can’t we at least let them stay the night?”
    “Let them stay where, Eddie?” Charles challenged, “the guest room is already taken.”
    “Father’s room is unoccupied,” the boy replied.
    “Father’s room?” the twins shouted in unison.
    “We cannot simply turn them away on a night like this.”
    “Oh, very well,” Phillip sighed, adding under his breath, “though I cannot imagine a worse time for visitors. Jenkins, put a fire in father’s room. I will ask Cook to prepare some dinner for the two of you.” With that, he spun around and marched out away.
    “You know, dear brother, you have a positive genius for making things difficult for us,” Charles declared to Edward before likewise turning and leaving.
    “I guess it’s up to me, then, to show you to your room,” Edward said, instructing Jenkins to bring our bags.
    As we proceeded to the heavy-balustered, oaken staircase, we passed a dining room in which a large oblong table was set for something other than a meal, unless one was accustomed to dining with black candles. All the drapes in the room were drawn closed, behind the head of the table was a large wooden box that I recognized from a picture in a magazine as a medium’s cabinet.
    The room was set up for a séance! Edward must have noticed me staring, for he said: “I fear my brother Charles has a passion for spiritualism. A medium is staying with us; she is the one in the guest room. I find it thoroughly immoral. Come, this way.”
    Save for its chill, the room to which Edward led us could not have been bettered by the finest inn in the realm. There was a huge, four-poster bed and an ornate hearth, which Jenkins swiftly packed with logs and lit. Every wall was adorned with paintings and tapestries.
    Once Jenkins had accomplished his tasks and left, Edward opened up. “I really feel I need to apologize for my brothers,” he said. “They have always tended to treat me like a child, but of late…well, I had no idea Phillip would react this way.”
    “Why did you send that letter after your father was already dead?” John asked, draping his greatcoat over a chair near the hearth.
    “I