Part 7 (1/2)
”Hang on,” I said, tired of being a spectator ”Are you really suggesting Pearson hired someone to dress up as the Slasher and attack those people?”
”I did no such thing!” exploded Pearson, beads of sweat forreed Holmes, ”not when you could merely pay people to say they'd been attacked”
”It was all a hoax?” I asked, confounded Hettie at least had recovered her co away on her pad
”Seven Sisters is not an affluent neighbourhood It must have been si to clai off thedebts was a sation of the Slasher stories And you have to adh her own clothes with knife to simulate the attack Of course, a close exae wasn't caused by a razor-sharp blade The fibres of her best jacket were virtually hacked apart A razor's cut would be clean and straight Then there was her blouse It's hard to believe a blade could work its way through such a thick woollen sleeve, shredding a blouse in the process, and not break the skin There was no sign of blood, despite the fact the garment obviously hadn't been laundered for quite some time”
”This is preposterous,” Pearson spluttered, eyes flashi+ng with a combination of fury and unmistakable alarm ”People have been injured, Mr Holmes The attacks were real”
”The injuries were real When folk are living in abject poverty it is staggering what they will do to earn a few bob”
”Even drag a razor over their own chest?” I asked, not wanting it to be true ”Or kick ato do with that,” Pearson blurted out, getting to his feet, chair legs squealing across the floor ”I never even met those men”
”And I suspect there were other 'victiry for attention that they would turn a knife on theht The drunken louts who thought they were protecting their neighbourhood when they turned on an innocent stranger
”The story-your story-greith every new day Fear, panic, azine”
Hol in the stuffy air of the office Broken, Pearson stu himself fall into his chair, lost for words
”Fortunately, thanks to the story Miss Stead is about to write, everyone will soon know the true horror of the Deathered around the offices of The Adventure Weekly, Pearson's drearaced publisher was bundled into the back of a police wagon
Holmes himself paid no attention to theHettie one last quote What did he care? As far as he concerned his as done The case was now in the hands of the authorities and a young journalist from The London Exa here It wasn't as if I had contributed anything to the great reveal Perhaps Holmes just liked an audience Was that why he kept Watson near, to have so thought occurred to me-was that the real reason Hettie endured my company?
”Mr Rayne, I must take my leave of you” Hol beside ht of being shot of hi me no end
”My pleasure, Mr Holmes”
”I doubt that very much” He paused for a moment, as if suddenly in uncharted territory ”I owe you an apology”
I hadn't been expecting that
”What for?”
”For the way I embarrassed you in the hotel There was no need to make such a show Sometirey eyes shi+fted, the fa away to reveal a weary soul, beset by secret concerns He looked so old, so alone
I coughed, embarrassed for the man, and in an instant he had snapped back to his usual self-assured demeanour
”Of course, for the record, my observations were mere trifles I knew you had been late for work as there was a spot of blood on your collar That, and the general slovenly nature of your chin told ood, Mr Holer betrayed my fondness for beetroot sandwiches and the stain on the inside of my jacket-”
”Is evidence that you carry a pen that is in the habit of leaking in your breast pocket” Hol attention when you read Watson's little stories”
”And the other points?” I asked ”About my past-”
”And the woman you love?” A smile played on Holmes' thin lips ”Your shoes are perfectly polished, Mr Rayne, the kind of workmanshi+p only practised by soldiers or servants I can tell from your hairstyle that you have never been a military man, so a servant it must be No doubt how you persuade all those cooks and butlers to reveal all As for the love of your life”
He paused, raising one eyebrow as he considered his next comment
”Let's just say that you don't have to be a detective to see the obvious”
I felt my face flush as he unzipped his portfolio and produced the latest edition of the The Strand ”Before I forget, I have soest you turn to page seventeen”
And with that Holazine I flicked through the pages to find an inscription above this week's tale of Sherlock Holmes
Dear Mr Rayne, You have my deepest sympathies He can be utterly intolerable at times
Yours, John H Watson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cavan Scott has written novels, comics, audiobooks and dramas for series such as Doctor Who, The Sarah Jane Adventures, Judge Dredd, Highlander and Blake's 7, as well as numerous books for children His latest novel, Blake's 7: The Forgotten, written with Mark Wright, was published by Big Finish in 2012
Cavan lives near Bristol with his wife and two daughters and is currently working on a new fantasy trilogy
THE POST-MODERN PROMETHEUS
BY NICK KYME
At the corner of Brick Lane ue stoops, his nose within close proximity to a corpse It takes little deduction, especially for one of his superlative talents, to realise how this unfortunate wretch met his end
Head sits separate to body, the neck cavity a ragged and bloody mess that sees one of Lestrade's junior officers relinquish his hasty breakfast andfor thecorpse or actinic, mildly acerbic reek-but the latter is y place, a dark little alcove where light does not penetrate or is too afraid to venture A killer's alleyway in h cobblestone, rotted shutters and dirty awnings that funnel the rain down into griutters that carry off this patina of filth to the rest of London
There are five of us present,the uniform of the Queen's Constabulary A third is not in uniform, but his manner betrays his profession as the self-sa, tan coat, suit and waistcoat underneath