The Dragon Turn Read Online Free PDF Page A

urchin who lives in the area and sleeps in the Cremorne. He sees everything. He used to watch for Hemsworth at night, who would slink through the Gardens in a long black coat and safari hat, looking around, sneaking his way toward the hotel. It amused the boy, so he’d watch for him every time. The child has an over-active imagination. He said he knew the man was a magician or a wizard of some sort because he saw him do strange things: he’d always enter through a secret outside door at the back, which he’d open simply by speaking to it, and summon some sort of creature inside … that sort of fantastic stuff.”
    “So, it was the boy. He got inside? He found the blood?”
    “He noticed that Hemsworth was accompanied by another man a few nights ago, but only Hemsworth came out. Then the magician didn’t appear again for a day or two. The boy simply mentioned this to the hotel keeper. So, the keeper went downstairs. There was no answer at the inner door that led to the studio from the hotel … he went inside.”
    “And the boy knows for sure that the other man never appeared again, didn’t leave through an unknown door? He positively identified this long-black-coated man as Hemsworth?”
    “Holmes, what wishful fantasy are you driving at? The second man wore clothing identified as Nottingham’s. The cloaked man wore a black safari hat, known to be favored byHemsworth. It was Hemsworth’s place. We know that. It was clear once we were inside. He took Nottingham in there and left without him, without his body, that is.”
    “Did the
keeper
say it was Hem —”
    “Don’t start making assumptions, like you are wont to do, trying to fit your theories to the crime. Criminal investigations are about facts, and facts alone. We are in possession of other evidence … which I shan’t share with you.” He pauses. “Sherlock, please, don’t go there. Leave this alone.”

    Holmes departs Denmark Street about half past midnight that night, bearing one of Bell’s small blades — with a particularly sharp tip — to help pick the lock, or to protect himself, though he also has his horsewhip concealed up his sleeve. It has rained most of the day and the air is thick and humid. The yellow fog has returned. He will have a long walk tonight, but he knows the streets and how to keep clear of the criminals, the straggling drunks, and prostitutes. He moves stealthily through London, head on a swivel, first down the frightening, narrow streets near his neighborhood to a nearly-deserted Leicester Square, then along Piccadilly Street past The Egyptian Hall, spotting Buckingham Palace in the distance to his left. Then he is into upper-class Belgravia, turning off Knightsbridge Road before he reaches the unlikely area where Malefactor had his home. He checks for a pursuer more than once here and feels for his knife. Then he swings south, by leafy parks and racket courts, untilhe reaches King’s Road, and goes west into Chelsea. Soon he can smell the river and see the Battersea Bridge and the lights of the saw mills and chemical works on the other side of the Thames. Moments later, he approaches the Cremorne Gardens.
    Its gaslights are dimmed and all is quiet, which is eerie for such a place. It is as if death has come to the Cremorne — everything has been stilled.
    The Gardens is surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and its main entrance is on King’s Road, a beautiful black gate with a gleaming star on top. Sherlock climbs the fence near the padlocked entrance and goes in. For a place that exists for entertainment, some of it the most crass in the empire, the Cremorne is beautiful. Elm trees hang over lush, emerald-green lawns and there are flowers everywhere. He heads into the misty jungle, under the few remaining lights, passes the big circus building, the Marionette Theatre, the American Bowling Saloon, and the central dancing platform. Then he creeps carefully through a more open area, along a tree-lined lane in the