Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

We could glean nothing more from him and made our way at once to the Temple. Holmes had expressed surprise when

Dowling said we might be likeliest to find Hugh Abergavenny at his old chambers in King's Bench Walk. "I understood that he had long since ceased to practise at the Bar?"

"That is correct, but he told me he has continued to haunt the place where he first made his reputation. 'The legal world is

a source of the best stories in the world,' he said, 'If one knows where to look. I found many of my neatest plots within the four walls of my old pupil master's room'."

The clerk's office was awash with papers and pink ribbon and I wondered how many of the briefs to counsel spread casually upon the floor contained material suitable for adaptation into tales of villainy and derring-do. Dowling's guess proved to be

accurate and within a couple of minutes a boy was directing us in to a small room at the back of the building.

Hugh Abergavenny had the same beaky nose and build as his brother, but his hair was darker and thinning. I estimated that he was perhaps ten years older than John. He stood up behind a small roll-top desk on which lay a manuscript and came forward to greet us. It was clear from his expression that he was startled by our arrival, but there was no denying the handsomeness of his greeting as he stretched out his hand in welcome. I noticed that his cuffs were frayed, confirmation if it were needed that these days he regarded himself as a writer rather than an advocate.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes! This is a rare honour. I have long devoured your exploits and admired the facility with which Dr Watson here writes them up for publication."

"With some embellishment, I should make clear," Holmes said amiably. "I cannot deny that at times my colleague exaggerates my achievements in the interest of telling a good story."

"As a novelist, I cannot imagine a worthier aim or a better fault."

Holmes indicated the papers on the desk. "Your current work-in-progress?"

Abergavenny hesitated for a moment before a slow grin spread across his face. "Your legendary powers do not let you down, Mr Holmes. Yes, this is my latest novel. I put it into the hands of my literary agent this very week."

"Splendid!" I cried. "I am one of your most faithful readers and it is far too long since you published The Hangman's Cellar. I must confess that I have been hoping that your next book would continue the adventures of your character Alec Salisbury."

The author smiled but shook his head. "I am afraid that Alec was getting a little long in the tooth, which is why I felt the need to try something different. You are too polite to say that my last novel did not set your pulse racing, but the critics were not so diplomatic. The reason for my silence since then is that I have been endeavouring to come up with a story that would keep them, as well as my publishers, happy. It is difficult for a man to judge his own work, but I think I can promise that neither they nor you will be disappointed by The Accusing Skeleton."

"I am delighted to hear it," I said, unable to resist a covetous look at the sheets on the desk. "May I say also, that if by some chance you were willing to let me have an early opportunity to satisfy my hunger for your work, I would be forever in your debt."

He laughed rather nervously and said, "Well, like most authors I am rather superstitious and it is not my normal practice to show my work to third parties until it has finally been accepted for publication. Your words are very kind, though, and I am not immune to compliments, especially from such a quarter. I would be willing to loan you the first chapter for, say, twenty four hours if you wish to see whether it whets your appetite."

"You are most generous!" I said as he gathered a dozen sheets together and passed them to me.

"It is a pleasure to have such a celebrated reader. I await your verdict with bated breath. In the meantime, gentlemen, to what do I owe the privilege of this visit?"

As Holmes outlined the sequence of events that had brought us to the chambers, the smile faded from Hugh Abergavenny's face. He kept shaking his head and when he heard of the incident on Blackfriars Bridge he muttered, "Oh no." By the time Holmes had recounted our brief meeting with John at the office in Essex Street, it was clear that Hugh was deeply moved.

"It is as I feared," he said. "His mental state is severely disturbed."

"I wondered," I said, "about the part that drink may have played in your brother's apparent breakdown."

"You are an acute observer, Dr Watson. I have often suspected that modesty has prevented you from revealing in your narratives the extent to which you have yourself developed a detective's flair." Hugh cast his eyes down for a moment. "John has always had a weakness for alcohol. It can change him into a different person, aggressive, irrational and despondent by turns. His appalling behaviour whilst drunk was the main cause of the estrangement between us, a breach which I have lately been striving to repair. I had heard good reports of him in recent times and they led me to hope that he had turned the corner after accepting the offer of partnership in a sound practice. Sadly, it seems that my optimism was premature."

He shook his head. "Gentlemen, on any other day I would value the chance to spend a few hours in your company and

perhaps to persuade you to discuss some of your unrecorded cases. Who knows? Possibly I could seek to dress them up in the guise of fiction. However, my immediate priorities lie elsewhere. I must try to find John, even if it means trawling through every drinking den in London, and see if I can make him see reason. I owe our late mother nothing less. When I have more news, I shall let Maxwell Dowling and your good selves know. Perhaps I could call at Baker Street tomorrow and see for myself the famous consulting room."

"You will be most welcome," I said warmly. "By then, I shall have read your manuscript. It really is good of you to afford me the opportunity in advance of publication."

Holmes was quiet throughout our journey home and once we had arrived, he sank into a meditative trance. I sensed that he was disturbed by the day's events, but knew better than to trouble him with questions or idle conversation. After dealing with certain correspondence, I decided to amuse myself by turning to the first chapter of Hugh Abergavenny's novel and devoured it within minutes.

"By Jove, Holmes, this is splendid stuff!" Such was my pleasure in the tale that I could not help disturbing his reverie. "It is almost unbearable that I cannot continue reading. The description of the hero's visit to a warehouse in the East End and what he finds there – but no, I must not spoil the story.You must read it for yourself."

Holmes opened his eyes and said languidly, "I am afraid I do not count myself amongst Hugh Abergavenny's devoted admirers. His early books were lively enough, but compared to Collins or even Conway, he seems to favour contrivance ahead of the creation of plausible characters. The later stories are so dependent upon coincidence as to make it impossible to suspend disbelief. As for his hero, I fear that Alec Salisbury makes even Lecoq appear to be a master detective."

"You need not worry," I said, rather stiffly. "As we were told, Salisbury does not appear in this book. It really is rather fine, Holmes. Don't allow your prejudices to cause you to ignore it.

"You are the one who should have taken up the law," my friend remarked. "You are a persuasive spokesman. Very well, pass me the chapter."

He read the first pages of the book in silence and then, before I could ask his reaction, lapsed back into his dream-like state. Suddenly he sat bolt upright.

"I have been obtuse, Watson! Quick, we need to call on the younger Abergavenny at once!"