The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [132]
“As you have read,” he continued, “the academic world was outraged and supported Lewis to a man. Edgar’s own career certainly suffered. He was well thought of until the Addleton affair but is now, I believe, a lecturer at a suburban institute.” We returned to our newspapers. Holmes was now into the more popular papers, which he read closely for their reports of crimes and accounts of Police Court proceedings. As he finished one he passed it to me and I was turning to the racing page when a heading caught my eye:
the addleton curse death of eminent archaeologist
I started the article out of idle curiosity, but as I read on I became more engrossed.
“Stamford should read this,” I said, when I had done.
“Really,” said Holmes, in a voice that suggested a total lack of interest.
“Yes,” I persisted. “Do you know what it says here?”
My friend sighed and laid down the Police Gazette. “No doubt you are going to tell me, eh Watson?”
“This article”, I said, “states that the Addleton barrow had been the subject of evil legends as long as anyone can recall. It stood on Addleton Moor, surrounded by many smaller burial mounds. It seems that light falls of snow never covered it and even in the hardest winter the snow always melted on that barrow first. The locals called it the “Black Barrow” because the grass would not grow on it.”
“Watson,” interrupted Holmes, “the grave on which the snow melts soonest and where the grass will not grow is a commonplace of rural legend. Half the country churchyards in Britain claim such a grave.”
“I know,” I said, “but that’s not the interesting part. They say here that after Sir Andrew Lewis opened the barrow the village of Addleton was struck by a strange disease. It’s symptoms were similar to Sir Andrew’s but it was not always fatal. Since then the area has suffered many stillborn children and numbers of deformities. The villagers insist that it resulted from Lewis tampering with the Black Barrow. What do you say to that Holmes?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Sadly, that is not the most reliable of our public prints, but if its report is true then the matter is a singular one. What is your medical opinion, Watson?”
“Perhaps Greedon was right. Maybe Sir Andrew picked up something peculiar during his years in Egypt and passed it on to the people at Addleton. Maybe it’s hereditary. Lewis’s son died of it. It could be that his father acquired the infection before his son’s birth. Perhaps it’s one of those unpleasant diseases that can lie dormant for years and then become active.”
“Perhaps so,” he said. “Watson, be a good fellow and pass me my writing case will you?”
He busied himself with a letter and I believed that the Addleton affair had passed from his mind until he reverted to it at breakfast a couple of days later.
“Do you recall our conversation about the death of Sir Andrew Lewis?” he asked.
“Certainly,” I replied.
Holmes lifted a letter from beside his plate. “The press accounts of the affair excited my curiosity,” he said, “to the extent that I dropped a line to the County Officer of Health.”
“Did you indeed? And what does he have to say?”
Holmes referred to the letter. “While deploring any attempt to suggest that a curse is at work, he confirms that, in the year following Sir Andrew’s excavation of the Black Barrow, the village of Addleton suffered a number of deaths from what appeared to be an obscure form of anaemia and a number of stillbirths and deformed births. He suggests that there is no connection between these misfortunes and the archaeological expedition and that the source of the problem may be some effect of the local water supply.”
“And what do you believe?” I asked.
“My disbelief in curses is only matched by my disbelief in coincidences. Those who have most occasion to be concerned – the people of Addleton – associate their tragedies with Sir Andrew’s excavation. They