| After finishing our chore, we took a cab to my office, and loaded it with the boxes which contained my accounts. We arrived back at Baker Street a little before three. We decided to skip lunch, dinner not being that far off. "It should not be much longer until Holmes returns," I comforted, noticing that she was peering out the window to the street below. "I believe you are beginning to know me too well, Watson," she smiled. Unable to refrain, and feeling quite comfortable in her presence after having spent the entire day together, I casually moved to join her by the window, then took her hand in mine to advise, "Please, Miss Trioni, you must give him the credit which he deserves. Although your intentions are good, I fear you may offend him, if he thinks that you lack confidence in his ability to look after himself." She smiled warmly at my candor, and with equal earnest she replied, "I am well-aware of his abilities, Watson. It is his weaknesses which worry me, few as they may be." I returned her smile, and gently squeezed her hand in reassurance, then I encouraged, "Come. Let us spend the time constructively. We can begin organizing my accounts while we wait." "A very good suggestion, Watson," she offered, visibly thankful for my efforts. We moved to the table and proceeded to work through the first of the four boxes which we had transported from my office. Ironically, I was somewhat grateful for the poor state my accounts were in, as it caused the time to pass more swiftly. At approximately a quarter past five, Holmes entered the drawing room. Looking up from my papers, I noted that he appeared rather worn about the edges. "Good evening," he offered. He fell into his chair, not bothering to remove his disguise. "Good evening," we each replied in return. "Any luck, Holmes?," I asked, moving to sit upon the settee. Miss Trioni gathered my papers together and quickly returned them to their box, then joined us, sitting in the chair opposite Holmes. "I spent the entire day waiting, but to no avail," he sighed. "What happened, Mr. Holmes?," she encouraged, sitting nearer the edge of her seat. Noting her eagerness, Holmes forced himself to put aside his thoughts and briefly explained, "I was able to find the two men whose acquaintance I made yesterday afternoon quite easily. I watched them for several hours, unnoticed. As chance would have it, they did make contact with their employer today. However, I have no way of knowing what transpired." He spat the words out, annoyed by their taste upon his tongue. "How is that possible?," I asked in confusion. "Could you not get close enough to hear?" "That is the problem!," he answered with open annoyance. "Nothing was said! A note was passed to a flower girl who, in turn, passed it to a driver, who handed it to his passenger. The shutters on the carriage were closed, and so, I have no clue as to the passenger's identity. He is, however, a link further up in the chain, if not the main player. I am convinced of that much, having seen him dispense his instructions back to the roughs through the same progression. I waited for some time in the hope that one of the men would be careless enough to toss the reply away. However, he made use of it to light his cigarette. By the time I was able to get to it, only ash remained." Holmes paused briefly, replaying the events in his mind, then swore, "Damn it all!" "Holmes...," I cautioned, nodding towards Miss Trioni. Realizing his mistake, he quickly offered, "Oh, excuse me, Miss Trioni. But, to be so close and yet so far...it really does try my patience." "Not at all, Mr. Holmes. I quite agree," she assured. She briefly considered her thoughts, then quietly continued, "I know it will not solve any of the problems at hand. However, perhaps it would help if you remove your disguise and have something to eat. I observed you neglected to do so before leaving this morning, and I doubt if you had the chance all day." "Food is the furthest thing from my mind," he offered in earnest. "And yet, an engine cannot run without fuel. Please, humour me, Mr. Holmes?," she urged. He looked into her eyes. Noting her gentle smile, he could not refuse her. "Very well," he sighed. "I will just go see if our meal is ready," she offered, then she hurried to do as she had stated. When she had closed the door, I took the liberty of relaying her progress to Holmes while he removed his makeup and changed back into his own persona. I told him of her conclusions, and cautioned him with respect to my own. "Is it possible that Kemp has escaped, and word of it has not yet reached us?," I asked, fearing his answer. "It is possible," he admitted solemnly. "I will make the necessary inquiries in the morning. However, until we know anything for certain, do not alarm Miss Trioni." "I agree, Holmes," I offered in earnest. "She is already worried enough as it is." "Is she?," he asked with a faint smile. The thought seemed to give him some consolation. His reaction lessened my brief regret for having slipped with my words. |
| As we ate our dinner, I noticed that Miss Trioni seemed a bit preoccupied. She was planning something...I was sure of it. However, I had not the slightest clue as to what it was. When we had finished, Mrs. Hudson cleared away our dishes, refusing any help. "You have spoiled me enough for one day," she warned with a smile. "Now, just you stay put for a change, Miss." "As you wish, Mrs. Hudson," Miss Trioni allowed. She rose from the table, as did I, and moved to sit by the fire. Holmes also rose and moved to join us, but he was visibly slow in doing so. He stretched out his arms in an effort to relieve the cramping he felt in his shoulders, and lightly explained, "It is not a small task to remain bent over a metal cup all day." "Perhaps you would enjoy another massage?," Miss Trioni offered. The thought of it visibly enticed him, despite his efforts to hide his smile. "I certainly would, if you would not think me taking advantage of your kindness," he admitted. "Then go and take your bath, and when you are finished, I will be waiting," she allowed. "I believe that you have earned the full treatment." Her words caused him to ponder the possibilities. "Watson, perhaps you would care to observe," Holmes urged me with his eyes. "Her method is quite...therapeutic." Although he had not told me of his previous night's experience, I easily surmised it for myself from their conversation. I knew, instinctively, the true reason for his eagerness that I remain present. He was, no doubt, concerned with losing his control...a fact which I found a bit worrying, myself. Therefore, I readily agreed, "Yes, I would like to stay, if I would not be in the way, Miss Trioni." "Splendid," she happily declared. She continued to offer, "Would you like to experience the effects firsthand, or..." "I believe it will suffice for me to watch," I hurried to explain, not willing to put myself in Holmes' position. "As you wish," she allowed with a smile. Turning again to Holmes, she encouraged, "Well? Go on, Mr. Holmes." He broke his stare, and moved quickly to the lavatory. "And, be sure not to fall asleep in the tub!," she called after him. Nothing could have been a more remote possibility, for the idea alone of her touch had brought him back to life. After hearing the lavatory door close, she rose from her chair and asked, "Watson, would you be so kind as to bring me some candles, and that Bunsen burner I observed by Mr. Holmes' laboratory? Oh, and by any chance, might we have any herbal tea in the house?" "I could ask Mrs. Hudson." I offered. "Yes, please do," she encouraged. "However, if she does not have any, I believe I may have some which we can use." She paused in her instructions. Thinking out loud, she noted, "You know, it might be best if we use this room. Mr. Holmes may not be able to move when I have finished. Here, help me to move this settee. We can use the cushions as a mattress upon the hearth rug." I did as she had requested, and watched with some amazement at her precise attention to detail. "Now, if you will go for the candles and the tea, I will go for the other things which I shall need," she advised. She left the room, and I moved to my desk to look for the candles. Leaving them upon the table beside the Bunsen burner, I went to the kitchen to complete my assignment. I returned several minutes later with a pot of hot water. However, there had been no herbal tea. Upon re-entering the room, I was surprised to find that its entire mood had been changed. The lighting was very low, several candles and the fire providing most of it, and the faint smell of incense hung in the air, despite the fact that all three windows were fully open. Miss Trioni sat at the table, heating something over the burner. "My goodness, I am impressed already," I offered in earnest. "Thank you, Watson," she smiled. "Did you find any tea?" "Nothing of the herbal variety, I am afraid," I explained. "Never mind. We will make due with this, then," she advised. She offered a tin to me, which I opened. After smelling the aroma of its contents, I asked, "Ginseng?" "Very good, Watson," she smiled approvingly. I wondered if she knew all of the root's effects. As a doctor, I knew that it was often used as an aphrodisiac. "Make it very weak, Watson," she instructed. "If brewed too strong, it will over-invigorate him. We want him to relax, not become more nervous." I decided that she was not aware of my knowledge, and, most likely, did not know of the other benefits attributed to the herb. "Where shall I put it?," I asked, not wishing to disturb the perfect arrangement of the room. "On the floor, beside the cushions," she answered. As I did so, I noticed that she had arranged them in such a way as to form a makeshift mattress, as she had suggested. I wondered if Holmes was prepared for the fate which I perceived lay before him. Just then, I turned to see her rise from the table, and I noticed that she had also changed. Instead of the concealing calico dress, she was wearing some sort of Oriental garb. The garment was made of grey silk, and seemed to allow her more ease of movement. She carried the burner with her, and the liquid which she had used it to heat. Placing them both on the floor beside the tea, she stated, "I believe we are ready to begin now. Please, Watson, do sit down." She motioned to the chair behind me. I sat in the shadows and waited anxiously to view Holmes' reaction. A few moments later, he entered the room. He stopped abruptly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He had taken the added precaution of wearing trousers and a shirt beneath his dressing gown. Yet, he still felt most unsure. She moved to his side and took his arm to guide him with the encouragement, "This way, please, Mr. Holmes." Upon seeing her and his surroundings, Holmes hesitated and called, "Watson?" "I am here, Holmes," I assured with a slight smile. With that knowledge, he allowed himself to continue. Standing near the cushions on the floor, she offered a cup of tea to him and requested, "Drink this, please." He inhaled it briefly, then did as she had asked, too captivated by her to notice the aroma or flavour of the beverage. She retrieved the cup and set it next to the pot on the floor, then turned to him again and offered, "Now, Mr. Holmes, I must ask that you remove your dressing gown and your shirt. Then lie face down upon the cushions." Holmes was doubly grateful for the candlelight as he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. He turned his back towards her and followed her directions, then she knelt upon the floor at his side. She moved his arms to a comfortable position by placing one of his hands to either side of his head, then she stated, "I am ready to begin now, Watson. If you have any questions, please, do not hesitate to ask. And, Mr. Holmes...if at any time you wish for me to stop, or if you prefer a lighter or stronger touch, please, tell me so. The whole objective here is to please you." Holmes swallowed hard and replied, "Thank you, Miss Trioni, I shall." That having been said, she began her massage of his shoulders. At the first touch of her hands upon his skin, Holmes became aware of the predicament in which he truly was bound. He thanked himself for having had the foresight to ensure that they were not alone. Steadily, she moved down his back, covering every inch of it with her hands. She manipulated every muscle of his upper body with expert ability and control. The soothing effects of the tea began to be felt, and he allowed himself to relax. She reached with one hand for the liquid which she had taken such care in preparing, but continued to gently massage his back with the other as she explained, "Now, Mr. Holmes, you will feel a warm sensation, but please, do not be alarmed." She briefly stopped her efforts to pour some of the liquid into her cupped palm, and I observed from its viscosity that it was some type of oil. After bathing both of her hands in it liberally, she again resumed her massage. The feel of her touch, coupled with the slipperiness of the oil, was nearly too much for Holmes to bear. "Watson is watching. He is only three feet away," he told himself, over and over, but it made no difference. He could not control his passion. Quite frankly, it was too new. He gripped the cushion beneath him, and tried not to think of the way she looked in the grey silk gown, or the smell of her skin. Seeing the whites of his knuckles and noting his muscles tense, she reassured, "Relax, Mr. Holmes." She placed her hands over his to encourage his release. As she did so, the silk of her sleeve brushed lightly against his arm. Holmes released the cushion and, without thought, took hold of her hands, not wishing for her to remove them. "I cannot continue like this," she whispered softly into his ear. She was so close, he could feel her breath upon his skin. Reluctantly, he released her hands, and she resumed her efforts. She continued to work the muscles that now glistened in the flickering light, then offered, "You see, Watson, the effects of the warm oil when used in conjunction with the massage. It enables me to move my hands more freely, and to feel with more accuracy which muscles remain tensed." Holmes looked in my direction, and silently begged me to intervene. Taking pity on his dilemma, I asked, "Tell me, Miss Trioni, where did you acquire your skills?" He smiled, relieved to hear my voice, it reminding him of my presence. Then he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift. "They were taught to me by Mrs. Chow," she explained. "The wife of the Oriental gentleman who gave me the pearls. She was quite an expert in Oriental massage therapy. I remember her telling me what a benefit Mr. Chow had found her abilities to be, especially when he was in poor spirits. I was grateful to learn what I could. The knowledge has proven to be invaluable to me on those occasions when I have overexerted myself." "Then, the lighting, the incense, the tea...they are all part of "the treatment", as you called it?," I encouraged. "Exactly, Watson," she replied. "Even the garments which I am wearing have been designed to allow me more freedom of movement. However, I must admit, I have never really done this before." "Surely, Miss Trioni, you jest," I offered with surprise and a slight chuckle. "You seem to be quite an expert, yourself." She smiled softly and returned, "I admit, I did take great care to make note of Mrs. Chow's teachings. However, aside from myself and my father, I have never had the opportunity to explore them. Even now, there are some parts of the treatment which I have omitted." "Pray tell, what are they?," I asked, not realizing the possible results which my inquiry might cause. She smiled a bit more fully and allowed, "Let us just say that they should only be enjoyed by two who are joined in marriage." The colour rose in my cheeks then, and I was grateful for the dim lighting. Again, I noticed Holmes swallowing hard, unable to fully hide his desire. Thankfully, she was so involved in her efforts, she did not note either of our reactions. Instead, she continued to ask, "Mr. Holmes, I am curious. Are you enjoying my efforts? Is there anything that you would have me change? I would greatly appreciate your input." Holmes breathed deeply to clear his mind, then quietly offered, "You are doing remarkably well, Miss Trioni." It was as much as he could say. "I have observed that several of your vertebrae appear to be slightly misaligned," she noted, "no doubt, from the position in which you were forced to stand today." She paused briefly, then asked, "Can you see them, Watson?," as she pointed to an area of his back. "I am afraid I can not," I answered. "Give me your hand, then, and I will show you," she offered. "No, thank you, Miss Trioni. I will take your word for it," I declined, not wishing to intrude on the pleasure which my friend was so obviously experiencing. She did not reply to my refusal, her attentions being more focused on Holmes' back. Instead, she asked, "If you would allow me, Mr. Holmes, I would like to attempt to correct this." "I am at your disposal," Holmes offered. He meant it more than she knew. "Thank you for your confidence," she replied happily. "Now, please...just relax." Without hesitation, she quickly moved to straddle his form while still kneeling. As she did so, I realized that the gown she wore was not really a gown at all. What I had perceived to be a skirt was, in fact, extremely loose-fitting trousers, beneath a tunic. She proceeded to place both of her hands at the small of his back, then slowly moved them forward, towards the base of his skull, and then back again. She did this several times, each time with a bit more force. As she moved, Holmes could feel the silk of her garments brush against his bare sides. He turned his head, no longer willing or able to face me. She moved slightly forward in her position. He felt the muscles of her inner thighs flex against his ribs, and thought he would go mad. She placed her hands at the center of his back. Then, spreading her fingers, she pushed downward with all her strength. There was an audible "crack", combined with the soft moan which escaped from Holmes' lips in his relief. She continued her massage for several more minutes, running her fingers gently along his spine, then she asked, "Is that better?" Holmes made no reply. She moved to view his face and found that he was fast asleep. Smiling up at me, she whispered, "It would appear I have succeeded." She rose from his form and took up the teapot and burner from the floor to place them upon the table. After extinguishing the candles, she motioned for me to follow her into the hallway. "Hopefully, he will sleep until morning," she whispered once outside the door. "I shall be greatly surprised if he does not," I admitted. She smiled happily at my statement. Then, a bit more seriously, she asked, "Watson, I would like to ask your opinion of an idea I had earlier, during dinner. May we speak in your room? I would prefer that no one overhear us." She looked at the door, not certain of Holmes' limitations. "I doubt he would hear if the whole house fell in," I advised with a smile. "But, as you wish, Miss Trioni." I motioned for her to lead the way up the stairs to my bedroom, which she did. When we arrived there, she proceeded to tell me of her plan. At first, I was sorely opposed to it. However, she did her best to sway my opinion. "I only ask that you give it some thought, Watson," she urged. "Sleep on it, if you will. I shall present the matter to Mr. Holmes for his consideration in the morning. Hopefully, he will agree. However, if he does not, the deciding vote will then rest with you. Knowing that you have had enough time to consider the possibilities, I will abide by your decision." "Very well, Miss Trioni," I reluctantly agreed. "But, you must give me your word not to do anything before morning," I cautioned sternly. "I promise, Watson. Good night, my friend," she smiled happily. She kissed my cheek and hurried out of my room. After closing the door, I laid upon my bed and began what would prove to be an impossible attempt to reach a decision. The truth of the arguments which she had presented in favour of her plan plagued me. Indeed, had she not been a woman, I would not have had nearly as many concerns. Perhaps, as she had accused me, I was being too cautious. Finally, my efforts to reconcile my conscience gave way to exhaustion, and sleep came. |
| CHAPTER ELEVEN Although my sleep had been disturbed, I managed to rise early the next morning. I entered the drawing room to find Holmes pacing, to and fro, in front of his bedroom door. "Good morning, Holmes," I offered cautiously. "It could be, Watson, if I am ever allowed to begin it," he spat. "What is wrong, old man?," I encouraged. He stopped pacing to face me and, with visible annoyance, explained, "My clothing...my makeup...everything I need to get ready for today's adventure lies on the other side of this door. I meant to remove them last night, after my bath. However..." He paused briefly to consider his words. With great discretion, he continued, "My thoughts were interrupted." "Has Miss Trioni risen yet?," I asked. "I have been listening for any indication that she has, but I fear there has been nothing but silence," he explained. "Perhaps you should knock, then," I suggested. He looked at me and smiled sheepishly as he reminded, "Watson, after man-handling her last night, I do not wish to disturb her rest this morning. I am tempted to enter while she sleeps, just to gather what I need. However, if she wakes to find me in her bedroom, she may not be so understanding." "Allow me to wake her, then, Holmes," I offered with some amusement at his dilemma. "She will not bear me any grudge." He smiled happily for my assistance. I moved to the door and tapped lightly upon it. There was no reply. "Miss Trioni," I called. I turned the knob and slowly opened the door a crack. Still, no sound came from the other side. I continued to open the door more fully, and was somewhat relieved to find the bed empty. "She must be in the lavatory," I whispered to Holmes. He peered into the room, and observed, "Then, I shall take what I need, and she need not be bothered." He moved to his wardrobe and began picking thought the rags which he kept for just such occasions. I joined him without thought and watched his efforts. Slowly, I became aware of the sound of a woman's voice. At first, it was very muffled, then it became a bit more audible. Miss Trioni was apparently humming while she bathed in the adjoining room. "Holmes...listen," I whispered. He moved his head out of the wardrobe to do so, and was instantly paralyzed when he heard the sound. He stared at the lavatory door, no doubt, trying to picture the scene within in his mind. He smiled with some amusement when he recognized the tune that she hummed, for it was the same melody which he had played for her, three nights prior. Holmes moved back to his task, yet I noticed him straining to still hear her voice. I was so engrossed in the sound that I did not even notice as it grew a bit louder. Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Miss Trioni...wearing nothing, save a large towel. The towel ended just above her knees, leaving her shapely legs half-exposed, and the rest to our very ample imaginations. Her head was bent down forward and covered by another towel, with which she was drying her hair. In this position, she moved towards the bed, totally oblivious to our presence. Holmes and I both remained completely frozen. As hard as I tried, I could not bring myself to look away from her. Removing the towel from around her head, she flung her long, dark hair to her back, leaving her shoulders, which still glistened with moisture, fully exposed to our view. The sight of her, standing there before us, caused Holmes to drop one of the shoes which he had been holding. Hearing it fall, she quickly turned to face us. She reached for her dressing gown and held it to her form, obstructing our view as she demanded, "Mr. Holmes! Watson! What is the meaning of this?!" The colour rose in her cheeks as she spoke, and I am sure mine did, as well. However, her attempt to hide behind her dressing gown was quite futile, since we had already freely gazed upon her form. "Forgive us, Miss Trioni," I offered, breaking my trance. "We meant no harm. We were only gathering a few things." I tried my best to look into her eyes and avoid the rest of her as I spoke. Holmes, however, was not as chivalrous. He continued to stare openly at her very shapely legs, which were still exposed. Noting this, she scolded, "Mr. Holmes!," then she turned her back towards us and quickly donned her dressing gown, securing it tightly with the sash. She turned again to face us, this time with more anger than surprise. She moved to the door and, motioning to it, simply ordered, "Out." I obeyed her without hesitation. Holmes followed, but paused just before crossing the threshold. He looked as if he were about to convey some observation to her. "Now!," she demanded. He moved swiftly in silence to follow me. She slammed the door as soon as he did so, then I heard the key turn in the lock. Holmes looked directly at me. Slowly, he began to smile...most mischievously, I thought. "I am grateful that you are a doctor, Watson, or I believe I would be quite upset," he advised. For the first time in years, I felt uneasy in his presence. "Come, Watson. Help me with these," he chuckled. He tossed me his rags, and carried his makeup case to the table. It was his way of letting me know I had no cause for concern. Opening the case, he extracted a mirror, which he placed directly before him. With amazing skill, he proceeded to apply his makeup until, before my eyes, he had transformed himself into a beggar. If it had not been for the fact that he was still wearing his dressing gown, I dare say, I would not have known him. "Now, may I use your room to change in, Watson? It seems Miss Trioni is still somewhat...occupied," he smiled. "Of course, Holmes," I returned. He took up the bundle of rags he had chosen, and proceeded up the stairs. After he had gone, the door to his room opened, and Miss Trioni emerged. I could not help but notice that she was wearing a calico dress with a full gathered skirt and a very high collar, no doubt, in an attempt to conceal herself. "Good morning, Watson," she stated lightly, trying to act as if nothing had happened. "Good morning, Miss Trioni," I returned, very grateful for her efforts and thankful that she no longer appeared to be angry. I thought to say nothing of the incident. However, my guilt got the better of me, and I began, "Miss Trioni, about before, I..." "It is all right, Watson. No harm was really done," she smiled warmly. "Thank you for your extreme tolerance," I offered with a sigh of relief. "Not at all," she replied. Looking around the room, she asked, "Where is Mr. Holmes?" "Oh, he is making use of my room to change into his beggar's disguise," I explained. She looked to the ceiling, as if she could see him through it. Turning back towards me, she smiled rather impishly and offered, "They do say that turn about is fair play. Tell me, Watson...do you have the key?" "Miss Trioni!," I gasped, shocked by her suggestion, at which point, she burst into laughter. "Oh, Watson! If you could only see the expression on your face!," she advised. She held her sides and tried to regain her composure with little success. I, too, began chuckling, relieved to hear that she had been joking. Soon after, Holmes entered the room, causing us both to stay our amusement...though, it was not really Holmes, at all. "My word, Mr. Holmes. I never would have known you, if Watson had not told me of your disguise," she marveled. She moved to stand before him and raised her hand, thinking to touch his cheek, then hesitated and first asked, "May I?" Holmes nodded his approval, then she continued with great wonder. "How did you get your lips to appear so thin?," she asked, touching them lightly with her fingertips. "A well-placed piece of wax," Holmes explained, removing it for her to inspect. "Amazing. Simply amazing," she offered in awe. His eyes danced with her praise. "Could you teach me how to do it?," she asked hopefully. "I mean, how to apply the makeup? I find it quite fascinating." Holmes did his best to conceal his elation and offered, "Perhaps, when this business is done. But now, I must be off." He replaced the wax in his mouth and took up an old metal cup from his laboratory table, then he made his way to the door. "Do be careful, Holmes," I cautioned. "Not to worry, Watson," he assured as he opened the door. "I shall be home in time for dinner." He was about to leave when she stopped him. "Wait, Mr. Holmes!," she urged. She moved quickly to his side. To my surprise and his delight, she kissed his cheek. "For luck," she explained with a warm smile. Holmes returned the smile, and fought the desire to return the kiss, as well, then he continued on his way. She closed the door and sighed, "I do hope he will be all right." "I am sure he will be, Miss Trioni," I smiled. She turned to me then. With a somewhat more serious tone, she asked, "Watson, would you mind lending me your assistance with some of these files? Although they are quiet informative, I have several questions which I would like you to answer for me." "I would be delighted, Miss Trioni," I agreed. |
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| STORIES AND SAGAS My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Eleven |
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| As we ate our breakfast, we reviewed several of Holmes' previous cases, those which Miss Trioni thought could have some connection with the matter at hand. After I had answered her questions, (for some of which, I could not see the relevance), she had narrowed the files down to just three. "Mr. Jonas Oldacre," she noted as the first. "Better known by the name with which you endowed him in your story, Watson...the Norwood Builder. He threatened that he would see Mr. Holmes hang for exposing him for the murdering criminal he truly was. He has since met his own end. But perhaps, not before he made arrangements for his revenge." She placed the file down upon the table, then took up the second and continued, "Mr. Joseph Harrison, of Naval Treaty fame. I believe he is now the brother-in-law of one of your childhood friends, Watson?" "He is, though I believe he has had little contact with the family since he was discovered," I advised. "Precisely why he may still hold a grudge against the man who caught him red-handed," she explained. "We would do well not to eliminate him as a possibility until we know more." She placed the second file down upon the first, then took up the third. As she did so, I noted that her expression changed considerably. She became visibly concerned. I soon understood why, as she offered, "And, finally, Mr. Wilson Kemp. An evil little man, if your description of him in your account of the Greek interpreter was as accurate as I believe. If I had to choose one of these three men as our culprit right this moment, I believe I would choose him." She paused briefly to place the file down upon the others, then she turned to face me again and wondered, "I still do not understand how he avoided the rope for his involvement." "Well, you see, although he did hold Mr. Kratides, and supervised his mistreatment, he did not kill him with his own hand," I explained. "Mr. Harold Latimer was found guilty of that crime." "Yes, but Kemp was the man who planned it," she argued. "A life sentence hardly seems enough punishment to me. After all, he was responsible for poor Mr. Kratides' torture, and eventual death..." She continued to speak on the matter. However, I did not hear, save the one word which echoed in my mind. Torture. The thought of it curled my blood. "...if you do not mind waiting, Watson. Watson? Watson!," she urged, shaking my arm. "Oh, excuse me, Miss Trioni. I am afraid I was lost in my thoughts," I offered, breaking my trance. "What were you saying?" "I was asking if you would mind waiting for me to help Mrs. Hudson with these dishes before going to your office to retrieve your accounts," she repeated. Then, looking at me carefully, she asked, "Watson...what were you thinking just then? Have you made some sort of connection?" "Oh, no. No, I am afraid not," I lied, not wishing to cause her any additional worry. After all, it could have only been my own fears which caused me to draw my conclusions. "Please, allow me to join you," I continued. "If you wash, then I shall dry, and Mrs. Hudson will think she is a queen for the day." "Very well," she reluctantly agreed. She followed me to the kitchen, not at all convinced by my efforts. Gratefully, she did not press me. |
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