Sherlock Holmes 01: The Breath of God Read Online Free PDF Page B

tipping them off as to who would make rich pickings on their way home? If that were the case they could hardly allow him to escape. Say they attacked him but he broke free – hence he was seen running through the streets by your eyewitness – but they ran him to ground in Grosvenor Square, determined to silence him in case he informed the police of their involvement.”
    “It’s a workable hypothesis, Doctor,” the inspector agreed, “and one that had occurred to me.”
    Of course it had, I thought, amused at the fact that Gregson couldn’t bear to allow another to appear to have one up on him.
    I looked to Holmes for some small sign of corroboration but he was still in the depths of his own thoughts, watching the buildings fly by beyond the cab window.
    Once we arrived at the square, Holmes was quick to snap out of his daze, hopping down from the cab and dashing off into the snow.
    “I’m afraid there will be little to see, Mr Holmes,” Gregson said, following at a distance.
    “Certainly any useful story the ground may have chosen to tell has all but been erased,” Holmes agreed. “But it’s valuable to get a sense of the place.”
    He looked around, pointing his cane before him like the needle of a compass as he surveyed the park and pictured the night before. “De Montfort enters from the north via Brook Street,” he said, “running towards the centre.” He followed in what must have been the young man’s footsteps. “Why, I wonder?’
    “Presumably he was trying to shake his pursuers,” I said.
    “If you were being chased through the streets by a gang of ruffians, Watson,” my friend replied, “then surely you would stick to the main thoroughfare? All the while shouting for assistance?”
    “I suppose you would,” I admitted.
    “So he entered the park for a reason,” Holmes insisted. “One that he felt might save his life.”
    “Can we really look for logic in the man’s last panicked movements?” asked Gregson. “Surely he was simply running scared?”
    “No,” Holmes replied, “his flight wasn’t random. According to your evidence he was walking from Knaves on St James’s Street to Salieri’s on Brook Street. If he was simply running in fear he would hardly have gone so far out of his way. He came here for a reason.”
    “Which was?” the inspector asked, not without a degree of irritation.
    “If I knew that, Gregson,” Holmes replied, “I would hardly still be stood here.”
    He gave Gregson a brief smile and then began to stride towards the south exit. “Come, Watson,” he shouted, “time to consult an expert.”

CHAPTER FIVE
A N E XPERT IN T ITTLE -T ATTLE
    Holmes and I left Gregson and headed towards Berkeley Square.
    “I fear you’ve put our poor colleague in a bad mood,” I said with a smile.
    “Colleague?” replied Holmes. “You flatter him.”
    We continued our stroll through London’s more affluent areas, retracing the last journey of Hilary De Montfort as we worked our way to St James’s Street and its illustrious rows of private clubs.
    “This expert you wish to consult, Holmes,” I said. “Would I be correct in assuming it to be Langdale Pike?”
    “Indeed, Watson,” my friend replied, “there is no better man in London for shining a light on the movements of its social circle. If we wish to achieve an insight into Mr De Montfort, Pike is the man to help us.”
    I couldn’t disagree with Holmes, though he knows only too well that I have no great love for Langdale Pike.
    Pike had been a college friend of Holmes and had also risen to the top of an unusual profession. That profession, however, was one I found it hard to approve of. Pike was a gossipmonger, a trader in secrets and scandals. A number of the less respectable newspapers carried his columns, and London’s glittering socialites – vain moths who believed themselves to be butterflies – fluttered around him, despite the frequent harshness of his tongue. In the world of the socialite,