The Final Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Volume 1 Read Online Free PDF

Suffolk of a wealthy family – never needed to work for a living – preoccupied with flowers, music and literature – de-da, de-da, de-da – marriage to Lucy Barton lasted only a few months – very close to some male friends. Hah! There we have it, Watson. Reading between the lines, I think we may assume that the translator of the Rubayait was like Mycroft. A musical man. Is it a clue, perhaps? A clue within a cipher, rather than a cipher within a cipher?’
    Holmes sat down abruptly and flung the paper impatiently down the table.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t think we can get any more out of this note just now. More data is needed, Watson. We can’t make bricks without clay. Now, unless I’m much mistaken, the musical door-bell has sounded, signalling the arrival of young Lestrade. Let us drink our tea while we await the unfortunate spawn of the bulldog George, who incidently passed away last year. May his soul rest in eternal peace, as his life was a continual irritation to his betters.’
    â€˜Holmes!’ I protested.

Chapter III. Jasper Lestrade.
    â€˜Mr. Lesteraday to see yer, Mr. Houlmes.’ Lily, complete with faux-gentry accent, attempted a curtsy and failed, staggering back as she ushered a lean ferret-faced young man into the room. She recovered to close the door delicately behind him.
    Jasper Lestrade sported a pencil moustache and twirled a homberg nervously in his hands. A visible wave of relief seemed to come over him when Lily shut the door. For myself, I felt that I was entering one of Mr. Herbert Wells’ time-warps, as his clothing and general demeanour were carbon copies of his father’s. A much younger version, of course, and without the sallowness of his father. For some reason he assumed that I was Sherlock Holmes and ventured towards me, hand outstretched.
    â€˜I am very pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Holmes. Most sorry to hear about your esteemed brother.’
    I shook his hand cordially.
    â€˜How do you do, Detective Lestrade. I am Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes’ biographer. This is Sherlock Holmes,’ I said, inviting him to meet my friend.
    He switched tack immediately to shake the hand of his father’s old enemy.
    â€˜My father told me so much about you, Mr. Holmes. Especially towards the end. All of it good. None of it bad. Well, he may have tried to match you once or twice, and complained about it to the family when he lost out, but I’m here to tell you that any assistance you can give me on the cases I have, would be much appreciated. I need help on this horrible one, sir, and that’s a fact. I’m clear out of my depth. We all are, at the Yard. None of us can make head nor tail of it.’
    Holmes cast a sideways glance at me, as if this were too good to be true. Either Jasper Lestrade was a genuinely humble policeman – a contradiction in terms, in my opinion – or else he was a masterful manipulator of egos. And he appeared to be rather better educated than his father, which I imagined might be an advantage to us.
    â€˜Lestrade. Please. Sit. Your father was definitely the best of the professionals,’ oozed Holmes. ‘He was a dedicated policeman, and a practical man who lacked imagination, but who knew his limitations all too well.’
    Lestrade seated himself at the table, but kept his coat and scarf on. He seemed unaware of any insult to his father’s memory.
    â€˜Yes. Thank you for your kind note on his demise. It was much appreciated by my mother and I. I’ll put my cards on the table, Mr. Holmes. I am more ambitious than my father, and I believe that you and Doctor Watson can assist my career. I was raised on your exploits, and have studied your exciting cases in some detail. The manner in which you arrived at the solution that forced Mr. Jonas Oldacre to expose himself in the matter of the Norwood Builder, I found especially admirable. My father saw himself in competition with you, and was