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

of those techniques in assaulting Chen. Clearly he knew how to counter boxing, but would he be able to foresee my movements if I mixed my styles and used boxing with some hand motions of fencing and stick fighting?

“I decided to fight nonstop for the remaining minutes, and I went on full offensive. I did not let up at all. I tried tripping him up, hitting pressure points, even wrapping my arms around him to pull him to the floor . . . but it was to no avail, Watson. Every move I made he foresaw. It was one of the few times in my life when I met a person who seemed to have a gift for second sight, like what you and others accuse me of having. However, like myself, Chen simply used logic to counter my every move. After being sent crashing to the floor a good half-dozen more times, I sprang to my feet from the ground, but my legs buckled. I had to grab a chair for support, and as I clutched the fabric on the top rail, I eyed the timer and saw that the sand had reached the bottom of the glass. Indeed, I noted that it had some time ago.

“‘Mr. Chen,’ I carefully said, slowly turning my face towards the man. ‘We had an agreement.’

“Chen stood now with his back to the doorway. His deerstalker still neatly adorned his head and his flowing inverness rested over him. He was maintaining a relaxed pose, with his hands at his side and feet solidly on the ground, shoulder width apart.

“Looking at him, I saw how much I had failed in my task. Not once did I connect with Chen. He looked as composed as he did when he entered my domicile fifteen minutes prior. I searched for the words to say something, and as I did, Chen took out his pad of paper, wrote a note, and this time carefully tore the paper out of the binding. The note fell to the floor and Chen gave a slight bow to me, opened the door, and disappeared into the hallway.

“My brain was still trying to catch up with what had occurred, and so it took me a minute or so to pick up the note left on the floor.”

Holmes paused in his narrative to take the final swig of his brandy.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, Holmes,” I begged, for I knew when Holmes paused and got lost in his head, it could take minutes for him to return to the present. Holmes beamed, happy to see his tale had captivated its audience.

“The note read,” Holmes explained. “‘Scotland Yard in one hour. Clean yourself up.’”

“Of course,” I chuckled gleefully picturing Holmes after taking his lumps. “I’m sure your hair was disheveled and your clothing unkempt after all those falls.”

“It wasn’t just that, Watson. No, my ego was bruised far more than the physical assault to my body, for after reading the note, I glanced at the mirror which hung to the left of the hearth.

“When I saw my reflection, it was more ghastly than I imagined, for besides the mess of my clothing and bruises upon my visage, my body, from the scalp down to the toes, was covered in small spots of soot.”

“Small spots?” I inquired. “You mean from when Chen tossed you to the ground?”

“No, Watson. These were precise hits to my body, or perhaps I should say taps to my body. You have seen me practice some fighting forms?”

I thought of the strange ways Holmes contorted his body which he referred to as exercise and nodded my head.

“Chen did the same. There are several forms of combat which imitate wild animals.” Holmes held up his left hand and beaked his fingers and thumbs together. “Some strike like the beak of a condor,” he explained, then shifted his hand so his fingers were curled and the base of his palm was exposed. “Some strike like the claw of a tiger, or even the mythical dragon.”

“I always wondered what you were about Holmes. Now, this makes sense. But imitating animals – is it really as effective as an uppercut to the jaw?”

“Just as effective. At times, even more so. Chen used his fingers and palm to show me what he could have done to me, for as I examined my body, I saw that Chen had left marks on all of my most debilitating pressure points. Soot was upon my upper lip, at my kidney and liver. Even my nerve points on my arms, legs, and feet had dust markings. Other points along my front and back as well. The man had shown me that, had he the desire, he could have incapacitated me in seconds, or taken my life, had he made that choice.”

“My word. The man sounds almost superhuman.”

“Not in the least, Watson, for as I said, he used his physical capabilities to the extent that I use my mental ones. Everything he did was based on knowledge, skill, and precision. I admit that I was impressed, even in awe of the man.”

“And what did you do next, dear fellow?” I asked.

The detective gave a wry grin and played Devil’s Advocate. “Well, what do you think I did?”

“Holmes, you are stubborn and hate to concede when you have made a mistake,” I started, my voice filled with gaiety and having fun at my friend’s expense. “You are also proud, and your pride had not only been bruised, but fully beaten.”

Holmes let out a guffaw at my description. “Bravo!” he called out while his body shook with merriment. “You know me well, old friend.”

“And yet,” I beamed, “You are most surely a man of honor and respect. Therefore, I must conclude that even though you loathed your duty, you cleaned yourself up, went