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47 pages

English

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London in 1890 is shocked by a series of gruesome murders. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to them, except for their location in the Thames dockland. Scotland Yard is perplexed. Can Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson help before worse follows? And what is really going on? Author Johanna Rieke brings rich and poor in Victorian London realistically to life, as she unfolds for you the surprising story of the Thames Murders, as disaster is averted at the last moment.

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	08 septembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781787056008
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Sherlock Holmes and the Thames Murders
Johanna M. Rieke

First published in 2020 by
MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor
Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2020 Johanna M. Rieke
The right of Johanna M. Rieke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design Brian Belanger

Dedicated to my dear sister, Lisa, who is always there when I need her

My Practice
The interested reader will certainly recall the series of brutal murders in London in the course of 1890. They were a succession of gruesome killings, which were all committed close to the River Thames. By June there had already been five such deaths, yet, apart from the bestiality of the cause of death, there seemed no other connection between them. Scotland Yard had to admit the murders were still a mystery, and was severely under pressure from the more sensation-seeking newspapers. As a result of a barrage of scandalous reporting, many of their readers, already naturally alarmed, were in panic. For my part, although aware of these crimes, I maintained my distance, as I had now for almost a year had my own medical practice in Kensington.
During the adventure that came to be known as “The Sign of Four,” I came to know Mary Morstan better, and as, at the end of the events concerning the Agar treasure, our hearts found their way to one another, I summoned up the courage to ask her hand in marriage. Her agreement made me the happiest man on God’s earth, but the thought of having to leave my quarters in 221b Baker Street naturally weighed heavily upon me.
I well remember the day, as I searched for the appropriate words in which to explain my situation to my friend, Sherlock Holmes. It was late afternoon, as Holmes and I sat quietly smoking in our Baker Street rooms, in front of a roaring fire, with a cup of tea, reading The Times . Unexpectedly, Holmes suddenly turned to me and said, in a firm voice: “My dear Watson, I am quite of your opinion. The practice of the recently deceased Dr. Farquahar in Hornton Street will be ideal for you and your future wife, Miss Morstan.” I looked at my friend in surprise, before asking: “Holmes, how did you know that I had yesterday proposed to Mary, and that she had accepted?”
“Come, Watson,” replied Holmes calmly. “That was not difficult. I had already observed during our adventure of ‘The Sign of Four’ that you had felt very attracted to Miss Morstan. As you then one day brought her picture, in a silver frame, to stand on the small table by your armchair, I already suspected that our days together in Baker Street would one day come to an end. Three weeks ago, you asked me to pass you your cheque book, which had been here in our locked drawer. The next day there was, pressing out your waistcoat watch pocket, a small round object. I saw that you from time to time touched this object gently with your finger. At such moments, when I spoke to you, your thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. I had no doubt that you had purchased an engagement ring for Miss Morstan, and were carrying it with you while awaiting the right moment to propose. Yesterday evening, as you returned from the theatre, you were in in a most relaxed, almost joyous mood, and your pocket had resumed its usual outline. The explanation could only be that you had proposed to Miss Morstan, she had accepted, and the engagement ring is now on her finger.”
I looked at him in amazement. “That is quite correct; it was exactly as you say. But how did you guess that I was interested in the practice in Hornton Street?”
“Not ‘guessed’, my friend, but ‘deduced,’ from the following sequence of facts: “You plan to marry. “You are a doctor, and will therefore intend to earn your living, for your wife and yourself, in your profession. “You were not recently in practice, and have therefore no established patients. “You have only limited financial resources, so it would be preferable to become a partner in an established practice, or, better still, to take over a practice becoming vacant. “During the last week, in the ‘Properties’ column of The Times , the practice and furnished apartment of the deceased Dr. Farquhar has been daily advertised.
As you see, Watson, taking these facts together, the conclusion was that you had found this offer of interest.”
“You have again found your mark, Holmes. But that does not yet explain how you arrived at the conclusion that I had decided to purchase the practice. I had only reached that decision shortly before you spoke to me”.
“That I had also observed, Watson,” replied my friend. “For a week now, you have studied the property advertisements, and each day you had more intensely hung on the Farquahar notice. Today was just the same, but then you forgot your tea, as the full but cold cup beside you shows. Then your hand moved mechanically to your watch pocket, and you looked again at the picture of Miss Morstan. You took the cigarette, which you had only just lit, from your mouth, smiled, and then pressed out the cigarette most energetically in your ashtray. At that moment I knew that you had made your decision. You were, moreover, now ready to tell me about it.” During this account Holmes had barely moved; he sat cross-legged in his armchair, and drew on his pipe, the eyes half closed. In admiration I had to say, “Wonderful, Holmes, you have described it all precisely.” I had to add, a little ruefully, “I am truly sorry that I had not earlier taken you into my confidence.” He smiled for a moment, and then opened his eyes, put down his pipe and stood up energetically. “Now, Watson, we will drink a toast to your new life. In anticipation of this moment, I had asked Mrs. Hudson to chill a bottle of champagne, and to have the glasses ready.”
That was of course characteristic of Holmes. While I was weighing the right words to tell him what I had planned, he had already understood perfectly, and read my every gesture. Now, however, he insisted on reassuring me that I should embark wholeheartedly on my new life, with no fear that our already deep friendship might in any way suffer.
It was clear that I could no longer be involved in his cases, and learned of many of them only afterwards, when I visited him in Baker Street. These visits were, however, all too rare, as my growing practice demanded close attention. I often helped also in evenings, at weekends and in holiday times in St. Bartholomew´s Hospital. The additional income was indeed a necessary help in repaying the purchase of the practice, which was the subject of a contract over some years.
My beloved Mary was a great help to me at this time, which was, at first, difficult. She not only managed the household, but also attended to the accounts and correspondence of the practice. But now was the start of the warmer season, in almost every doctor’s surgery a quieter period. Mary and I would have more time for one another, and I could visit Holmes from time to time. It would not surprise me to discover that he had already solved the Thames murder mystery, and that I could again wonder at his lucid explanations.

A Visit from Lestrade
It was Tuesday, June 3rd, and I had made house visits to patients all morning. The afternoon had been occupied with appointments for patients visiting the practice. It had been a demanding day, and I was looking forward to a quiet evening with Mary. It was nearly five o’clock, and I was preparing my consulting room for the following morning, when there was a knock at the door from our apartment. The door opened discreetly, and Mary looked in. She asked quietly, “John, have you any more patients?”
“No, and there are surely no more today. Is there something wrong?” Mary never entered the practice without good reason. “Inspector Lestrade is here. He wants to speak to you. I fear he looks as if he is really at his wits’ end.”
Inspector Lestrade? Upon my soul, it seemed a long time since I had last seen him. What could have prompted him to visit me? I decided to receive him in the small study adjacent to my consulting room. A moment later I found myself face to face with this man who, in the past, had so often, with Holmes and myself, brought criminals to their just punishments. His features had not changed, being almost rat-like, with cunning eyes, but it did not need a doctor to see that this man was close to total exhaustion.
“Dr. Watson”, he began at once without further introduction, “I would like to be discussing old times, but that is at this moment quite impossible. I come because of the Thames murders.” He had a hunted look as he addressed me. I recalled, how he had in the past often arrived so impetuously in Baker Street, as if he were bringing the next storm with him.
“I am very sorry, Inspector, but I do not see how I can help you. What has Mr. Holmes