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

land on the pavement with a sound like a dinner gong. The constable stopped immediately. He shot a glance behind him. He performed a slow 360 degree turn and then walked to the source of the noise. The coin gleamed in the moonlight. The constable picked it up and examined it between thumb and forefinger as if he had never seen one before. All he had to do was raise his head and he would find us hanging above him like a pair of ravens roosting in a tower. But luck was on our side. He looked in every direction except up. Pocketing the coin, he had evidently convinced himself that it was his after all.
    We were untroubled again until we reach the roof. Here we found that an athletic twist was required to swing ourselves up onto the final stone ledge supporting the guttering. Already I was feeling dizzy from the altitude, the nervous encounter with the constable and the unexplained nature of the visit. However I had been in stranger spots with Holmes and the cards had invariably fallen in our favour. I had no choice but to trust him.
    Holmes is a man of extraordinary paradoxes. One moment, he is akin to a convalescing patient, pallid of skin, listless and apparently without energy. He can languish in his armchair, consuming nothing more nourishing that Persian tobacco with the look of a man who has died in his sleep. At other times, he exhibits an extraordinary vitality, no doubt the secret behind his effortless mastery of several branches of martial arts and the marvellous strength that allows him to bend metals and bring men twice his weight to the ground. I have never quizzed him on these contradictory states; however, it is clear that he has hidden reserves that may be drawn upon in extremis. It was from these reserves that Holmes drew to make an extraordinary leap onto the roof. In a moment, my friend was peering down at me, proffering a gloved hand. I accepted gratefully and at last, like two alpine adventurers, we found ourselves at the summit.
    There was a narrow indentation in the building that ran from the pavement to the roof: surely just a whimsy of the builder for it appeared to serve no practical purpose. And it was in this that Holmes had lodged himself, his back pressed up against one side, his feet planted on the other and nothing but fresh air beneath him. His arms were folded as if he was seated in an armchair at the Reform Club.
    â€˜Care to join me?’ invited Holmes.
    He proffered another pair of cigarettes and I gratefully accepted one.
    â€˜I’m not expecting a lamplighter at this hour,’ he said. ‘Do you have a flame?’
    â€˜Well,’ I said, feeling something like Nelson himself standing over London. ‘Have I earned an explanation yet, or am I to assume that London’s greatest detective has finally turned to the very devilment which he has hitherto vowed to destroy?’
    â€˜Not quite!’ Holmes said. ‘But your answer is just moments away.’
    As fleet as an alley cat, Holmes hopped across the tiles and headed for a small elevated window. I followed him on all fours, a little less keen to risk my life on loose tiles and gravity. I finally caught up with Holmes at the window, which he was attempting to raise.
    â€˜As I thought, Watson,’ my friend muttered, ‘it is quite secure.’ For a moment, I felt that Holmes had discovered a flaw in his plan, without caring to admit it to me. ‘This leaves just one other possibility.’ With a short jump he arrived at the foot of the chimney and pressed his hands to the surface, as if testing for a loose brick.
    â€˜Watson,’ he hissed, with a triumphant look, ‘fortune favours the brave.’
    When I finally reached the chimney myself, I found that my friend had once again disappeared. The rooftops of London are a ghostly sight at night; I imagined them dispatching the thoughts of the sleeping masses into the clouds. At once I felt a terrible melancholy and utterly alone. It was