His Last Bow by Arthur Conan Doyle (well read books .TXT) ๐
Description
His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes is the fourth collection of Sherlock Holmes stories published by Arthur Conan Doyles. It begins with a preface by Dr. John Watson, supposedly written in 1917, assuring the reader that Holmes is still alive but living in quiet retirement in Sussex.
This collection contains the well-known stories โThe Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans,โ in which Holmes has to track down stolen plans for a new kind of submarine; and โThe Adventure of the Devilโs Footโ in which a Cornish family is found one morning driven mad or dead, with expressions of horror on their faces. The titular story โHis Last Bowโ is set on the very eve of the outbreak of the First World War, and involves Holmes and Watson coming out of retirement to defeat a German spy.
Read free book ยซHis Last Bow by Arthur Conan Doyle (well read books .TXT) ๐ยป - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
Read book online ยซHis Last Bow by Arthur Conan Doyle (well read books .TXT) ๐ยป. Author - Arthur Conan Doyle
Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin.
โYou are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet. I was only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been running round making inquiries before I came to you. I went to the house agents, you know, and they said that Mr. Garciaโs rent was paid up all right and that everything was in order at Wisteria Lodge.โ
โCome, come, sir,โ said Holmes, laughing. โYou are like my friend, Dr. Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost. Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance.โ
Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance.
โIโm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But I will tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me.โ
But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary.
โWe are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this direction.โ He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. โAre you Mr. John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?โ
โI am.โ
โWe have been following you about all the morning.โ
โYou traced him through the telegram, no doubt,โ said Holmes.
โExactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here.โ
โBut why do you follow me? What do you want?โ
โWe wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which led up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Esher.โ
Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face.
โDead? Did you say he was dead?โ
โYes, sir, he is dead.โ
โBut how? An accident?โ
โMurder, if ever there was one upon earth.โ
โGood God! This is awful! You donโt meanโ โyou donโt mean that I am suspected?โ
โA letter of yours was found in the dead manโs pocket, and we know by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house.โ
โSo I did.โ
โOh, you did, did you?โ
Out came the official notebook.
โWait a bit, Gregson,โ said Sherlock Holmes. โAll you desire is a plain statement, is it not?โ
โAnd it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against him.โ
โMr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you never been interrupted.โ
Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to his face. With a dubious glance at the inspectorโs notebook, he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement.
โI am a bachelor,โ said he, โand being of a sociable turn I cultivate a large number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewer called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He was, I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and as good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life.
โIn some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, Wisteria Lodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher to fulfil this engagement.
โHe had described his household to me before I went there. He lived with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all his needs. This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping for him. Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he had picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. I remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart of Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good deal queerer than I thought.
โI drove to the placeโ โabout two miles on the south side of Esher. The house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old, tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair. When the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-stained door, I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly. He opened the door himself, however, and greeted me with a great show of cordiality. I was handed over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy individual, who led the way, my bag in his hand, to my bedroom. The whole place was depressing. Our dinner was tรชte-ร -tรชte, and though my host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemed to continually wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that I could
Comments (0)