Untold Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

By Annette Siketa

Eleven new adventures including 'The Jewelled Chalice', 'An Undesirable Memorial', and the 'Clue of the Poisoned Dog'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette Siketa
• Release date: Oct 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005011871

Annette Siketa

For those of you who have not yet made my acquaintance, my name is Annette Siketa, and I am totally blind. Were you aware that most blind and visually impaired people are extraordinarily perceptive? To sighted people, this ability must seem like ESP, and I suppose to a certain extent, it is. (I'm referring to the literal meaning of Extra Sensory Perception, not the spooky interpretation.) To compensate for the lack of vision, the brain and the other four senses become sharper, so that we can discern a smell or the identity of an object. I promise you there's no trickery involved. It's simply a matter of adapting the body to ‘think’ in another way.Being blind is no barrier to creativity. Like most things in this world, life is what you make of it, and after losing my sight due to an eye operation that went terribly wrong, I became a writer, and have now produced a wide variety of books and short stories, primarily of the ghost/supernatural/things that go bump in the night genre.So, how does a blind person write a book? On the practical side, I use a text-to-speech program called ‘Jaws’, which enables me to use and navigate around a computer, including the Internet, with considerable ease. Information on Jaws can be found at www.freedomscientific.comOn the creative side...well, that’s a little more difficult to explain. Try this experiment. Put on your favourite movie and watch it blindfolded. As you already ‘know’ the movie – who does what where & when etc, your mind compensates for the lack of visualisation by filling in the ‘blanks’. Now try it with something you’ve never seen before, even the six o'clock news. Not so easy to fill in the blanks now is it?By this point you’re probably going bonkers with frustration – hee hee, welcome to my world! Do not remove the blindfold. Instead, allow your imagination to compensate for the lack of visualization, and this will give you an idea of how I create my stories. Oh, if only Steven Spielberg could read my mind.

Book preview

Untold Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Annette Siketa. Based on the characters created by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Copyright 2022 by Annette Siketa.

No part of this book may be reproduced or manipulated in any manner without the express permission of the author. All rights reserved. Please respect the authors’ rights. Only through honesty can the insidious practice of illegal copying be curbed.

Distributed by Smashwords.

CONTENTS

The Devil's Dust.

Clue of the Poisoned Dog.

An Undesirable Memorial.

The Missing Waiter.

Mystery of Whippam Hall.

The Packing Case Murder.

The Burglar of Clarence Park.

Analysis of a Hat.

The Cursed Brooch.

Three Fakirs.

The Jewelled Chalice.

Part One.

Part Two.

Other Books & Freebies.

The Devil's Dust.

I.

I was always glad to participate in an investigation involving my great friend, Sherlock Holmes. However, in the case of the 'devil's dust', my involvement was even more thrilling when I found myself a primary source of information.

It began when our old friend, Inspector Lestrade, came to our rooms one sunny July afternoon. He was greatly agitated and a little pale, and when he stumbled over several words, it seemed as if he could not speak fast enough.

I tell you, Mr Holmes, I've investigated some unusual deaths in my time, but this lot takes the cake.

Holmes leaned forward in his chair, his eyes alight with interest. You used the plural. How many deaths are you referring to?

"Four - all men, and all in the past few weeks. At first, I thought the deaths were either suicide or accidental, but recent evidence suggests otherwise – not that it helps much.

I have managed to keep the details quiet, but it's only a matter of time before the press get hold of them. I remember the hysteria caused by the publicity surrounding the Whitechapel Murders, and if I do have a mass-murderer on my hands, the last thing the Yard needs is for the public to panic.

I agree, said Holmes, lighting a cigarette. Publicity can sometimes be more a hindrance than a help. Give me all the details.

In what order do you want them?

What do you mean?

The order in which the men were found is not the order in which they died.

Holmes considered the question for a moment and then said, The former I think. We can examine the particulars later. Watson, could I impose upon you to take notes? I usually have a very good memory, but the details of four deaths in one go might tax even my abilities.

I ignored the latter remark, for I was well accustomed to his little outbursts of vanity. I went to my desk, filled my pen, and placed a fresh sheet of paper on the blotter.

Lestrade produced a notebook and then began, "The first body was found about a month ago near Hampstead Heath. It was two o'clock in the morning, and a constable walking the beat came across a man wearing pajamas. He was lying face down by a wall that surrounds a corner house. The body was warm but definitely dead.

The usual enquiries were made, and it was established that the man was neither a local nor visiting any of the surrounding houses. The only clue to his identity is a tattooed heart on the left forearm. It had been done by a skilled hand and the ink was of various colours.

Sounds like a soldier or a sailor, remarked Holmes. How did he die?

We don't know. He had not been stabbed, shot, poisoned, strangled, or drowned, but the post-mortem revealed two anomalies. Firstly, that the passages of his throat and nose were red and quite inflamed. Secondly, that his bowels were slightly distended.

A severe cold or hayfever would account for those symptoms, I commented. There are many examples of fatal influenza.

True, agreed Lestrade, but the police surgeon did not mention anything like that in his report.

What happened to the man? asked Holmes.

"His body was held in the morgue for the usual time but nobody came to claim him. He was buried in Kensil Green cemetery and a verdict of 'death by unknown cause' entered into the records.

His death might have passed without comment had it not been for the fact that, a few days after the burial, a second body was found. This time he was wearing a vest and trousers, and had fallen down a small gulley at a less frequented part of the heath. The autopsy revealed that, due to the state of decomposition, he had died some time before the other man, and once again there was no apparent cause of death.

And the third man? queried Holmes. Did he die under similar circumstances?

"Not exactly. A tramp was crossing the heath looking for a place to sleep when he heard a man crying out the word, 'sapphire'. The tramp stated that the man sounded in distress, and being a decent fellow, he set out to find him.

The poor tramp was terrified out of his wits, for the man was wearing a nightshirt and dancing and spinning like a dervish. His mouth was open, his tongue was hanging out, and the forefinger of each hand was shoved up his nostrils.

Holmes frowned. Are you sure he wasn't acting under the influence of drink or drugs?

Lestrade shook his head. That was my first thought, but there was no trace of either in his stomach. He was conveyed to hospital but died about half an hour later, and as with the others, the post-mortem showed the same redness of the nostrils and throat. All the other organs were perfectly healthy.

Holmes stood up and went to the bookcase. He pulled out a volume, read one or two pages, and then resumed his seat. Did any of the men have dirt or grass in their mouth?

Lestrade looked somewhat surprised. As a matter of fact, number three did. I didn't mention it because tests proved that it was good old British soil. Does it mean something to you?

Not at present, answered he. Please, go on with the story.

The fourth victim was found three nights ago. He was fully dressed except for his collar and boots. Lestrade leaned forward and said significantly, Now, here's the interesting part. He was found by the same wall as the first victim.

Curious, remarked Holmes. Who lives in the house?

It is owned and occupied by a Mr Richard Rinehart Richards.

Good God! I dropped my pen and turned to face them again. Holmes, I think I know him. It's not the type of name one easily forgets, and if it is the same man, he was cashiered out of the army for conduct unbecoming.

Both men looked at me in startled amazement. Holmes spoke first. My dear fellow, I beg you to tell us everything you know about him.

Certainly, but I need to retrieve something from my room. Excuse me a moment.

I ran upstairs and rummaged in a trunk, returning downstairs with a well-thumbed book. Holmes and Lestrade watched me keenly as I resumed my seat and flicked through the pages.

It's an old journal, I explained. "Ah, here we are. It happened about thirty years ago when I was in Ceylon. I was treating a nasty outbreak of swamp fever, and Captain Richards kept the sick men amused with stories and conjuring tricks.

It was the latter that brought him undone, for one night he was accused of cheating at cards. He swore he was innocent, and that the deed had been engineered by a rival officer named Lieutenant Paul Horner.

Revenge or a woman? asked Holmes, lighting another cigarette. It's usually one of the two.

Oh, definitely a woman.

I don't suppose her name was Sapphire?

I laughed as I replied, "No, but you're on the right track. Her name was Ruby, and she was engaged to Captain Richards, but when the card incident ruined his career and reputation, she deserted him for Lieutenant Horner.

It later transpired that he was a rotter of the first order. Ruby came from quite wealthy stock and Horner spent all her money. Ironically, if she'd stayed with Richards, she'd have lived in the lap of luxury.

How so?

Before leaving the regiment, he borrowed some money to purchase what was considered a worthless piece of land. Only, it wasn't worthless. I do not know what happened next, but he's now the owner of Richards & Co, one of the biggest dealers in high-end precious stones in England. He has a shop in Hatton Garden. I have often been tempted to enter, but it's one of those places where you dare not set foot inside unless you have the bank balance of a maharajah.

Well, well, said Holmes. The coincidences do seem to be mounting up. Lestrade, is Captain Richards married?

The Inspector consulted his notebook. "No. He lives with his nephew, Herman Hayes, who is his only living relative. As a matter of fact, it was Mr Hayes who found the fourth body.

It was about 12.45 in the morning. He was coming home after visiting a friend when he found the man lying next to the wall. He ran inside the house, told his Uncle about the man, and then ran out to find a constable.

Has the dead man been identified?

No. None of the bodies have been claimed. But in the case of the latest victim, we might have a bit o' luck there. You see, the toes of his right foot are webbed.

What? I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. But…but this is remarkable! I once knew a man in India with a foot like that. I could hardly contain my excitement as I asked, Does he have a small jagged scar running through his left eyebrow?

Lestrade consulted his notes again. I can't say for certain. I haven't made a note of it.

Well, if it's who I think it is, his name is Eric Horner, brother of Paul Horner, the man Richards accused of being the real cheater. The brothers were virtually inseparable, but Eric was a camp follower and not a soldier. He had been refused entry into the army because of his webbed foot.

There was a short silence in which I glanced from one man to the other. Lestrade was scribbling in his notebook, his brow puckered in thought. Holmes was blowing smoke rings towards the ceiling. His manner appeared languid, and yet the brightness of his eyes showed me the interest he was taking in the case.

Thank you, Doctor, said he, quietly. Perhaps it would be advantageous if you visited the morgue. You might be able to identify more than one victim.

Yes, agreed Lestrade. I'd rather you do it than Miss Brayshaw.

Holmes looked at him sharply. Who?

"Miss Rose Brayshaw. She lives in a house directly behind that of the Captain, and her bedroom overlooks his rear garden. She sent me a note yesterday asking me to call on her. I went to see her this morning. To be honest, she's a bit of a religious nut but seems stable enough.

She told me that several weeks ago, she was awakened at half past one in the morning by a strange groaning noise. She went to the window and looked outside. A man was running around the Captain's garden in pajamas. Another man came out of the house, opened the side gate, and pushed the first man into the street.

Pyjamas? echoed Holmes. The same as the first victim?

Yes. She could not swear that the man who opened the gate was Captain Richards, but she positively identified him in relation to the last victim.

The man with the webbed foot?

Yes. She claims that the events in the garden were identical to those on the previous occasion, only this time there was a full moon and she saw the Captain perfectly clearly.

Interesting, remarked Holmes. Did anyone else see the Captain in the garden on these occasions?

"No. The house next to Miss Brayshaw belongs to a Mr Blacklock, but he didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Miss Brayshaw lives with her mother and a Miss Agnes Murphy, who is both housekeeper and companion.

Miss Murphy is one of those progressive women who say what they mean and damn the consequences. Believe me, if she'd seen anything, she'd have told me. As for Mrs Brayshaw, I didn't talk to her. Apparently she's… he tapped his temple significantly, …unwell.

Holmes did not respond for several minutes. Presently he said, "What strikes me the most are the various stages of undress. The first victim was in pajamas. The second victim was in vest and trousers, the third was wearing a nightshirt, and the fourth was without collar and boots. This suggests that they had either gone to bed or were in the process of doing so. I also find it peculiar that, with the possible exception of the fourth victim, none of the others have been identified.

Watson, you stated that Richards borrowed money to buy land in Ceylon. Do you know from whom?

I consulted the journal again, but this time my answer was inconclusive. I don't know who owned the land prior to the purchase, but James Reece, Miles Anson, and David Evans were good friends of the Captain. Perhaps it was they who loaned him the money.

And when you were in Ceylon, were you ever stationed at a place called Saffragam?

Yes, but only for a few months.

Was Captain Richards also there?

Yes. I believe he was stationed there for some time prior to my arrival.

Sherlock Holmes sat back in his chair and laced his long, slender fingers together. Gentlemen, Saffragam is now one of the world's biggest producers of…sapphires.

II.

Due to his prior commitments, Lestrade could not meet us at the morgue till three o'clock that afternoon. Holmes spent the intervening hours consulting books and writing several long telegrams, at one point consulting my notes. He made no further comment on the case till we met Lestrade as arranged.

The body was produced and the sheet pulled back. Holmes studied the corpse for several minutes and then produced his magnifying glass. My task however, was much quicker.

Yes, said I, "that's Eric Horner. He's changed of course, but there's no mistaking the scar and webbed foot.

I remember the head injury because it was I who tended it. A camel had kicked him in the head, though in my opinion, he was already on the path to lunacy. Perhaps that's why Paul brought him to Ceylon. Perhaps he too saw the first signs of madness. If so, then it was probably the only decent thing that Paul Horner did in his life.

Lestrade looked relieved. At least we have a name for him. I'll have to try and notify his relatives. Have you any idea where I might find Paul or Ruby Horner?

As to the lady, I wouldn't have a clue, but Paul is probably a member of a military club - that's assuming he's still alive.

I'll put some men on it right away.

Quite a pretty little problem, said Holmes as he examined the dead man's hands. He straightened up and pocketed his glass. I take it, Inspector, that you've spoken to Captain Richards about the deaths.

Several times, was the reply.

And he denied all knowledge?

Vehemently - as did his nephew.

And yet two dead men were literally found on the doorstep. Do you know if either the Captain or his nephew are aware of Misss Brayshaw's allegations?

As I only saw her this morning, I should say not.

Holmes gave him a grim smile. I'm afraid I would put very little faith in that assertion. As we both know to our cost, women are notorious gossips. How long can you keep the details quiet?

A few days perhaps, but if the bodies keep turning up… He left the sentence unfinished.

Holmes headed for the door. In that case, I shall speak to Miss Brayshaw at once. I take it you have no objection?

None whatsoever. I shall be glad of your assistance to clean up this mess.

If ever a woman had the face of an angel, it was Rose Brayshaw. I had expected a mature woman with a pinched face and grey hair, but Miss Brayshaw was aged in her late 20's, with sparkling blue eyes, a petite figure, and a voice as gentle as a summer breeze.

Her story was exactly as Lestrade had told us, adding that she only knew Mr Richards by sight. She was just concluding her explanation when the door opened and a woman entered the room. She was in stark contrast to our hostess. Tall and heavy jowled, her tweed clothing was more suited to a country estate.

Rose, I'm…Oh, I do beg your pardon. I didn't know you had company.

Agnes, this is Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson. They have come to discuss what I saw in the Captain's garden.

Dreadful business, said Miss Murphy brusquely. I hope you hang him, Mr Holmes.

I'm afraid the power to do that lies solely with the judiciary. I am merely assisting the police with their enquiries.

I wish I could help you, but as I told that Inspector with the funny surname, I didn't see or hear a thing – more's the pity. Rose, dear, where is the parcel for the orphanage?

"It's upstairs in the spare bedroom. If the gentlemen will excuse