me.”
Holmes placed a hand on Watson’s shoulder and replied,
reassuringly, “That isn’t true, Watson. You are in no way responsible. You
were tricked. The reason people are being killed is because someone, possibly
Stephen Wood, is murdering them, not because of anything that you have done. Please
try not to feel so bad, old fellow.”
Watson looked up to see Holmes smiling at him. He still
felt awful, as he asked, “How could I have been so easily fooled, Holmes? I
never suspected anything about Arthur.”
“Arthur Smith, or should I say Stephen Wood, fooled us both,
Watson. With his beard and glasses, it would have been difficult to have
recognised him as Wood. I had noticed that he wore dark glasses, even when
inside. Although I thought that strange, I accepted his explanation that he
suffered from photophobia. Now, it seems more likely that he wore those
glasses to hide his eyes from us.”
Watson gave a dejected sigh, but said nothing.
Holmes, concerned at how upset his friend was, added,
“Watson, this is only a theory. I may not be correct about you being used in
such an awful way. I may even be wrong about Stephen Wood and Arthur Smith
being the same man.”
“I know you are trying to help, old man, but you are always right about these types of things.”
“Not always, Watson.” The reply seemed thoughtful, as
though Holmes was looking inwards as he uttered the words. Watson noticed a
hint of melancholy show on Holmes’ face.
Holmes quickly snapped out of his thoughtfulness, and, with
a smile, added, “Come along, Watson. We should take Ginny back home, and then deliver
the items we found to Scotland Yard. After that, I have something that I would
like to try out.”
“What about Miss Spencer, Holmes?” asked Watson. “Should we
not tell her about her sister?”
“Yes, of course. You are quite right, Watson. After we
have taken Ginny home and delivered this evidence to Scotland Yard, we can take
a Hansom cab to Charing Cross Road.”
After taking Ginny back to Mr. Bloomfield, the two men found
a Hansom cab to take them to Scotland Yard, where the handed all the evidence
they had gathered to Inspector Lestrade, and gave him a description of the
crime scene. Following this, they continued their journey to see Miss
Spencer. Neither of the men spoke during the journey.
They arrived at 28 Charing Cross Road and knocked on the
door, which was opened, shortly after, by Susan Spencer. She looked anxious
upon seeing the two men, and felt an odd mixture of dread and hope. She hoped
that her ambivalence would soon be over, as she asked, “Mr. Holmes! Have you
any news of my sister?”
Holmes replied, ignoring the question, “May we come in, Miss
Spencer?”
“Yes, of course. Please come in. We shall adjourn to my
room.”
Holmes noticed that Susan Spencer was trembling, as she led
them up a flight of stairs and into a pleasantly decorated room. He removed
his hat and coat and Watson followed suit.
“May I sit down, Miss Spencer?” asked Holmes, hoping that
his question would also prompt the girl to sit.
“Yes, please do,” she replied, pointing to a sofa. She came
and sat next to Holmes and looked at him expectantly, but found that she was
too afraid to ask anything.
Holmes looked at Susan, and quietly said, “I have news of
your sister, Miss Spencer. I’m afraid… I…” He stared down at the floor,
unable to finish the sentence or look her in the eye.
“ Please tell me, Mr. Holmes,” implored Miss Spencer,
shakily.
Holmes looked back up at the distraught girl as she grabbed
his forearm.
She looked deeply into the detective’s eyes and added, “I
fear I already know what you are going to say, Mr. Holmes, but I need to… I
have to…” Her voice became chocked with emotion. She looked through the blur
of her tears at Mr. Holmes, and could see that he was trying so hard to find
the right words to
Holmes placed a hand on Watson’s shoulder and replied,
reassuringly, “That isn’t true, Watson. You are in no way responsible. You
were tricked. The reason people are being killed is because someone, possibly
Stephen Wood, is murdering them, not because of anything that you have done. Please
try not to feel so bad, old fellow.”
Watson looked up to see Holmes smiling at him. He still
felt awful, as he asked, “How could I have been so easily fooled, Holmes? I
never suspected anything about Arthur.”
“Arthur Smith, or should I say Stephen Wood, fooled us both,
Watson. With his beard and glasses, it would have been difficult to have
recognised him as Wood. I had noticed that he wore dark glasses, even when
inside. Although I thought that strange, I accepted his explanation that he
suffered from photophobia. Now, it seems more likely that he wore those
glasses to hide his eyes from us.”
Watson gave a dejected sigh, but said nothing.
Holmes, concerned at how upset his friend was, added,
“Watson, this is only a theory. I may not be correct about you being used in
such an awful way. I may even be wrong about Stephen Wood and Arthur Smith
being the same man.”
“I know you are trying to help, old man, but you are always right about these types of things.”
“Not always, Watson.” The reply seemed thoughtful, as
though Holmes was looking inwards as he uttered the words. Watson noticed a
hint of melancholy show on Holmes’ face.
Holmes quickly snapped out of his thoughtfulness, and, with
a smile, added, “Come along, Watson. We should take Ginny back home, and then deliver
the items we found to Scotland Yard. After that, I have something that I would
like to try out.”
“What about Miss Spencer, Holmes?” asked Watson. “Should we
not tell her about her sister?”
“Yes, of course. You are quite right, Watson. After we
have taken Ginny home and delivered this evidence to Scotland Yard, we can take
a Hansom cab to Charing Cross Road.”
After taking Ginny back to Mr. Bloomfield, the two men found
a Hansom cab to take them to Scotland Yard, where the handed all the evidence
they had gathered to Inspector Lestrade, and gave him a description of the
crime scene. Following this, they continued their journey to see Miss
Spencer. Neither of the men spoke during the journey.
They arrived at 28 Charing Cross Road and knocked on the
door, which was opened, shortly after, by Susan Spencer. She looked anxious
upon seeing the two men, and felt an odd mixture of dread and hope. She hoped
that her ambivalence would soon be over, as she asked, “Mr. Holmes! Have you
any news of my sister?”
Holmes replied, ignoring the question, “May we come in, Miss
Spencer?”
“Yes, of course. Please come in. We shall adjourn to my
room.”
Holmes noticed that Susan Spencer was trembling, as she led
them up a flight of stairs and into a pleasantly decorated room. He removed
his hat and coat and Watson followed suit.
“May I sit down, Miss Spencer?” asked Holmes, hoping that
his question would also prompt the girl to sit.
“Yes, please do,” she replied, pointing to a sofa. She came
and sat next to Holmes and looked at him expectantly, but found that she was
too afraid to ask anything.
Holmes looked at Susan, and quietly said, “I have news of
your sister, Miss Spencer. I’m afraid… I…” He stared down at the floor,
unable to finish the sentence or look her in the eye.
“ Please tell me, Mr. Holmes,” implored Miss Spencer,
shakily.
Holmes looked back up at the distraught girl as she grabbed
his forearm.
She looked deeply into the detective’s eyes and added, “I
fear I already know what you are going to say, Mr. Holmes, but I need to… I
have to…” Her voice became chocked with emotion. She looked through the blur
of her tears at Mr. Holmes, and could see that he was trying so hard to find
the right words to
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