Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

Holmes, took the sprig of herb to the window where the light was brightest. He gazed at the stem, then the leaves of the plant, in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. "It is Thymus serpyllum, more commonly known as wild thyme, a mat-forming undershrub, prevalent in dry grassy places, particularly heaths; its flowers possessing rounded heads of a reddish-purple." He lifted the plant to his nostrils. "Quite aromatic." He looked closely at the plant's stalk. "Evidently the plant is Dr Columbine's calling card; he intended it to be so. But let us see if… ah, yes!" said he in a tone suggesting a puzzle solved. "Let us see if the plant tells us a little more than Columbine intended." Taking one of his own calling cards from his pocket, Holmes placed it face down on a small table by the window. Then quickly drawing a Swiss Army knife from his trouser pocket he opened a glittering blade and gently scraped one of the plant's small leaves.

"Mr Holmes, what is it?" asked the professor, anxiously. "What have you found?"

"Just one moment, sir."

"You mentioned the plant occurs on heathland. Then the madman must have plucked it from Hampstead Heath which is across the road from my home."

"Ah, not necessarily, Professor. The plant is yielding a clue to as its origins."

From what I could see, tiny particles had fallen from the leaf when scraped, which peppered the white calling card with black. Holmes peering at these most closely, carefully drew the flat of his penknife blade from left to right across the card.

"In fact," said Holmes crisply. "The plant was taken from alongside the railway track that leads into King's Cross station, which is served by The Great Western Railway company."

"But how… I don't understand." The professor shook his head bemused.

"Professor, you will of course know that locomotives eject not only soot and smoke from the their funnels, but small fragments of unburnt coal. English coal is hard and does not leave any appreciable mark on paper; Welsh coal, however, is quite different. It is very soft and leaves a rich mark when drawn across paper – as richly dark as an artist's charcoal. Here, I see many grit-like particles of coal adhering to the leaves of this plant. This tells me it was plucked close to a railway line. The coal is indeed Welsh – please note the black marks it has left on my calling card. Therefore, I conclude the plant was picked close to the broad gauge track which serves King's Cross station. The Great Western Railway company being the only company to exclusively use Welsh coal to power its locomotives. I'd conclude, therefore, that the unfortunate Dr Columbine lives the life of a vagrant close by the aforementioned railway track."

"Yes," said the professor a trifle dazed. "But what course of action do we take now? How can we find the man?"

Instead of immediately replying, Holmes held up his hand for a moment, which caused both the Professor and I to lean forward expectantly, sensing Holmes had seen something of great relevance within the room. I tried to follow that razor sharp gaze; however, I discerned nothing amiss. Holmes continued briskly: "Leave that to me, Professor. I will alert my contacts and they will search every gin shop, ale house and railway arch until the man is found. Dwarfish, you say, with bushy red hair and sideburns?"

"Yes."

"Come, Watson. There's no time to lose."

The professor was clearly anguished at being abandoned there to the mercy of the madman for yet another night. "But what if he returns tonight?"

"He will not?"

"You can be so sure?"

Yes. "

"How?"

"Explanations must wait until tomorrow."

I'd begun to rise from the sofa when I witnessed a most peculiar thing.

Holmes advanced to the door, as if eager to make his exit.Yet after opening the door to the hallway he abruptly turned volte face and then recrossed the room. Swiftly, silently he picked up The Times newspaper which had been lying on the table, and opened it noiselessly.

The professor from his chair, and I from the sofa, watched in utter bewilderment as Holmes quickly fanned the newspaper so as to separate the pages into a billowing white cloud of loose leaves.

My bewilderment turned to astonishment as Holmes produced a box of safety matches from his pocket, deftly struck one, then applied the brilliantly flaring match head to the corner of the newspaper.

The dry paper caught instantly.

With a look of triumph Holmes flung the burning newspaper into the firegrate where, instantly, the still substantial updraft of air drew the flames, smoke, fiery pages and all up into the cavernous throat of the chimney back.

Professor Hardcastle gaped in astonishment, his hands clutching the arms of his chair so fiercely they shook.

He must have thought my friend quite mad.

Indeed, I, too, began to suspect that world famous brain had begun to suffer the ill-effects of the furiously hot June day, when all of a sudden I heard a terrific scraping and thumping sound.

Not one moment later an object looking very much like a bundle of rags fell heavily from the chimney and into the grating in a splash of sparks and ashes from the still burning newspaper.

Hardly believing my two eyes I witnessed a pair of filthy arms erupt from the rag bundle. Before I could exclaim, an equally filthy pair of hands grasped Sherlock Holmes by the wrists.

"Professor!" called Holmes, wrestling. the creature emerging from the rags. "Now is the time to test your gardener's loyalty. We need his strong arms in here – now!"

Recovering from my astonishment, I rushed to my friend's assistance as he endeavoured to draw forth from the fireplace a hissing, spitting demon of a creature, that kicked wildly with a pair of bare feet, its toes quite ink black with soot.

"Careful, Watson! He has a razor!"

Holmes, bracing his foot against the iron fire grating, gripped the two filthy wrists and pulled hard, taking care so the barber's razor clutched in one evil looking hand did not pare his own flesh.

With a furious roar a head appeared from the flaps of cloth. Beneath a shock of red hair was a white face set with two eyes that burned with the ferocity of lamps.

The creature was more ape than man; nevertheless, I grabbed hold of the madman's collar and Holmes and I together hauled him from the fireplace. All the time he hissed and spat in a way that aroused in me equal portions of amazement and horror.

"Watson, grab the fellow's wrist. Hold it… tightly, man. He'll take off our heads with that razor. There… hold him. Tsk! Careful, this creature bites. Now where is… ah, there he is! Good man!"

The gardener had appeared at the professor's command, and doing as he was bade, held the madman in his own two powerful arms as Holmes and I bound the madman at the feet and wrists with the curtain cords.

There at our feet, writhing, spitting, straining at the chords, his face distorting into fantastical grimaces, lay a tiny man almost a dwarf of a man – with fiery red hair.

Holmes straightened, mastering his respiration. "This is… Dr Columbine."

"Yes…" Professor Hardcastle had not yet recovered from his shock. "Yes… And the man was concealed inside the chimney breast all the while?"

"Indeed he was, Sir, and listening to every conversation within the room. Now, please ask your gardener to summon the police. Oh, Professor, perhaps you would be so kind to allow Clarkson to change back into his own boots, those on his feet are pinching his toes terribly."

Once the police had taken the madman, straitjacketed and cursing, away, Holmes lit a cigarette and explained: "We know the poor demented Dr Columbine was hell bent on exacting

his revenge upon you, Professor. Sadistically, he felt the need to prolong the torture before doing away with your son. So he contrived to hide himself away inside your house, then appear to come and go almost as if he could assume a cloak of invisibility. Accordingly, he'd place such obvious clues as the meteorite and the thyme inside your son's bedroom. You might imagine the madman lying within the chimney breast, laughing silently to himself as he listened to you and your wife's anxious conversations concerning the invisible intruder in this room. He would feast on your fears with nothing less than a vampiric intensity."