The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - The Moonstone's Curse E-Book

Sam Siciliano

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The aristocratic Charles Bromley arrives at 221B Baker Street to beg the great detective for his help. Bromley believes that his wife is in danger, as she has refused an offer to sell the Moonstone, a fabulous diamond that has been in her family for generations but which is said to be cursed. When a jeweller is found murdered, it seems as if the Moonstone deserves its reputation. Then the diamond is stolen, and Holmes must try to unravel a mystery centuries in the making.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Available Now from Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author’s Preface

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

About the Author

AVAILABLE NOW FROM TITAN BOOKS THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES SERIES:

THE COUNTERFEIT DETECTIVEStuart Douglas

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 TITANIC TRAGEDYWilliam Seil

THE STAR OF INDIACarole Buggé

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES: THE MOONSTONE’S CURSEPRINT EDITION ISBN: 9781785652523E-BOOK EDITION ISBN: 9781785652530

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

First edition: February 201710 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.

© 2017 Sam Siciliano

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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To Jeremy Brett,for his unforgettable Sherlock Holmes

Author’s Preface

My last book was loosely inspired by Bram Stoker’s Lair of the White Worm, a novel whose main interest today is as a bizarre curiosity piece. This time around, however, I can heartily recommend Wilkie Collins’s The Moonstone. Published in 1868, it is generally acknowledged as the first mystery novel, and its detective, Sergeant Cuff of Scotland Yard, would have a prodigious number of twentieth-century descendants. The novel’s ingenious plot has a clever twist worthy of Dorothy L. Sayers or Agatha Christie.

Collins’s other early novels, No Name and Armadale, are also interesting, although something of a slog because of their length. Still, they are striking for their powerful and complicated female characters. Magdalen Vanstone and Lydia Gwilt are no shrinking Victorian violets! The two characters are like yin and yang, a flawed heroine and a sympathetic monster.

My novel is a sort of sequel to The Moonstone. Much of Collins’s tale of the spectacular diamond and its vicissitudes provides a backstory set some fifty years in the past. Sherlock Holmes becomes involved with the jewel, and unlike Sergeant Cuff, he gets it right the first time. Like Holmes in my novel, I too must acknowledge an illustrious predecessor—two of them, in fact. All we modern mystery writers labor on under Wilkie Collins’s and Conan Doyle’s long shadows. I owe Collins a special debt for Murthwaite’s final lengthy missive from India.

One

Mrs. Hudson had gone in to announce my arrival, but it was Holmes himself who opened the door on a Wednesday afternoon in July. That thin face with its predatory nose and intense gray eyes smiled at me. “Ah, Henry, excellent—excellent! Do come in. You were the only thing missing. Now this case must be promising indeed.”

I followed him through the door. Mrs. Hudson curtsied and departed. A tall, slender man in his twenties with bushy brown hair and an equally prodigal mustache stood near the bow window. Like Holmes, he wore that ubiquitous uniform of an English gentleman: well-cut black frock coat, waistcoat with the gold Albert chain forming two loops between the pockets, and black-and-gray-striped trousers. Standing quietly nearby was a man, no doubt a servant, who seemed big because he was wide rather than tall. He wore a dark-gray suit, his arms extended, his large hands clutching a bowler hat.

“Mr. Charles Bromley,” Holmes said, “may I present my cousin and my good friend, Dr. Henry Vernier.”

Bromley had a relaxed, easy smile which wavered as his brow knotted. “Not Dr. W—?”

“No,” Holmes and I exclaimed in unison. Holmes glanced at me, a brief smile pulling at his lips.

I drew in my breath wearily. “No. It is Vernier.”

Bromley’s smile returned, and he extended his hand. “A pleasure, Dr. Vernier.” His grip was firm but not fierce. He half turned toward the person in the dark suit. “This is Hodges, my man.” Hodges nodded, his broad, rugged face remaining completely expressionless. The skin over his cheekbones was faintly pocked.

“Please take a seat.” Holmes gestured. Bromley took one end of the settee, I the other, while Holmes took his battered favorite armchair. “Henry has been good luck to me, Mr. Bromley. His presence has always marked the beginning of some of my most interesting cases. It augurs well for your visit. You were about to tell me about your wife’s diamond, sir. I take it this is no common gem.”

Bromley laughed softly. “Good heavens, no! Hardly common. Have you heard of the fabled Moonstone?”

“Yes, certainly. The name comes from the diamond’s appearance, does it not? And also because it was once part of a statue of an Indian moon deity.”

“Very good, Mr. Holmes. It has been in the family for over ninety years. My wife’s great-great-uncle John Herncastle took it at the storming of Srirangapatna, India, in 1799.”

Holmes’s eyes glowed. “And are there not stories about a curse?”

Bromley’s melodious laugh repeated. “Exactly so, Mr. Holmes. Your reputation is well deserved, I see. I hope, however, that you do not give any credence to curses and maledictions?”

Holmes shook his head. “No, in general I do not.” He extended his fingers and placed their tips together. “All the same, objects of great value have a way of leaving a bloody trail of crime and misery behind them. The cause is not supernatural force or demonic power, but human greed and iniquity. For example, I am certain the Indian inhabitants of the besieged Srirangapatna did not willingly hand over the diamond to their occupiers.”

“No, indeed, and in fact, that was a source of some familial discord. One of Herncastle’s cousins and a fellow officer claimed he had murdered the men guarding the diamond in cold blood, and Herncastle, as a result, was a rather despised outcast for his entire life. He died around 1840, leaving the diamond to his niece, Miss Rachel Verinder. There were some difficulties, but eventually…”