Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of The Winged Ghost

By Evan Muller

In one of Sherlock Holmes’ most harrowing cases, the crown jewels are stolen from the Tower of London just days before Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. In the race against the clock to retrieve the precious gems to save from national embarrassment, Holmes finds that the case to be more complex and infinitely more dangerous than it first appeared.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MX Publishing
• Release date: Jan 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781780925905

Book preview

www.staunch.com

Chapter 1

It was a dark dreary Sunday in the middle of June, 1897. The fog filled the streets, and distorted vision, and all one could hear was the click-clack of horses’ hooves mixed with the melancholy song of the heavy rain upon the cobblestones. I had just recently come in from the rain, and my clothes were soaked from the unexpected downpour. Sherlock Holmes was playing a melancholy tune on his violin while I dried off near the fireplace.

His hawk-like face was fixated on the yellowed sheets of paper on his old wooden music stand. He abruptly stopped playing, and picked up the crisp new copy of The Sunday Times from the sitting room table. His eyes darted back and forth across the pages. Watson! he said. I turned around to face him.

I see that you have been to Hyde Park today, Holmes remarked with a knowing look on his face.

How the blazes did you know that, Holmes? I askedas I hung up my damp overcoat.

My methods are the art of deduction. This instance was especially simplistic. The mud and grass stains on the bottom of your trousers shows that you were in a large grassy area. Your jacket is slightly torn, and a gentleman such as yourself would never purposefully allow fine garments like these to be in such a state, which must mean that you were in a bit of a scuffle. Finally, the pamphlets in your overcoat pocket indicate youattended at a rally or speech of some sort. These three clues show you recently attendeda particularly fiery speech at Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park that almost became a small riot. Holmes eased back into his large cushioned chair with a contented look on his face; and, once again, there was a look of amazement on mine.

There was a knock on the door, and I let our landlady, Mrs Hudson, into our sitting room. As she finished setting a plate of hot scones on our dining table, she said, Inspector Lestrade is waiting downstairs in a very agitated state. Shall I show him up?

That man says that every case he needs solved to help him advance in the police force is of the utmost urgency. Nevertheless, show the inspector in, said Holmes, trying to mask his excitement behind a withdrawn demeanour.

Within a matter of seconds, we heard the inspector’s footsteps on the stairs. He rushed into our roomand threw himself down in one of the chairs.

What seems to be the problem now, Lestrade? Is it a perplexing mystery of a dog escaping its owner, or is it the more sinister enigma of how you haven’t been promoted in the past five years? Holmes asked the inspector with an impish grin on his countenance.

The crown jewels have been stolen! Lestrade moaned.

Holmes’ smile immediately disappeared. His bony fingers struggled to light a match for his oily clay pipe. I was horrified that one of my nation’s most precious artefacts had been usurped and was now most likely in the hands of ruffians. Lestrade