Sherlock Holmes & the Missing Bowls
|Genre||Short Stories / Fiction
|Submitted:||Saturday, 16 May 2009
|Read by:||247 different readers
Sherlock Holmes and I (Dr. Watson) were in the middle of a game of chess, invariably I the loser. The writing was on the wall for this game too when we were interrupted by agitated knocking on the front door. Shortly Mrs B let a gentleman into the lounge and Mr Holmes directed him to the soft sofa, offering him a drink of brandy, for he looked in need of a sedative of some kind. The offer was gladly accepted.
The gentleman was well-dressed if a little podgy about the waist and I guessed him to be in his late 50s. A likeable fellow judging by the warm lines about his eyes and cheeks.
“How can I help you?” Holmes asked, once the man was more settled. The game of chess was now, thankfully, packed away where it could stay indefinitely as far as I was concerned!
“Sir,” the gentleman began. “The time is short. I hope I can put succinctly what has befallen our club this very day and that you can find some happy conclusion to this unfortunate affair.”
“Pray proceed,” said Holmes sitting back, his pipe lit and his interest aroused, hoping for some episode at least a little out of the ordinary, though these were hard to come by lately it seemed...
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