Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Ruby Elephants Read Online Free PDF Page A

had visited the previous afternoon.
    Holmes leapt out of the cab, his cloak flapping like a bat’s wings about him. I followed him, taking a moment to drop some coins into the palm of our mysterious driver. Holmes rarely dealt in small change himself as I had learnt to my cost.
    â€˜Now Watson, my dear Watson,’ whispered Holmes. ‘Are you ready once again to trust me with your life?’
    â€˜What makes this occasion any different from the others?’ I answered.
    â€˜Then you must do exactly what I say. This is not a moment for initiative or originality, do you understand?’ I was flattered that Holmes believed I was capable of either.
    We stood outside the dim, unlit shop a moment, while Holmes scanned the environs left and right for any sign of life. A lamp flickered at the end of the street casting its shadow across the road. ‘Right,’ he said, satisfying himself we were alone, ‘follow me.’
    Holmes whipped around to face the wall and placed a hand on the cold, grey stone. Reaching up, he hauled himself a foot off the ground.
    â€˜Ready for a little night climbing, Watson?’
    I had heard of this form of urban mountaineering, which was said to be practised by athletic gentleman in our more exclusive universities. However, never once had I felt the inclination to try it for myself.
    â€˜Come along, Watson,’ urged Holmes, ‘it’s far easier than it looks.’
    Soon we were both twelve feet up, sidling along a thin stone ledge. The street appeared to be several miles below. Holmes had attached himself to a drainpipe and was using it as a support to reach the second floor window. I followed suit and joined him, a little breathless, on the window sill. For a moment we stood like two petrified saints high up over the London street. Holmes pressed a finger to his lips then pointed upwards. I rolled my eyes.
    My friend stepped out to his left into what appeared to be thin air. However I deduced that he had once again employed the drain pipe, this time to swing himself around the corner of the building. Once again, I did the same, with no real sense of what I would find on the other side. The answer was very little indeed. I found a small protruding brick onto which to plant a foot and another to cling to with my fingertips. There was no sign of Holmes. The night was warm; a slight breeze ruffled my shirt. For a terrible moment I believed he had fallen, characteristically without a sound so as not to place me in jeopardy. Surely not! I searched frantically in the darkness and with a sense of monumental relief recognised my friend’s pale, thin features lurking in the shadows.
    I joined Holmes in an alcove, making my position safe by lodging myself between the two brick walls. I dimly recollected that in climbing circles, this manoeuvre was called chimneying. We smoked in silence side by side and although I have enjoyed tobacco in more relaxed circumstances, it was given an extra frisson by the inherent danger of our precarious perch. I watched the blue-white smoke coil upwards as if a snake was being charmed from its basket.
    We continued our ascent, walking our way up the walls until we were level with the third floor. Suddenly Holmes froze. His hearing, keener than mine, had detected something. Sure enough, there were footsteps approaching and below us I saw a constable on his beat, walking in that particular measured and vigilant sort of manner unique to officers of the law. He was looking to his left and right as part of his natural gait.
    Holmes responded by entering a zen-like state. If I did not know better, I would have said that by some miraculous means he had managed to stop his heart beating and his lungs performing their vital work. To my horror, it was at this moment that a coin, which I had held back from the driver of our hansom, in part due to his rather offhand manner, managed to work its way out of my pocket. I heard it drop to the street and