Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Tainted Canister Read Online Free PDF Page A

next to the fireplace, inside a recessed alcove in the far corner of the room.
    It was past two when I heard Anstruther’s step out in the hallway. As the door opened and he entered, the pale lamplight shone full upon his face. Although he wore the apparel of a rich, successful man, the months since our last meeting had not been kind to him. He looked tired, faintly querulous, and older than his years, no longer the dashing young physician of poor Mary’s dreams. Burdened by this knowledge, I stepped out from my hiding place.
    Anstruther turned toward me, and his face went white. “My God—Watson! What the devil are you doing here?”
    â€œIs that the way you greet an old friend, Richard?” Having reminded him that we had once been close enough to use our Christian names, I sat down in the chair beside his bed. “Surely you saw my calling card left in the foyer? I must say, you keep extraordinarily late hours for a man engaged in serious research.”
    â€œWhat do you know of my research?” he sniffed disdainfully, moving to the bed to retrieve his dressing gown. “And what on Earth are you doing in my slippers?”
    â€œI hated to track mud onto your beautiful new carpet. As for your research, I may know more than you suppose. I ought to; you told me enough about the deuced fevers of the Ganges to last me all my life. Allow me to congratulate you on your illuminating article in last month’s Lancet .”
    â€œHumbug! You probably didn’t even understand it. I could barely make you grasp the concept back in Paddington.”
    â€œWell, not at first, perhaps. But I could hardly fail to be impressed by that remarkable demonstration you gave afterward. I would never have believed that so deadly an infection could be transmitted in a cup of tea, but you proved it entirely to my satisfaction.”
    â€œWhat are you babbling about, Watson? You must be drunk.”
    â€œOh, come now, Richard. You remember that fine Darjeeling, the special blend from your father’s estate in the Himalayan foothills? It was your Christmas present to us. Mary drank a cup the afternoon I took it home, and the next night Mary died. You must have retrieved the canister during your visit the next morning, because I never saw it after that.”
    Anstruther’s face was blotched with rage. “It wasn’t meant for her , you fool! Mary despised tea; I’d known that since I met her. In my wildest fancy, I couldn’t have dreamed that she would choose that day to break a lifelong habit.”
    â€œShe drank that tea because it came from you , as you might have known she would. I’m sure that Moran’s plan was to kill the two of us, whatever he told you—or whatever you may have tried to tell yourself since then.”
    â€œMoran!” He started with amazement and sat down abruptly on the bed. At its foot, I saw the counterpane shift slightly. “How do you know about Moran?”
    â€œI saw him leaving your consulting room,” I answered coldly, “on the afternoon you presented me with your accursed tea. Of course, I didn’t know then whom I was seeing. That surprise came later, when Holmes and I caught the good colonel shooting air guns into our rooms in Baker Street.”
    â€œListen, Watson, you don’t understand.” Rising from the bed, Anstruther paced about the room in agitation. “I had no choice. Moran had been my commanding officer in India, and he knew about my research on the Ganges fevers. I’d lost every farthing I possessed playing whist against that man. I was going to lose my practice, my career!”
    â€œOh, but your career picked up amazingly after Mary’s death. You went from Paddington to Brook Street, and at last you had the money to finance your research.”
    â€œWell, what of it?” Now he turned to face me with an effort at bravado. “Should I have remained a general practitioner in