The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [38]
“In this pea-souper? You must be mad, Holmes! Why on earth … ?”
“I want to arrive at Grosvenor Square in a certain frame of mind and that only the fog can achieve. If you don’t wish to accompany me by all means stay by your cosy fireside, but if you want to experience one of the strangest adventures you’ve ever put to paper, and I know how you like to jot down these little cases of ours, then put on your hat and greatcoat, your warmest muffler, take your stoutest stick and oh, yes, your service pistol.”
“My pistol, Holmes? Surely you don’t expect to encounter any danger from that pair?”
“It would be wise to prepare for any eventuality.”
I found the next half-hour or so distinctly unpleasant. I flatter myself that I am not a nervous man or highly imaginative, but I seemed to feel the fog crawling on me like ghostly fingers. Lamp-posts stood out like beacons eagerly attained and reluctantly abandoned. The snickerings of leaves along the pavements seemed like the pattering of feet running up behind us. I was obliged to restrain myself from constantly glancing over my shoulder. A hansom looming at us suddenly like a phantom coach as we crossed Oxford Street gave me quite a start.
“Nearly there, Watson,” chuckled Holmes.
“Mayfair seems almost deserted. Every sensible person in indoors.”
Charles Abernetty evinced not the slightest surprise or curiosity at his new acquaintance’s shorn hair and moustache. He greeted us with the same cordiality and drew us to the fire in the small salon.
“How damp your clothes are!” he exclaimed.
“We walked.”
Charles blinked rapidly several times. “Through the fog? How extraordinary!”
“May we please see Lady Abernetty?” requested Holmes, rather tersely.
“Ah, here’s Sabina. Sabie, the gentlemen would like to see Mother now.”
“I’m afraid she’s taking a nap, gentlemen. But rest assured, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, you will meet her this afternoon.”
Miss Abernetty’s face was pale above a gown of maroon merino trimmed with velvet and lace, elegantly draped to a slight bustle. Her manner towards my friend, although distant, was not overtly hostile.
“Shall we play a hand or two while we’re waiting?” suggested Charles.
An expression of annoyance flitted over the detective’s face, but he shrugged and sat down at the table. It was an uncomfortable game in a charged atmosphere. Only Charles seemed determined to make it companionable. I noticed that my friend observed Charles closely. Under the prevailing circumstances, the fellow seemed in unnaturally high spirits.
A knock at the door was followed by the appearance of the tall, gaunt butler.
“What is it, Minter?” asked Charles, peevishly. “I didn’t ring for you.”
“This just came for you by messenger, Sir.” The butler presented a letter on a silver salver.
Charles excused himself and slit open the envelope. “It’s from Randell Burke.”
“One of my brother’s thespian friends,” explained Sabina.
“He’s mislaid his script and wishes to borrow mine. Gentlemen, I’m afraid I shall have to step out for a minute.”
“Oh, Charles, in this weather?” demurred his sister.
“It’s only in Brook Street. A brisk walk will do me good. If our friends can walk from Baker Street I can manage a swift jaunt around the corner. It’s a pity to spoil our game, but there is is.”
Holmes crossed to the bay window and held aside the curtain. Presently we saw Abernetty hurrying past the spiked fence in greatcoat and muffler.
“May we see your mother now?” He turned to Miss Abernetty.
“I’ll see if she’s awake.” She pulled the bell-rope. “Meanwhile, will you take tea?”
“Miss Abernetty, we both know this is not a social occasion, but strictly a business matter. Please allow me to see your mother at once.”
“Mr Holmes,” she came close to him and looked earnestly into his face, “please allow me to apologize for my words of Friday evening. My sister and I have not been on good terms for many years, but it still shocks me that she would hire a detective to spy on us. Are you aware of her motives?