The Adventure Of The Posthumous Apparition by Marion Smith (english books to improve english .txt) 📕

/> “Not excessively,” Richard blushed. “Why?”
“Because scratches around the keyhole can mean that if the house owner came home drunk, they would have trouble unlocking the door. Did Marie drink?”
“No, not at all!” replied Richard, irritated.
“Well then, we can safely assume that the locks were picked,” concluded Holmes. He pushed the door, and it opened, unlocked. Richard gasped.
We entered into a well-lit hallway. Holmes paced the room, looking for anything that could help to make the situation clearer. Richard moved in through another door through which I assumed was the living room or the kitchen. Hearing a sudden gasp coming from that direction, Holmes and I followed.
In the middle of the living room floor was a smashed violin. Richard knelt down before it, and brushed away the shards. The carpet was stained scarlet with blood. Richard’s shoulders slumped, and he hid his face form view.
Holmes walked over, and knelt beside him. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Richard,” he said, surprisingly gently, “Do not lose hope.”
“But I... I don’t understand!” Richard cried. “Was she hurt before she was ran over?! Or was she murdered?! None of it makes any sense!”
“I think you’re blinded by grief,” Holmes replied quietly. “Richard, your wife was not run over by a carriage.”
Richard looked Holmes in the eye, fresh tears on his cheeks. “But, her body is in the mortuary-”
“No, it’s not. That corpse is not your wife,” I explained, joining the two.
“But, you mean, Marie was murdered instead?” Richard asked, still confused.
“No, I believe she has been kidnapped,” replied Holmes. “She was taken away from here.”
Richard clasped his hands together as if offering a prayer of thanks.
“You... You don’t think they hurt her, do you?” he asked fearfully.
“No, no,” replied Holmes. “I think that the blood is more likely from her foot. It appears that she was playing her violin when her attackers came up behind her. She struggled, dropped the instrument, and in her attempt to escape cut her feet on the shards. There’s not enough blood for it to be anything other than her foot. They would have drugged her, probably with-”
“Chloroform,” I interrupted.
“Thank you, Watson,” Holmes replied.
I walked over to the armchair, where I had spotted something. By one of the chair legs was a small scrap of fabric, no larger than two inches square. The fibres around the edge were arranged in such a fashion that the cloth had obviously been ripped apart with some force. I held the scrap to my face, and the faintest hint of something medicinal lingered there. Holmes walked over, and took it from my hand. He held it to his nose.
“Laudanum,” he announced, before examining the fabric. “The fabric is old,” Holmes continued, “and could be ripped easily. These were either some rather unscrupulous kidnappers, or a clever initiative on your wife’s part.”
“You mean Marie tore off the cloth for us to find?” Richard questioned.
“Exactly,” replied Holmes. “Your wife really is wonderfully intelligent, Richard. She tore at that rag even as she succumbed to the drug. The kidnappers would hardly have noticed her drop it. I am very much impressed. Now, I don’t know about you, but I suggest we follow their trail as soon as we can.”
“But how can we?” exclaimed Richard, “There’s not trail to follow!”
Holmes turned to him, his eyes shining. “Ah, but there is a trail,” he replied mystically. “I know where Marie is.”


Once more, the three of us needed to travel onwards. Once more, the three of us needed transport. As fast as we could, we found the nearest inn.
“I say, Richard. Can you ride?” asked Holmes.
“Why?” he replied warily.
“Because we will arrive at our destination faster if we travel by horseback,” Holmes sighed. "Now, can, you ride?”
Richard sighed. “I suppose I can if I try,” he said ruefully. “It’s one of those days.”
It was not long before each of us was seated on our own horse, kindly lent to us by the innkeeper, ready to set off on what seemed the most intrepid of investigations.
“Which way do we head?” I cried.
“North-West,” Holmes answered. “I fear they’re holding her in a remote corner of the countryside.”
“How would you know this?” Richard asked.
Holmes returned a grim look. “What did you think I was doing when I was investigating last night?” he asked. I had a good idea of where she is, but visiting your house confirmed it.”
“So then where is she?” I asked. “I assume it’s somewhere remote that not a lot of people would visit at this time of year.”
Holmes nodded. “Thanks to a good deal of witnesses and some inferred deduction,” he replied, “It is by belief that they are holding her at Malham Cove.”
As we travelled further towards the Dales, I became more and more concerned that the sun would set before we arrived to find Marie. Turning to Holmes, I knew he was also concerned with this issue. He rode fast, with his eyes fixed ahead at the track, his face grim.
Finally, we approached the village of Malham, but instead of entering, Holmes insisted we ride around.
“As soon as we enter through that path, we will be easily spotted from the top,” he explained. “Doing so would be suicide.”
Leaving the horses tied to a gate by the track we were to follow, Holmes handed Richard a revolver.
“Am I going to need to use this?” Richard asked, anxious.
“I... I don’t know,” replied Holmes. Richard nodded, morose. Taking a deep breath, we advanced up the hill.
Gradually, the incline flattened, until we were walking along a straight path of field. In the distance, the grey rock of Malham’s limestone pavement appeared before our eyes.
“Look, I see someone!” exclaimed Richard. He was correct. In the distance we could see a figure, dressed in dark clothes, guarding the perimeter of the cove. As carefully as we could, we moved towards him.
Next to me, Richard tensed. I knew what he wanted to do. Gently, in laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Richard,” I whispered, “I know how hard it must be not to go after that man, but it is essential that we keep ourselves hidden. We have the element of sunrise on our side.”
Richard nodded slowly. Holmes turned to the two of us.
“Right, here’s what we will do,” he whispered, “Slowly, Watson, you will go behind that man, and pull him down behind those rocks. Make sure you do this without anyone else noticing...”
Holmes stopped as he noticed the figure of Richard running toward the man. We jumped to our feet and ran after him, but by the time Richard was behind the man it was too late.
With surprising ease, Richard held his gun to the man’s neck. We were just close enough to hear what he was saying.
“Slowly walk backwards towards those rocks,” he whispered calmly. “Any attempts to move and I will pull the trigger.”
The man did as Richard told, and moved slowly, calmly, towards the rock. Once he was behind it, Richard promptly punched his face. The man looked up dazed, before Richard hit him again.
“You,” he growled, grabbing him by the collar, “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
Holmes and I took Richard’s shoulders, and pulled him away from the guard. Richard let out a cry of protest.
“No, don’t let him go! He took my wife!”
Suddenly, I spotted something in the distance, in front of the rock.
“Richard,” I said, “We don’t have time!”
“But-” Richard started to say-
“No!” cried Holmes, “Look!”
Richard turned, and looked over the rocks. He gasped.
It was Marie. Walking across the pavement, with a bemused look on her face, she truly was there. She wore the same, thin shift that Richard had described to us before, and her arms were wrapped around her cold, frail body. Judging by the paleness of her face she had been held here a while.
“Richard,” Holmes said, “Do not go to her. You very nearly gave away our position before, do not do it again.” He turned to me. “We will need to secure the perimeter before we can rescue Marie. You,” Holmes barked towards the guard, lying on the ground with his nose broken, “How many men are guarding her?”
“You had better tell us the truth,” I added, pointing my pistol at him, “Because if we find out you’re lying...”
The man nodded, and incomprehensively opened and shut his mouth. I leaned closer.
“Three,” he whispered in my ear. Peering into the distance, I could just about make out three figures pacing the ground.
“Right then,” Holmes finally said, “Richard, you wait here. I will walk around until I reach the three men, and take them down. Only then will the two of you advance towards Marie. Understand?”
Richard nodded.
“Holmes, why shouldn’t I join you?” I asked, concerned for my friend’s safety.
“You need to help Richard and his wife, Watson,” Holmes explained, “And the man in charge of this operation may be close by. I am not willing to take the risk of our plan backfiring on Richard. “Besides,” he added, “I can manage those men easily.”
I nodded, and Holmes set off. Richard and I knelt in the grass.
It was a nervous wait. Finally we saw the unmistakeable figure of Sherlock Holmes move behind one of the men. He hit him over the head with the butt of his revolver. The man fell, and all chaos seemed to break loose. The two other men ran towards Holmes, who, seemingly by sheer dumb luck, managed to fend off both of them, by kicking one with the steel toes of his boots, and the other by pulling him towards the ground by his hair. Once they were both down, Holmes trained his weapons on both of them, before knocking them unconscious. Richard breathed a sigh.
“I had no idea he could do that,” he whispered in awe.
I had no reply. “Come on,” I said, “We need to go to your wife.”
Richard, with a cry of joy, ran over to the pavement, and called his wife’s name. I followed suit.
“Marie!” he cried. “Marie! Are you hurt?!”
The woman turned. Seeing her husband stand there she let out a cry of shock.
“Richard?!” she called, her voice hoarse with shock. “But... How are you here?! You drowned in the reservoir!”
“What do you mean?!” he called, running towards her. Richard wrapped his arms around her. “I have been nowhere near water!”
“But he told me... He told me...” Marie stammered, nearly in tears. She screamed, and pointed towards the edge of the pavement. A figure had appeared. Slowly, Richard let go of Marie, a look of absolute disgust on his face.
“You,” he snarled. For a moment, no one moved. The man standing before us I had never seen in my life before, but I knew at once who he was. In the past few days, I had heard of him, and now I could see the resemblance. The same deep, soulful eyes, the same curl of the hair... Richard’s brother.
With a blood curdling cry, Richard, ran towards his sibling, and shook him viciously by his shoulders.
“Christopher, why?! Why would you do this?!” he shrieked. By way of reply, his brother hit him square in he jaw. Dazed, Richard stepped back for a moment, and wiped his jaw, before running towards him faster than I had ever seen a man run.
“Richard, no!” screamed Marie. It was too late. Richard, in his blind fury, had not estimated his distance from the ledge, and knocked headlong into