Sherlock Holmes and the Dance of the Tiger Read Online Free PDF Page B

outsmart me?” she asked, almost singing the words. 
    “This is inhuman!   I implore you, don’t do this!   Shoot me if you must, but this is too cruel by far!”
    “Death is occupational hazard in our business, but how wonderful when can be dealt in such creative way, da?”
    “How can you?   You’re not a woman, you’re a monster!” he exclaimed, covering his body with the pole as he jutted it into the jaws of the tiger.   He was doing fairly well at keeping the tiger at bay—for the time being.  
    But if the tiger decided to win, win he would.         
    “Sheltered life you have led,” she replied tersely.   “In Russia, no shortage of cruelty.   Czar provides example daily.”   Her own beloved father had killed himself after he lost his land under the Emancipation of the Serfs, his family starving—and her mother too weak to do anything about it.  
    She, on the other hand, had the power to control life.  
    Every life.   Man, woman or beast, it didn’t matter.   She always initiated the first—and last—strike.
    The tiger was positively mesmerized by the scent she had placed on Beckham’s clothing.   She made a mental note to experiment further with the method.   And yet, it was not enough: circus animals were uncertain, having learned to obey man.   Some of the wildness had been trained out of them.
    This is boring .   The tiger was not ready to attack.   But she had anticipated this, as she always thought of everything, she congratulated herself.   She was so much smarter than everyone gave her credit for—so much smarter than the men she flattered.   She shrugged.   So much smarter than everyone, in fact .   Everyone thought she was nothing more than a beautiful performer.
    But Beckham had figured it out.   Anger rose up in her for his audacity to think he could trap her.
    The same anger she had felt when she had found her father dead.
    A small bucket sat in a corner, the contents of which she had obtained from a local butcher. Beckham’s back was now to her as he had inched closer to the cage door while keeping the tigers at bay.   Apparently he expected to find a way to overpower her.   Foolish, foolish man .   As they all were.
    Lining up carefully through the bars, she splashed the entire contents of the bucket over him.
    “What is this?” he cried out, “My God!   Blood !”
    “Do svidanija, Mr. Beckham.   Good-bye .”
    It annoyed her that a drop of blood had splattered on her outfit.   Now she would have to change.   How inconvenient.   As she left the caged area with the now empty bucket to be cleaned out, she locked the outside door, dropping the key into her cleavage.
    “AEEEEE!”  She heard the screams of the man as the tiger attacked him, the scent of the blood irresistible.   The tigers were kept hungry to improve their performance.   A man would have no chance against a determined tiger, particularly with no weapon.   Funny how the sound was barely noticeable amidst the noise of the circus all about them.
    As she had known it would be.
    It was disappointing that it would be over in seconds; tigers were efficient killers, in most instances severing the victim’s spinal cord.   She consoled herself with the knowledge that a murder committed quickly was always to one’s advantage, making it much more difficult to place anyone at the scene.   Amateurs had no place in the tiger cage and it would be assumed the British gentleman had made a foolish mistake.
    Which he had.   He had underestimated her.
    She had wished Beckham would suffer more—she wanted him to know who was responsible for his death and why—but sometimes it just wasn’t possible to enact her revenge as she would like to.   
    On the positive side, by the time the lock to the door was opened no one would be able to tell that the extra blood was not Beckham’s.   He would be in no position to contradict that notion, being quite dead.  
    His secrets would die with