The Devil's Grin: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

magnification, I can see anything as small as two micrometers.’
    ‘Exceptional!’ he cried out and pushed closer.  
    And there, in the circular field-of-view of the microscope swam peculiar cells, shaped like minuscule tennis rackets of only five micrometers length — bacteria that could kill every warm-blooded vertebrate. I moved aside to let him take a look.
    ‘Germs!’ he said, intrigued.
    ‘Yes. It seems you were right again.’ I smiled up at him.
    ‘I never mentioned that possibility.’
    ‘You did. You mentioned poison.’ Upon his quizzical look, I added, ‘Germs produce toxins. That’s how they kill.’
    ‘But cholera is not found in the bloodstream.’
    ‘No,’ I said, ‘he didn’t die of cholera. Although he had had it in its final stage, I believe he was already recovering. The food in his stomach indicates that. The deadly blow must have come from tetanus. But I don’t know how he got infected. The needle punctures are only slightly inflamed, and don’t show the typical appearance of a tetanus entry wound.’
    Mr Holmes was silent for a long while, mulling things over with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. I was almost done cleaning up my dissection equipment when he muttered, ‘I need to take that bowl with me,’ indicating the collection of twigs, leaves and beetles I had picked off the man’s clothing.
    ‘How good are you at identifying them?’
    ‘I dare say the best.’ He pulled off his gloves, apron, and mask, and I showed him how to disinfect his hands and the contents of the bowl he wanted to take with him.
    ‘I suggest we meet Inspector Gibson at my residence tomorrow morning at eight.’
    ‘Hmm…’ I replied.
    ‘Would that be a problem?’
    ‘I will think about it. I might deliver my report directly to the Yard’s main quarters.’ I avoided looking at him.  
    He turned to leave, but then seemed to think otherwise. ‘I assume you wouldn’t tell me your real name?’
    Aghast, I shook my head. ‘Don’t try to go behind my back to find it out.’
    He looked slightly amused. The thought had probably crossed his mind.
    ‘Do you want me to find out your address behind your back? Just in case, I mean.’
    He slapped his hand against the door frame. ‘221B Baker Street.’

— three —

    I stepped off the omnibus and just managed to avoid a pile of horse manure on the pavement. Turning around, my gaze fell on the street sweeper. He was leaning on his broom handle, chewing on something obviously ropy and picking his teeth with blackened fingers. Such archaeological excavations exceeded even dissections at being unappetising.
    I tipped my hat at him, entered the eastern end of Regent’s Park, and turned north. The bustling of the street behind me gradually dimmed, to be replaced by the quiet chatter of couples walking arm in arm and sparrows’ grating chirps.

    The Flower Walk, Regent’s Park, London, 1896 (7)

    After a few minutes, I reached 221B Baker Street. Like its neighbours, the three-storey house was built of red bricks, with its base looking as though it had been dipped into cream. It had large white-framed windows and a smoked oak door. As my hand closed around the brass knocker, I wondered how much Holmes earned with that odd occupation of his. After a knock and a moment of waiting, the stout landlady beckoned me in.
    I watched my feet climb the stairs while thoughts swirled around in my head like a swarm of mosquitoes. To me, Holmes was a magnet with north and south poles unified. He knew my secret and could, with a single statement, destroy my life. I wasn’t quite certain whether avoiding or observing him would be the safer tactic.  
    Upon reaching the landing, I finally lifted my gaze and noticed a small crater in the wall. I probed with my finger, then brushed the plaster off and peered through the hole. On the other side, I could see Gibson’s head. Wondering whether this was a bullet hole, I knocked at Holmes’s door.
    Gibson opened, I stepped in,