The Veiled Detective Read Online Free PDF Page B

headmaster. Having obtained the drinks, my new acquaintance led me to a quiet table. He raised his glass and nodded that I should do the same. Again, I obeyed him. I smelled the brandy, the thick, sweet intoxicating smell, and once more I was back at the camp, sitting under that skeletal tree beneath a pale Afghan moon, my body weary and my mind numb. The night breeze ruffled my hair and my hand gripped the neck of the bottle. I closed my eyes momentarily to lose the vision.
    I swirled the brandy round in the glass so that it produced a miniature whirlpool. If I cast it aside now; if I threw the drink away and returned to the medical tent; if...
    My reverie was broken by Reed whispering in my ear. “There’s no going back, old boy. The only direction left is forward. So, drink up!”
    The brandy caught the back of my throat and I spluttered.
    Reed laughed. “You’ll soon get used to it again, Watson.”
    I wiped my chin awkwardly.
    “Walker,” I corrected him gently.
    “Yes, I know, but somehow I see you as a Watson. Funny that, isn’t it?”
    Sherlock Holmes touched the tender lump on his scalp where he had been clubbed, and winced.
    Observing him, Inspector Giles Lestrade could not resist a chuckle. “Big as a quail’s egg, and twice as unpleasant.” He laughed again, this time at his own weak conceit.
    It was past midnight and the two men were sitting once more in Lestrade’s office at Scotland Yard. Holmes had dispensed with his disguise, although his face was still smeared with faint traces of make-up.
    “Well, Mr Holmes,” added Lestrade, sitting back in his chair, “if you will play dodgy games, you must expect to end up with a few bruises.”
    “I am not complaining, Inspector, just trying to establish the extent of the damage.”
    “You’ll live. A large headache for a while and a tender pate for a week, and then I reckon you’ll be right as rain.”
    “Thank you. I never knew you practised medicine as well as police work.”
    Lestrade did not rise to the bait. “We modern officers have many varied talents.”
    Holmes allowed himself a thin smile. “Well, apart from my quail’s egg, as you put it, it has been a fairly successful night.”
    “Certainly has — but a strange one. And I’m still not sure I understand this business fully.”
    “If it is any consolation, I’m not sure I do either... yet. As I have told you before, it is as though someone has been testing me, trying to trick me.”
    Lestrade shook his head. He was far from convinced. “Why should anyone want to do that?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Rare words from you, if I may say so. Still, I must admit it has been a funny carry-on. All this business with the bogus bank manager — we got him, by the way, as he was leaving your digs. Real name: Ernest Brand, a villain with a theatrical flair.”
    “Lot of theatricality, little flair,” observed Holmes as he lit a cigarette. “He was working under orders, of course, as were the two characters who produced my cranial appendage.” He touched his lump again. “Whoever planned this business knew a fair bit about me. He knows how my mind works.”
    “Blimey,” cried Lestrade in surprise, “he must be a blooming genius then!”
    “He was certain that I would arrange to rob the bank for Abercrombie. That was an essential part of the plan.”
    “Brand.”
    “Yes. Thus, we have the rather nice arrangement where the detective carries out the work of the thieves for them. A wonderful irony. Or at least that was how it would have been if the plan had worked.”
    “Ah, but you got the better of them, Mr Holmes.”
    “Did I?”
    Lestrade frowned. “Of course you did.”
    Abstractly, Holmes examined the glowing end of his cigarette. “Some aspects of the scheme were very clever, but there were too many weak elements.”
    “Such as?”
    “Did they never think I would check if Abercrombie really was the manager of the Portland Street branch of the City Bank, and if he had a