The Private Wife Of Sherlock Holmes - Plot & Excerpts
Mr. Holmes said when I presented myself at 221B at five o’clock that afternoon. “A far more impressive ensemble than your guise as Polly the Parlor Maid earlier today.” “You saw me? I did not see you.” “That was my intention.” “Were you the beggar on the pavement?” “No, my dear madam.” “The ‘copper’ at the corner.” “Alas, no. The uniform is too obvious.” “The ragman following the dray wagon!” “Again no, alas.” I huffed out a frustrated breath. “Come,” he said, laughing. “Like Watson, you will be annoyed by how simple all my explanations of wonder are. Mrs. Hudson has prepared an early supper. Sit and tell me of your success.” Like Watson—for I had read several of his scribblings in The Strand magazine, not merely the one that featured me; I am a simple woman, not a diva, offstage—I was easily seduced by good simple food and an excellent bottle of wine into sitting across from the Master and hearing his exploits. “I was the cabbie, of course.
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