Authors: Carole Bugge
Holmes smiled. “How thoughtful of you. How is Jenny getting along in Cornwall, by the way?”
“Oh, famously. She has become quite a pet of the village, it seems. Mrs. Hudson says she wants to come to London for a visit soon.”
Jenny had gone to live with Flora Campbell, Mrs. Hudson’s sister. Both of the sisters doted on her, and she, in turn, was flourishing in the healthy country air of the seaside.
“Oh, by the way, I received this by messenger today. I thought you might like to see it,” he said, and handed me a cream-colored envelope across the table. When I saw the coat of arms emblazoned
on the envelope I looked at Holmes.
“Read it,” he said.
I removed the card from its envelope with trembling hands. The writing, elegant if a little unsteady with age, read, “We are most grateful for your services. Your country owes you its gratitude.—V.R.”
I put the card down and stared at Holmes, who was unable to contain his amusement at my reaction.
“Not bad, eh, Watson?”
“Perhaps I am a stodgy old traditionalist, but really, Holmes, even you must be a
little
impressed. A handwritten note from—”
“From the White Queen, Watson... and so her kingdom has been preserved—for a time.” He rose from the table and looked out onto the kaleidoscope of life just outside our window. “But I wonder, Watson, I wonder... change is the only constant in this little world of ours, and there are changes coming, changes which any one man will be unable to prevent.”
He stood there for a moment, his sharp profile silhouetted in the gaslight, and then he turned back to me. “Well, Watson, what do you say to a trip to the Royal Albert? I see that Wilma Norman-Neruda is playing Mozart. We have just enough time to purchase tickets.”
“Very well,” I replied, “but you must promise me that we won’t buy a seat next to any mysterious young women.”
“Oh, come, Watson, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I’ve had enough adventure for a while—and so have you.”
“Perhaps you’re right... maybe it’s time to retire from this hazardous line of work. Perhaps from now on I shall stick to reading your accounts of my exploits from the safety of my armchair. After all, what is fame, Watson? I think it’s about time that I retire into a grateful obscurity.”
I looked out of the window at the gathering twilight which wrapped itself around the lampposts like a shroud. Moriarty still lived; London
would always be London, and Sherlock Holmes... well, suffice it to say that some things never change. I have no great opinion of my literary gifts, and yet even I dare to hope that so long as cab wheels clatter upon cobblestones, so long as yellow fogs settle early upon rain-slicked streets; in short, as long as the yearning for adventure throbs in the hearts of men, somewhere there will always be someone to thrill to the words: “Watson, come quickly—the game is afoot!”
F
irst and foremost, deepest gratitude to my friend and colleague Marvin Kaye, without whom this book never would have been written. Thanks also to my editor at St Martin’s, Keith Kahla, whose unerring eye was invaluable during the rewriting process; to Susan Ginsburg and John Hodgman at Writers House for all their hard work; to Anthony Moore for his support in discussions over endless cups of tea; to Robert Murphy for lending me his guidebooks of London; to Chris Buggé for introducing me to the wonders of the Cornish coastline, and to Latif Kahn and the rest of my friends at Royal India Cuisine for keeping my spirits up with a continuous supply of both information and chicken tandoori. Finally, thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, whose immortal creation has fired the imaginations of so many who came after him; I am honored to tread in his footsteps.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
William Seil
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson board the Titanic in 1912, where Holmes is to carry out a secret government mission. Soon after departure, highly important submarine plans for the U.S. Navy are stolen. Holmes and Watson work through a list of suspects which includes Colonel James Moriarty, brother to the late Professor Moriarty—will they find the culprit before tragedy strikes?
ISBN: 9780857687104
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
Sam Siciliano
A mysterious gypsy places a cruel curse on the guests at a ball. When a series of terrible misfortunes affect those who attended the ball, Mr. Donald Wheelwight engages Sherlock Holmes to find out what really happened that night. With the help of his cousin Dr. Henry Vernier and his wife Michelle, Holmes endeavors to save Wheelwright and his beautiful wife Violet from the devastating curse.
ISBN: 9780857686985
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
Guy Adams
A body is found crushed to death in the London snow. There are no footprints anywhere near. It is almost as if the man was killed by the air itself. This is the first in a series of attacks that sees a handful of London’s most prominent occultists murdered. While pursuing the case, Holmes and Watson have to travel to Scotland to meet with the one person they have been told can help: Aleister Crowley.
ISBN: 9780857682826
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
Philip José Farmer
During the Second World War, Mycroft Holmes dispatches his brother Sherlock and Dr. Watson to recover a stolen formula. During their perilous journey, they are captured by a German zeppelin. Subsequently forced to abandon ship, the pair parachute into the dark African jungle where they encounter the lord of the jungle himself...
ISBN: 9780857681201
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
Sam Siciliano
Paris 1890: Sherlock Holmes is called across the English Channel to the famous Opera House, where he is challenged to discover the true motivations and secrets of the notorious Phantom who rules its depths with passion and defiance.
ISBN: 9781848568617
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF
S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
Richard L. Boyer
For many years, Dr. Watson kept the tale of The Giant Rat of Sumatra a secret. However, before he died, he arranged that the strange story of the giant rat should be held in the vaults of a London bank until all the protagonists were dead...