Sherlock Holmes: Before Baker Street by David Marcum (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📕

of the room. “I keep geese and chickens at the back of the house, you see.”

I nodded, as we sat down with the dining table between us.

“What is it then, that I am accused of?” he asked gruffly.

“I am here to tell you that your trap has been sprung successfully.”

“Trap? What is this you say? I am an honourable man from an honourable family. No less so than the nobility. I was born in that house in Slaughterer’s Lane, and have worked hard to advance myself. Your suggestion of anything less is scandalous, sir!”

“I will relate to you your actions since the death of your wife towards revenging yourself upon the thieves who broke into your premises. Pray feel free to correct any errors in my deductions, although I am quite certain that the essence of my understanding is correct.”

For the first time, his expression became troubled. He looked into my face, a valiant attempt but he could not meet my eyes. Some seconds passed before he fixed his gaze upon the dusty table-top and spoke in a whisper.

“Very well, then. Tell your story.”

“After your wife’s unfortunate death,” I began, “you swore revenge on the intruders who had caused it by their sudden appearance and intention to steal your art collection.”

“I recognised them. The newspapers had carried their photographs before. They were already infamous.”

“Quite. Am I correct in my assumption that you kept your art collection in Slaughterer’s Lane, not only because of a sentimental attachment to that address, but for the ease of obtaining further pictures from the London dealers?”

“It was my wife who loved art. She looked upon my London home as her personal gallery. It was harmless, and gave her pleasure.”

I shifted in my chair. “After her death, the burglars, the father and son Rander, disappeared, in order to evade the law, but you resolved to entice them into a second attempt to rob you. You removed the old masters and precious seascapes to where I see them on the wall behind you, after first having them copied by an artist, or artists, because of the short time it took for the completion, and installed the reproductions at Slaughterer’s Lane.”

“There is no crime in protecting property against thieves.”

“Indeed there is not, but these copies were a lure, as was the addition of other paintings as reported, possibly fictitiously, in the newspapers. Knowing that these additional prizes would prove even more irresistible, you ensured that entry to the house was made simple. Such an uncomplicated lock would prove but a small obstacle, to professionals. You then ensured, by means of bolts, that progress beyond the sitting room was impossible. When the robbers arrived they could not, in any case, have avoided the trap, which workmen from your ironworks had constructed, along with other alterations to the cellar, and so they fell through the revolving floor into the cage.”

“The law failed to imprison them, but I succeeded.” Mr. Pargeter confirmed in a dull voice.

“If you had but handed them over to Scotland Yard!” I exclaimed. “Then no crime would have been committed. Up to that point, you were not reprehensible!”

He gritted his teeth. “I wanted them to suffer, as did my wife. As I have suffered. I wanted their souls to go straight to hell!”

“And, indeed, they must have felt some of the pangs of that torturous place. Imagine their feelings as, in total darkness, they hungered and became increasingly thirsty. But even then they had yet to experience the torment that you had arranged. How long was it, before they heard the trickle of running water as it passed from the drains along the newly-dug channel a few feet from their imprisonment? How must they have longed for food, as the aroma from the bakery surrounded them from the vents which you had caused to be drilled in the wall? It is easy to see why you have not responded to enquiries from the official force, requests to travel again to London, since it suited your purpose to let your prisoners die slowly, painfully, and alone. I tell you sir, that you have brought into being a torture chamber, and that the law does not allow.”

Mr. Pargeter was silent for a while. I sat watching as an array of expressions crossed his face.

“I suppose you have informed Scotland Yard?” he said at last.

“I despatched a wire to Inspector Lestrade, at the same time as the telegram to you.”

“Then why did you come here, Mr. Holmes?”

“Because, despite your actions, I am not without sympathy for your situation. For a man to lose his wife in such circumstances is no small thing. The resulting heartbreak was quite undeserved.”

“Then why have you been instrumental in exposing me?”

“I must always champion the law. The one service I could perform for you, however, was to warn you, so that you could prepare your legal defence. This will give you the best chance to obtain a lighter sentence, for I am aware, as the court will hopefully be, that you were driven by your own pain, rather than criminal intent. I do not think, in the normal course of things, that you would have acted thus.”

I left the house, to which I had brought nothing but sadness and despair, shortly afterwards. The horse seemed restless and anxious to be away from that place, and trotted eagerly as I took up the reins.

We were still within the grounds when I heard a single rifle shot, and a remark of Mr. Pargeter’s came back to me: “I am an honourable man from an honourable family.”

The fox, I thought, was safe now.

 

 

Mr. Chen’s Lesson

by Derrick Belanger

After a friendship of well over forty years, I am happy to report that Mr. Holmes still never ceases to amaze me. Though we drifted