The Mammoth Book Of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Plot & Excerpts
R. F. KeatingIt was in the early autumn of 1896 that, returning one day from visiting by train a patient in Hertfordshire and being thus in the vicinity of Baker Street, I decided to call on Sherlock Holmes, whom I had not seen for several weeks. I found him, to my dismay, in a sad state. Although it was by now late afternoon he was still in his dressing-gown lounging upon the sofa in our old sitting room, his violin lying on the floor beside him and the air musty with cold tobacco smoke from the neglected pipe left carelessly upon the sofa arm. I glanced at once to the mantelpiece where there lay always that neat morocco case which contained the syringe. It was in its customary place, but, when under pretence of examining the familiar bullet-marked letters “VR” on the wall above, I stepped closer, I saw that it lay upon the envelope of a letter postmarked only two days earlier.“Well, Holmes,” I said, jovially as I could, “I see that your bullet holes of yore are still here.”“It would be strange indeed, Watson, had they disappeared,”
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