The Lammas Curse Read Online Free PDF Page A

impression it is not merely a game or way to pass the time or a
means of allaying boredom but an innate calling. In that regard she
reminds me of Sherlock most of all. She pursues loose threads with
fervour and has a genuine knack for following several leads at the
same time. When she learns to master the emotional side of things
she will be formidable.”
    “I take it that means you will
soon be placing an advertisement in the Times : V & W,
Consulting Detectives, 221B Baker Street, London – no case too
difficult.”
    Dr Watson guffawed loudly
before remembering where he was and gagging on his own spit. “I
wish I could say Never with conviction, but before we
boarded the Devon train for our return trip to London I vowed never
to become embroiled in another mystery with the Countess and by the
time we reached Paddington I had already gone back on my word. I
swear I don’t know if I acted of my own accord or whether she
railroaded me into it.”
    “So you’ve already started work
on another case?”
    “Not exactly. But if I am not
intruding upon your time I wouldn’t mind hearing what you have to
say concerning the venture we are about to embark upon.”
    “Not at all, old boy. Let’s
ring for a coffee and then you can tell me all about it.”
    Mycroft moved to the bell pull
on the other side of the fireplace and gave it two hard yanks, the
number of yanks indicating that coffee was the beverage being
called for. He also threw some more fuel on the fire and gave the
coals a bit of a prod with the poker to save the butler the task,
thus minimizing interruption. Dr Watson drained his whiskey and
began to breath normally again, relieved he was not about to be
shamefully booted out.
    After the coffee had been
delivered and dispensed he broached the second topic that had
brought him halfway across London on a nippy autumn evening.
    “What do you know about the
Lammermoor golf tournament?” he said, leaving the question
deliberately open-ended.
    Mycroft’s ghost of a smile
indicated that he knew quite a bit. “I know that Scotland Yard is
checking into it as we speak. I also know that Lord Cruddock is
putting pressure on our finest detectives to come to a swift and
decisive conclusion.”
    “Oh,” said the doctor feeling
suddenly disappointed. “They will resolve matters fairly quickly
and the tournament will continue.”
    “The tournament will continue,
yes, but I wouldn’t say they will resolve anything anytime soon.
They will conclude the three deaths to be accidental.”
    “Is that your opinion too?”
    Mycroft spooned some sugar into
his coffee and stirred it soundlessly before securing the gaze of
his listener. “You play golf, Dr Watson. What are the chances of
three players in the same tournament succumbing to fatal accidents
in the space of a fortnight?”
    “So you don’t believe they were
accidents?”
    “What was it Sherlock always
said about coincidence?”
    “Mmm, yes,” recalled the
doctor, “but the first death puzzles me. It would be devilishly
hard to hit someone on the head with a stray golf ball. I don’t
consider myself a bad player but I would have to hit a million golf
balls before I could hit a target like that and it is all down to
pure luck - a bit like a hole in one. There would be a million
easier ways to kill a person. It is a most unlikely murder.”
    “No argument there, but what if
you hit them on the back of the head with the end of a nine iron
and then after they had slumped to the ground you rammed a golf
ball into their skull in the exact same spot where the nine iron
had made a dent, and the ball was covered with blood and the nine
iron was nowhere to be seen?” conjectured Mycroft. “The next person
to come along would quite rightly conclude the deceased had been
struck by a stray ball.”
    “Oh, yes, I see - if there were
no witnesses, that is, but what about the caddy?”
    “The caddy was not out
caddying. The golfer in question, Chuck Fitzalan, had decided to