Sherlock Holmes Murder Most Foul Read Online Free PDF Page B

and catching sight of something lying upon the pitted stone floor, he abruptly halts. Snapped out of his lethargy, he recoils, becoming paler by the second.
    Stretched out on her back, arms at her sides and hands tightly clenched, Martha lies in a pool of blood. Her raised dark green skirt and brown petticoat, having exposed her stocking-clad legs which are parted, hints that recent intimacy may have taken place.
     
    The Star newspaper – 7 August 1888
     
    A Whitechapel Horror
     
    A woman, now lying unidentified at the Whitechapel mortuary, was stabbed to death this morning, between two and four o’clock, on a staircase landing in George-yard buildings, George-yard, Whitechapel.
    George-yard buildings are tenements occupied by the poor labouring class. A lodger says the body was not on the stone landing when he returned home about two o’clock.
    Another lodger going to his work early discovered the body. No weapon was found near the deceased, and her murderer has left no trace. She is of middle age and height, has black hair and a large round face, and apparently belonged to the lowest class.
     
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    Founded last year, in 1887, by its editor, Thomas P. O’Connor, The Star is a socialist newspaper, persistently claiming to have the largest readership of any evening paper in Great Britain. Purporting to be the champion of the underprivileged and costing a mere halfpenny, some of its journalists, similar to other tabloid reporters of the day, frequently resort to so-called yellow journalism, flagrantly distorting and exaggerating news stories to increase circulation.
     
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    Assailed by the relentless clatter of printing press machines just beyond the open door of his office, O’Connor impatiently puts on his spectacles, opens a copy of The Star newspaper and stares at an editorial headline.
     
    Sherlock Holmes returns from Switzerland
    Daring exploits
    Thrilling adventure
     
    O’Connor scowls, turns towards the door and barks, “Bullen! Get in here!”
    Wearing a printer’s apron smudged with black finger-marks, a young spindly Perkins promptly pops his head round the door, “Yeh, Mr O’Connor.”
    O’Connor glares at Perkins, “I said Bullen, boy. Doesn’t anyone listen anymore?”
    Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, an overweight Bullen brushes past Perkins and enters the office.
    O’Connor snaps at Bullen, “Been drinking again, have you?”
    Perkins skedaddles.
    Bullen nervously licks his lips, “Haven’t had one since…”
    O’Connor snarls, “Don’t lie, Bullen, I can smell your breath from here.” Scornfully, he stabs the editorial headline with his finger, “What’s this?” Adjusting his spectacles, O’Connor sneeringly reads aloud, “Daring exploits. Thrilling adventure.”
    He turns to Bullen contemptuously, “The Star is a reputable newspaper, Bullen, not a [50] penny-dreadful publication. Our readers require factual news, not just sensational headlines.”
    Bullen sighs ruefully, “Well, you see, Mr Holmes was quite hesitant. He didn’t actually say anything.”
    O’Connor peers over his spectacles, “He wouldn’t. So, you made the story up, is that it?”
    Bullen raises an objectionable eyebrow, “Not exactly. But now and then…”
    O’Connor interjects, “Mr Sherlock Holmes and, I might add, Dr Watson, left our shores for the [51] Continent towards the end of April. It is now August. What do you suppose these two gentlemen were doing for the past three months?”
    Bullen shrugs his shoulders, “Savouring the delights of a [52] Parisian brothel, perhaps?”
    O’Connor snatches his spectacles from his face, “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Bullen. An unpleasant habit that you would like to copyright, no doubt?”
    Bullen petulantly mops his forehead with his handkerchief, “The absence of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson from these shores for the last three months suggests that they may have been involved in another case,