The Spider Web (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 4)

by Steven Ehrman

  The Spider Web

  Sherlock Holmes Uncovered

  Steven Ehrman

  Copyright © 2013 Steven Ehrman

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:1493654225

  ISBN-13:978-1493654222

  DEDICATION

  To My Daughters

  DEDICATION

  Works by the Same Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Special Note

  Works by the Same Author

  The Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tales

  The Eccentric Painter

  The Iron Dog

  The Mad Judge

  The Spider Web

  The Lambs Lane Affair

  The Rising Minister

  Robin Hood’s Revenge

  The Spanish Butler

  The Viking General

  Coming Soon:

  The League of Mendacious Men

  The Frank Randall Mysteries

  The Referral Game

  The Visible Suspect

  The Zombie Civilization Saga

  Zombie Civilization: Genesis

  Zombie Civilization: Exodus

  Chapter One

  The hour was growing late as I finished the last of my rounds. My practice had grown to the point of unwieldiness, and I found myself nostalgic for my more carefree days as the companion and aide to Sherlock Holmes. As I wearily climbed into my hansom, I perceived that I was within minutes of 221B Baker Street. I had already given the driver my own address, but I immediately countermanded that order, and instead instructed him to my familiar old haunts.

  I had some little doubt about finding Holmes up at the late hour, but as Holmes was of irregular habits I was sanguine about finding my old friend awake and receiving visitors. As my wife Mary was away visiting her sister, I had little reason to hurry to my own home. The hansom clattered to a halt in front of my old rooms. I opened the door and gazed up, and my heart fairly leapt at seeing the lamp lit on the second floor. I disembarked from the cab and hied up the steps to the house.

  A disheveled Mrs. Hudson answered my ring, and was on the verge of issuing a stern lecture upon proper calling hours, when she recognized me.

  “Why, Dr. Watson,” she cried. “It has been an age since I have seen you, and more is the pity. You were ever a steadying influence on Mr. Holmes.”

  “I take it that he is in?”

  “Aye, he is that, Doctor,” she wryly replied. “The boy has gone home, of course, but I dare say you know the way.”

  I assured her that I did. My fatigue flew away as I ascended the stairs. I hesitated upon the threshold, wondering whether or not to knock, when I heard a familiar voice from within.

  “Pray come in, Doctor. Your visit is most fortuitous.”

  I entered and found Holmes seated in his favorite chair, with a sheaf of papers in his hand. At each side of him, and at his feet, there were additional piles of parchment littered about the floor.

  “I see that your skills at housekeeping have not improved since my departure,” I said, glancing about. “I say, Holmes, how did you know it was me who was calling?”

  “Employ your skills at deduction, Doctor,” he replied blandly. “The answer is obvious.”

  “Of course,” I said, furrowing my brow in concentration. “It was my footsteps on the stairs.”

  “No, Doctor.”

  “Then you heard me talking with Mrs. Hudson.”

  “I did not.”

  “Then it must be my tobacco brand.”

  “Again, incorrect, old friend, but I will spare you from further guessing. I did hear the hansom stop and I was curious as to the visitor at this hour. I looked out the window as you were exiting the vehicle. I could hardly fail to recognize my chronicler, and I awaited your arrival, once you had dispensed with the obligatory conversation with Mrs. Hudson.”

  “Holmes, that was not a deduction,” I protested. “It was mere observation.”

  “But, Watson, I have counseled you many times that deduction is built upon observation. Is that not so?”

  “Of course, it is,” I agreed. “But you always make it appear as if it were a conjurers trick.”

  Holmes merely shrugged, but I saw the glint of a smile upon his face. Holmes shuffled his papers a bit and I studied him. It had been some time since I had seen him, what with my marriage and my expanding practice, and I saw that, for once, the years seemed to tell upon his features. He didn’t precisely look much older, but his face was more drawn, and his skin seemed to be tightly stretched across his face. I shook my head and drove thoughts of Holmes aging from mind. I was certain that the years played out upon my features as well. The march of time spared no man, after all.

  “So, Holmes,” said I. “You said that my coming was fortuitous. I am glad to be welcomed, of course, but could you be more specific.”

  “Willingly, Doctor,” he replied. “As you know, I am not the most garrulous of men, but these papers,” he waved his arms about him, “have made me recall some of the cases of my youth, and who better to share them with than you, Watson.”

  I had smothered a yawn as he finished his statement.

  “But forgive me,” he said. “I can see that you are weary, and no doubt the good Mrs. Watson expects your return. We can talk of this matter later.”

  “No, no,” I protested. “I assure you that I am quite alert, Holmes. You know full well that I have an interest in the backlog of your cases before we made our mutual acquaintance. Mary is away and I am all yours.”

  “Are you certain, Doctor? I am feeling somewhat loquacious this evening and it is possible that I will keep you into the small hours.”

  “Then all the more reason to begin quickly, Holmes,” said I. “Pray enlighten me with whatever of your old cases that you wish to discuss.”

  “And therein lies the problem,” he stated. “I have awakened some old memories, Doctor. Which one will I expound upon?”

  “Really, Holmes,” I said, with growing impatience. “I begin to recall just how childish you can be when you put your mind to it.”

  “Childish?” he asked with feigned astonishment. “That hardly seems likely, my dear Watson.”

  “To the contrary, my dear friend, it is well within the character and habits of the great Sherlock Holmes,” I said, with a laugh. “Your adoring public sees you as a man of pure intellect, but your intimates know you to have a nature that is irascible and analytical by turns.”

  “Watson, I find that I have exasperated you, and I apologize. I spoke the truth however, when I lamented the many cases that lay fallow here about me. Some of them still cannot be told unfortunately, but a good many demonstrate the beginnings, and growth, of my powers of deduction.”

  “Do you mean to say that before you began your profession as a consulting detective your powers were somewhat less than they are presently?” I asked. I was a bit startled at this dash of modesty from my friend
.

  “Ah, Watson, you must admit that every man was once an infant. Even a great sprinter was once a tyro who first crawled.”

  The recollection of his triumphs, and perhaps even defeats, of his early days seemed to cause Holmes to become almost wistful.

  “How is it, Holmes, that crime found you even in the days of your obscurity as a detective?” I asked. “I understand that after your first small successes that the authorities found it useful to call upon your skills, but I have often wondered how those skills came to be employed in the first place.”

  Holmes leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands upon his chest. His eyes became hooded and he appeared to have lost interest in our conversation, but I knew well that that posture was a sign of intense thought on the part of the great detective.

  “It is a question that I have asked myself, of course, Doctor,” he replied at last. “As I found my interest in crime growing, I scoured the papers for examples upon which to task myself with. I haunted many crime scenes, and found myself underfoot of the authorities more than once. They assumed me to be one of those fellows who have a prurient interest in the morbid side of society, and paid me no mind.”

  I pictured my friend as a youth, hovering on the edges of a crime scene in the company of street loungers and idlers, and a smile stole across my lips. If the police had realized that the most capable detective in all of London was at their disposal, they would have happily made use of his skills.

  “And yet,” he continued, “I was able to utilize those experiences to hone my skills. I followed the cases as closely as possible through the papers, and usually found my own deductions were born out through the arrest of the culprit that I had previously identified.”

  “But surely, Holmes, at times guilty men went free from your lack of official involvement,” I cried.

  “That is likely true, Watson, and it is a heavy burden, but I am not Atlas, and I cannot carry the world astride my shoulders.”

  “Of course not, Holmes. It simply occurs to me that you do have a great responsibility with your powers. So that was how your deductions skills were nourished. As an observer of crime you gradually became the master of solving said crime.”

  “Not entirely, Doctor. Oft times crime seemed to find me. Indeed in my early days, before you began chronicling my slight adventures, I became involved in crime on a purely involuntary basis.”

  “Then it is the case that the fates played a role in your vocation.”

  “Only in the development of it,” corrected Holmes. “I had already deemed that I was suited only for a life as a detective, but is it true that serendipity played a small part.”

  “Then let the fates decide this question, Holmes,” I urged. “Simply pick a case at random from those that are strewn about the floor, and enlighten me upon whichever one is chosen.”

  Holmes smiled at this admonition from me, but he appeared to be considering it. He cast his eyes about his papers, when I noticed a small spider crawling across the floor in front of the fireplace. I grabbed a convenient newspaper and made as if to smash it, when Holmes stayed my hand.

  “Please, Doctor, our small friend there is doing no harm. I pray you let him be on his way.”

  I reluctantly followed my friend’s request and watched as the small arachnid disappeared underneath a bookshelf. I had a singular distaste for spiders, but as the rooms now belonged to Holmes alone, it was not my business. As such, I felt I should not gainsay him for his small eccentricity.

  “Ah, but fate has indeed lent a hand, Doctor,” said he, as he began leafing through his papers with an undisguised eagerness.

  I attempted to question him as he went about this, but he would not be drawn out. No sooner had he picked up a pile of papers before he cast it to the floor in a maddening display of slovenly behavior. After a few minutes of this activity he finally seemed to come upon that for which he was searching. With a satisfied manner he relaxed back into the cushions of his chair.

  “Here is a pretty little mystery, Watson,” said he. “It took place at Hardwick Manor.”

  “Indeed, Holmes,” said I. “I am all attention, but just how did the spider play a role in choosing this particular case?”

  “Because you see, my dear Watson,” he said with a mischievous smile. “The manor house was known as The Spider Web.”

  Chapter Two

  I must admit I felt a small shiver run through my body. I was in the comfort of my old Baker Street lodgings, of course, but the words of Holmes were macabre and chilling.

  “What an odd name for a manor house, Holmes,” said I. “I suppose there is a story behind that as well.”

  “Indeed there is, Doctor,” said Holmes. “In fact, it is all tied together with the crime. Shall I tell you of it?”

  “I should be most disappointed if you didn’t, Holmes,” I fairly cried. “Pray tell me the story, and leave out no detail however small.”

  Holmes smiled somewhat at my slight aping of his manner. He leaned back into his chair and placed his fingertips together in front of his chest.

  It all began like this, Doctor,” he said dreamily

  I settled myself back, as he began his tale.

  I was not the most congenial fellow in my youth and in my university days I made few friends. I was busy with my studies and with my experiments, so I felt no great loss at the lack of companionship. My only sporting activity was boxing, and it was there that I met Percy Hardwick. He was a man of medium height with dark hair and a square chin.

  I was shadow boxing one day when young Hardwick approached me and asked if I cared to spar with him. I was agreeable to his suggestion, as we were both in the lightweight classification, and we began.

  It was soon apparent that Hardwick was a neophyte at the sport of the Queensbury rules, as I gave him a complete going over at that first meeting. However, the lad was not one to shy away from a challenge and we became friendly over our weekly bouts. I remained the superior boxer, but he held his own more often, and eventually gained the expertise necessary to slip a jab over my guard occasionally. Still most of our sessions ended with him somewhat bloodied about the face.

  As we were sitting one day after a bout toweling off, I gently suggested to Percy that perhaps the sport of boxing was not the best method of exercise for him. While he and I were of the same approximate weight, I was more heavily muscled while still wiry in appearance.

  “But, Holmes, I am getting better,” protested he.

  “I would say though that your lessons are causing physical discomfort that I do not enjoy inflicting.”

  “Ah, but what is experience without adversity?” he asked, and then answered himself. “Why, the lesson is not worth a thin dime without adversity. That’s my motto.”

  “You never mentioned that you had been to America,” I said.

  Percy’s astonishment was plain on his face.

  “What do you mean, Holmes?”

  “Only that the phrase “thin dime” is a thoroughly American idiom. As easily as it rolled off of your tongue, it is a reasonable deduction that you came by it through personal experience. Hence, you have spent time in America.”

  “Why, that is splendid, old chap,” he cried. “I had thought there was no trace of my tramp through the colonial lands, but it is true I spent some part of one summer on the American Eastern seaboard. What a wonder you are, Holmes.”

  I smiled at his admiration of my burgeoning deduction skills. I had already deemed that detection would be my trade, and I was in the process of developing my methods of observation. I shared a few small deductions with him over the months, and was always gratified at his astonishment at what were in actuality, mere trifles.

  As the school holiday approached we had become firm acquaintances, if not fast friends, so I was not completely surprised when he asked me if I would join his family over the holiday. I was a poor lad myself, and had already been prepared to spend a lonely holiday by myself whilst others scattered across England to t
heir loved ones.

  “What say you, Holmes?” he asked.

  “I hesitate to intrude upon your family,” I said. “And it was my understanding that your parents were deceased. Of what family do you speak?”

  “Well as to that, Holmes, I must confess that the word family may be stretching the point. You are correct in that my parents are deceased, but I am related to Sir John Hardwick by way of our fathers.”

  “Indeed,” I said.

  “Yes, and it is most fortuitous for me that I am. I haven’t a farthing to my own name, Holmes, and when I discovered my antecedents several years ago, I wrote Sir John. He invited me to his estate, and he has practically adopted me as a member of his immediate family.”

  “He must be a kind and generous man.”

  “Oh, he is that. He’s a jolly old boy. He never married himself, although they say he is still pining over a lost love, and since he has no issue, he likes to surround himself with his more distant relations. I have become his secretary of sorts, when I am not at my studies, and he has given me a small allowance that provides all that I need. He has been very good to a lad, who is in reality a very distant relation.”

  “Was not Sir John an explorer in his younger days?” I asked.

  “He had done a bit of everything to hear him explain it, but it was his days exploring Africa that earned him his knighthood. He discovered a river that had been there for thousands of years, and named it for the crown. Where this river begins and where it ends, I could not tell you, but I daresay that Sir John will, if prompted. He is writing a book about his travels. In fact that is the task that takes up most of his time these days.”

  “He sounds like a splendid host for our holiday,” I asserted. “You say there are other relations about the household.”

  “There certainly are, Holmes,” said he. “All of the greedy relatives are present.”

  “Surely not,” I exclaimed. “Do you mean Sir John is under siege from grasping relations?”