Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Disappearing Lady

By P. Paul Matthews

A new adventure of Sherlock Holmes as he unravels the mystery of the disappearing lady

• Language: English
• Publisher: P. Paul Matthews
• Release date: Feb 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311853844

Book preview

Sherlock Holmes

in

The Adventure of the Disappearing Lady

P. Paul Matthews

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 P. Paul Matthews

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As I sit here perusing my notes from the last few singular cases of which I have been in the association with my friend Sherlock Holmes, I can't help but wonder what the world would be like without his investigative acumen. Holmes always found the oscillations of societies’ vacuous faces, connected with some tragic mystery or crime, that he had to solve, to be a hunger requiring his escape into a deep, drug induced euphoria. I can remember Holmes’ resolute visage, as he paced up and down on his black, Augustan Rug at his home at 201b Baker Street during the incidence of Dr. Hester Stone’s singular disappearance of his battered billycock. The triviality of this man's possession hid the forebodings of its dark connection with the King of Sussex, who was cold bloodily murdered by a man fitting Dr. Stone’s description. In that case, Holmes' steadfastness in finding blood stains on the inner sleeve of the hat gave the final clue and denouement of the case of Dr. Stone and his vile, sinister murder of the King. On the subject of his inner motivations of being the interlocutor of heinous crimes and its justices, Holmes seldom accepted large monetary recompenses, unless of course, the case at hand robbed him of his immediate finances. Holmes, in a drug-induced condition, always immersed himself in the excitements of a sinister plot or complex tale, taking his complete intellectual and precisely logical mental acumen to solve. To Holmes, the apprehension of the evil criminal is his reward, which no other recompense can equal, save his bemused cocaine habit. This beaten path of infatuation with his substance of leisure that my friend employs during times of intense ennui, is the only evidence of a complete and slow imprisonment of his cold, precise mind that I have witnessed in my friend. Though of late, Holmes seldom indulges himself in his chemical sins, particularly not since the remarkable experience with the adventure of the Devil's Pedis Diaboli, the deadly substance which nearly took the life of Holmes. To add my simple deduction, I would venture to say that Holmes had the fear of God put into him. However, his habit had increased incrementally in the last few days before the adventure of which I am about to speak. It was a cold, crisp, day in the late winter of 1892, and we sat across from each other after lunch in his quiet and solemn room on Baker Street. Outside our bow window, the sun shined dull upon the off-white ground. The clouds above were a grayish hue, covering the sun's full, potential brilliance.