The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [195]
Yet I had broached the subject and must continue.
“I happened on my final visit to our friend, Mr Smith, the day before yesterday to notice lurking near the gates of the house a person dressed as a seaman,” I said.
Holmes in answer gave a groan yet louder than any before. It caused me to pause a little before continuing once more, in an altogether less assured manner.
“I considered it my duty, Holmes, to warn Mr Smith’s manservant of the presence of that individual, and to hint in general terms that the fellow might be some sort of burglar intent on the premises.”
Another deep groan greeted this information. Yet more falteringly I resumed.
“This morning, my dear chap, the manservant called to collect from me a quantity of nerve tonic that I had prepared for his master, and he told me that he had surprised just such a mysterious seaman in the grounds of the house last evening and that he had – ”
Here my hesitant account abruptly concluded. Holmes had given vent to yet another appalling groan, and I was able to see, too, that he was holding his body under the bedclothes in an altogether unnaturally stiff position.
A silence fell. In the quiet of the bedroom I could hear distinctly the buzzing of a bluebottle fly beating itself hopelessly against the window panes. At last I spoke again.
“Holmes. My dear old friend. Holmes. Tell me, am I right in my guess? Holmes, are you suffering from the effects of a thorough thrashing?”
Another silence. Once more I became aware of the useless buzzings of the fly upon the pane. Then Holmes answered.
“Yes, Watson, it is as you supposed.”
“But, my dear fellow, this is truly appalling. My action in warning that manservant resulted in your suffering injury. Can you forgive me?”
“The injury I can forgive,” Holmes answered. “The insult I suffered at the hands of that fellow I can forgive you, Watson, as I can forgive the man his unwitting action. But those who were its cause I cannot forgive. They are dangerous men, my friend, and at all costs they must be prevented from wreaking the harm they intend.”
I could not in the light of that answer bring myself to question in the least whether the men to whom Holmes had pointed existed, however keenly I recalled Maltravers Bressingham’s assertion that all was quiet in Illyria.
“Holmes,” I asked instead, “have you then some plan to act against these people?”
“I would be sadly failing in my duty, Watson, had I not taken the most stringent precautions on behalf of the Count Palatine, and I hope you have never found me lacking in that.”
“Indeed I have not.”
“Very well then. During the hours of daylight I think we need not fear too much. They are hardly likely to make an attempt that might easily be thwarted by a handful of honest English passersby. And in any case I have telegraphed the Hertfordshire police and given them a proper warning. But it is tonight, Watson, that I fear.”
“The Count’s last night in England, Holmes, if indeed …”
I bit back the qualifying phrase it had been on the tip of my tongue to add. Common sense dictated that the terrible situation Holmes foresaw was one that could not occur. Yet on many occasions before I had doubted him and he had in the outcome been proved abundantly right. So now I held my peace.
Holmes with difficulty raised himself up in the bed.
“Watson,” he said, “tonight as never before I shall require your active assistance. We must both keep watch. There is no other course open to me. But I fear I myself will be but a poor bruised champion should the affair come to blows. Will you assist me then? Will you bring that old Service revolver of yours and fight once more on the side of justice?”
“I will, Holmes, I will.”
What else could I have said?