Counterfeit Detective E-Book

Stuart Douglas

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

An anonymous letter brings strange news to Baker Street; there is an impostor Sherlock Holmes at work in New York City, solving cases and taking society by storm. The real SHERLOCK HOLMES wastes no time in crossing the Atlantic to confront the charlatan. But he and Watson find more than they bargained for: the counterfeit Sherlock is missing, his landlady has been horribly murdered, and his clients are refusing to reveal their secrets…

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Available Now from Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

AVAILABLE NOW FROM TITAN BOOKSTHE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES SERIES:

THE ALBINO’S TREASUREStuart Douglas

MURDER AT SORROW’S CROWNSteven Savile & Robert Greenberger

THE RIPPER LEGACYDavid Stuart Davies

THE DEVIL’S PROMISEDavid Stuart Davies

THE VEILED DETECTIVEDavid Stuart Davies

THE SCROLL OF THE DEADDavid Stuart Davies

THE WHITE WORMSam Siciliano

THE ANGEL OF THE OPERASam Siciliano

THE WEB WEAVERSam Siciliano

THE GRIMSWELL CURSESam Siciliano

THE ECTOPLASMIC MANDaniel Stashower

THE WAR OF THE WORLDSManly Wade Wellman & Wade Wellman

THE SEVENTH BULLETDaniel D. Victor

DR JEKYLL AND MR HOLMESLoren D. Estleman

THE PEERLESS PEERPhilip José Farmer

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES:THE COUNTERFEIT DETECTIVEPrint edition ISBN: 9781783299256E-book edition ISBN: 9781783299263

Published by Titan BooksA division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: October 201610 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2016 Stuart Douglas

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

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Chapter One

The summer of 1899 was a troubled period in the life of my friend, Sherlock Holmes. Since the turn of the previous year, he had been working on an occasional basis for his brother Mycroft, frequently disappearing for days at a time, only to return – filthy, irascible and near collapse – in the dark of night. Often, he would be injured in some manner that required my medical aid, but so great was his exhaustion that even as I stitched and bandaged his wounds, he would fall asleep in his chair, murmuring darkly to himself.

When he was not engaged in such clandestine activities, he sat before the fire in a thick haze of pipe smoke, saying nothing, but polluting the atmosphere to such an extent that I was forced to go out to my club more often than not. I began to fear that he was suffering from some form of mental imbalance, so morose had he become, and for the first time in several years I took to examining his arms for needle marks as I tended to his more mundane cuts and bruises. There were none, I was relieved to see, but that was no guarantee for the future, should his mental state remain so depressed.

I attempted to quiz him about his mysterious labours, of course, but he was tight-lipped on almost every occasion, and more than once lost his temper entirely, causing a cloud to descend upon our rooms. On the sole occasion he did speak of his work, all he would say was that it involved issues of state; though I naturally allowed the matter to rest at that point, I remained worried for Holmes’s health and general wellbeing. The news from southern Africa, where the Boers seemed finally to have worked themselves into enough of a frenzy to threaten revolt against British rule, had done little to improve the general mood, while his increasingly thin and pale face reminded me painfully of the early days of our friendship, when cocaine too often wrapped him in its malignant fingers.

It came as something of a surprise, therefore, when he announced over breakfast one morning that he intended to leave for America as soon as could be arranged. He would elaborate no further, but as he had received a letter five minutes previously that he now held crushed in his fist, it was not difficult to guess the inspiration for his sudden travel plans, even if the specific reason remained unclear.

Determined to show that I was capable of exercising those powers of observation that my friend often claimed I lacked, I called him back as he rose from his chair. “Bad news?” I enquired, nodding meaningfully at the crumpled paper in his hand.