What Happens If Herpes Is Not Treated

[Sherlock Holmes] is left All That, All That I hide (2 / 3)


Title:
All That Is Left, All That I hide

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes


Pairing:
Holmes / Watson, Watson / Mary

Rating: NC-17


Word Count:
17 700 (W) Part

:
2 / 3

Notes:
Begun a year ago for a project with





laurazel


that unfortunately has not come off, I finished a few months but the only place now that I could find some 'time. It is longish, angsty and talk about two issues that I find most difficult in this fandom: the marriage of Watson and cocaine. But since at least one fic about these two things have written everyone, here we are.

Summary:
Fall 1890. Watson has to manage a marriage and a case for Holmes. Holmes has a dependency on and manage a problem with Watson. Neither is very good at what he must do. Below angst, complications, and a yellow.



Part 1




The next morning, the bell rang before the time of my study visits, and when the waitress came to tell me that this was a man and this man said to be Sherlock Holmes, I confess that I had a sinking heart. I had believed to see him again so soon. I told her to seat them, but she returned after a minute to tell me that Mr. Holmes preferred to wait in the doorway, and would not come.

I hastened to the door. "Holmes!" I said, finding it actually stopped at the door. It was a different man than shabby shadow of the day before: shaved and combed, neat apparel, with that austerity that was his hallmark. Although the vision of the state in which I had surprised he did not cease of this overlap, comforted me to see my friend again to resemble himself.

"Will not you come in? Mary's upstairs. Beth, the lady calls, please. "

" It is not necessary, "said Holmes, offhand. "I'm here visiting for pleasure, but to request your assistance. There are developments of the utmost importance. I have an appointment with Hopkins in half an hour and I would like you to take me. "

" Holmes, I have visits scheduled for the morning. I can not ... "

" Disdicile. "

" Holmes, it's my job. "

" You care about the fate of Isa Whitney? "

sighed. When Holmes was in the midst of his strength, all discussion was useless. "Leave a few minutes. I'll see what I can do. "

" John? Is there any ... oh. "

I turned and found the slight figure of my wife on top of the stairs. Mary and I remembered that Holmes had not been seen again since the case of the Agra treasure, what I had published under the title of 'The Sign of Four'. But the figure of my friend was unmistakable, and I saw a slow friendly smile come to our lips of my wife.

"Mr. Holmes, "exclaimed, hurrying down the stairs. "I knew that pleasure and review. Oh, it's so unexpected ... Honey, I wish they would tell me that Mr. Holmes would come this morning. "

" I would have certainly done if I'd known, "I replied, shooting a look at my friend .

"Why is the door, dear Mr. Holmes?" Continued my wife. "We were just sitting down at the table for breakfast. Join us. "

Holmes gave her a smile of kindness, brief but polite, and did not move. "I assure you that the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Watson. Unfortunately I must decline the invitation and cause it wrong for which I am sure, his estimate against me will suffer a severe blow. I have come to steal her husband. "

Mary looked at him a little surprised but immediately sympathetic. "It is about the poor Isa Whitney, is not it? Do you have any news? "

" progress has been made, "Holmes admitted, in a tone penny. "At the moment I can not tell you more." He looked at me, then took out his watch from his pocket and consulted with an eloquent gesture.

I lifted my hands in surrender. "Let me fix the commitments of the day, Holmes. I'll be back in a minute. Mary, you do not mind, do not you ...? " " Of course not, darling " said my wife. "If it can be used to help those poor unfortunate couple." I returned to my office and gave instructions to my assistant that he notify the patient of the morning that I was forced to postpone their appointments. Fortunately it was only a couple of visits, nothing serious or urgent. When I got back in the hall, my wife and Holmes were still standing near the door, but Holmes had decided to abandon the threshold. I made time to hear Mary say in a voice vibrant with satisfaction (and another feeling that I could not identify): "We are very pleased, Mr. Holmes, and it's all about her." Her lips were narrow Holmes in a thin horizontal line. "Here I am, Holmes. We can go "I said catching my coat dall'appendiabiti.
"Be careful, honey," Mary warned me. I took her hand in his and rose a little on the tips to support a loving kiss on the cheek.
The tension is not vanished when Holmes and I were alone in the street, but eased considerably. At the time neither spoke. Holmes stretched out his arm to call a cab and gave clear indication to the driver to take us to the morgue. "morgue, Holmes?"
"This morning I got on early Inspector Hopkins care to communicate that I am working on the case. Half an hour ago, Hopkins sent me a telegram warned about the recovery of a body from the Thames, "she explained. "It could be Whitney, but I need your presence to identify with absolute certainty. I have personally seen the man once and with very little light. "
nodded. "I hope they are wrong" I said softly. "Poor guy." "He or another, it makes no difference in the overall budget."
I looked at him, slightly shocked by the chill of her voice. When he wanted, Holmes knew to be extremely cynical and detached, but it was the first time I heard him speak in such derogatory terms for a lifetime. As cold and unfriendly were his manners, I never thought anything like that could feed a lot of dry indifference to the human race.
"It has for his wife, Holmes. The poor woman will be destroyed by the pain. " " For a period, of course. But in the end be comforted. Women - and men - are quick to replace the vacancies in their hearts. " sighed and turned from the window without replying. In 1890 the reputation of my friend shone like a star, and yet many, Scotland Yard and elsewhere in the country, they considered a simple idler handyman Gregson and Lestrade, an amateur with the habit of doing things their own way and a terrible intolerance of the rules. Others, however, and were the majority, I recognize the undeniable merit, because they got to meet my faith or because they provide accounts of his deeds rather than those of newspapers. It goes without saying that members of the first type harbored the slightest sympathy for me because they say my stories discredit the body of Scotland Yard diminishing the most prominent representatives - in particular Tobias Gregson and Lestrade, whose rise in the hierarchy of the Police Royal at that time appeared to be unstoppable. Inspector Stanley Hopkins, however, belonged to the second category. Frank and very intelligent man, had made a career quickly and without obstacles, achieving the rank of inspector at the young age of twenty-six years. Had benefited from the collaboration of Sherlock Holmes in a number of cases that were granted, and also why my friend had for the most unbounded admiration and seek to apply the methods with the dedication of a scholar devoted to the master.
When we arrived, Hopkins was already at the entrance of the morgue. "Oh, Mr. Holmes! Doctor. We've been waiting for, "he said shaking his hand. "This case seems to tangle every moment, Mr. Holmes, "he confessed as we escorted through the corridors. "In the beginning, when we recovered the body, we threw in a brawl gone bad, but it seems much more complicated than that. You'll see it. Ah ... "We had stopped in front of a door guarded by a distracted-looking young officer, who snapped to attention when he saw Hopkins approach. "The gentlemen are with me," she told him with familiarity, and the boy stepped aside to let us pass. "Be careful of the steps," we urged Hopkins, started first along the narrow staircase that opened up beyond the door. "Someone is ... Damn." You hear the wood creak alarmingly and Hopkins stumbled to move hastily on a healthy step.

"Why so jumpy, Hopkins?" Asked Holmes.
"It's just a feeling, Mr. Holmes," the inspector said, almost apologetically, as if speaking of simple feelings in the presence of the master of deduction was something to be ashamed of. "I hope I'm wrong. I feel that we have opened a whole can of worms and that there is more behind this case than we thought at first glance. Be ', to what I did not believe me, probably. You, Mr. Holmes, no doubt you will already made a very precise picture of the whole story. "
" That I will check with new data in its possession. "
We were in a small basement looking barren, poorly lit. The air was cold and stale at the same time, pregnant with a strong smell of mold that emanated from the walls and mingled with another, more pungent and sweet with a nasty note. I knew that smell from the time the university: it was the stench of a rotting corpse.
There were five tables in the room, but only one, the first coming from the staircase, was busy. A body had been laid there on his back and mercifully covered by a long sheet, but the sole of a boot for men emerged from under the cloth. On the floor on the way past several pools of water.

"After you, doctor," said Holmes. I approached the table and grabbed an extreme edge of the sheet, moving away from the man's face and drop inert on his chest. At that point, the stench became unbearable, and I had to remove the handkerchief from his pocket and press it firmly on his face.

was Isa Whitney, without possibility of error. She had her hair blonde for too long deprived of the care of a barber, his straight nose, long face and vaguely horse, even the little neo dark corner of his mouth. I closed my eyes, engaging for a moment all my energies in an effort to dominate. He was only twenty-seven.

"Watson?" I called Holmes, quietly. I put a hand on his shoulder, and that was enough to calm my spirit.

"That's him," I said in the tone of voice as neutral as I could.

"Sorry, my boy."

I shook my head, but I knew that despite the harsh words that I had put in the cab, I really thought. Straightened his back and put aside all unnecessary sentimentality, as he would have called for investigations to be useful. "There's something strange about him."

His left hand my shoulder and Holmes walked around the table to get a better view of the face of poor Whitney. "Expose your comments, please."

I bent down to observe it better. Whitney's face was swollen and purplish, swollen lips and cracked in two places at least, the left temple was torn by a horrendous cut that still retained around the edges, some small trace of blood coagulated. So you could see everything on the left side of the face, where at times differed little spots encrusted with what must have been copious bleeding. I took a large breath in my handkerchief and put it back in your pocket. Further pushing back the sheet, I discovered the breast Whitney. The fabric of the vest and that the shirt was wet and cold as if they had just rescued from the depths of the Thames. The immaculate shirt you could see some blood stains.

"It is not drowned. There is no trace of foam in the nostrils or mouth and the wound on his temple bled a long time. It is very deep and wide, an area rich in blood vessels. The blood clot and was able to pour a large part of the left side of the face. Judging by the arrangement of the spots, I think it is left lying on his back for some time. There is blood in the ear, you see? If the wound had obtained after death, would hardly have bled, and blood would be dissolved in water. "

" The estimated time that has passed from death? "The

denudai the chest and abdomen. It was a pale and sickly, to green, the chest was crisscrossed by many branches blood that ran along the veins. "It's already in a state of putrefaction, although not too advanced. The body is swollen, especially the abdomen and face, and red blood cells have been opened up spilling the hemoglobin in the veins. Under normal circumstances, I would say three days, maybe something more, but the body was not exposed to air and this season the water is very cold, a factor that slows decomposition process. I do not know. Six or seven days. Maybe more, maybe less. "

" Wonderful, "said Sherlock Holmes, who seemed oblivious to the terrible stench that rose from the corpse. "An analysis impeccable, Doctor."

"Thank you, Holmes," I said, feeling suddenly very tired.

"This case starts to get very mysterious," said Holmes, pushing the entire sheet. He pulled out his pocket magnifying glass, with which she began to study clothing and Whitney. "The idiot I spoke with seemed to be absolutely sure that he saw the man climb into a carriage Public. "

" In the wonderment of opium, Holmes? "I said.

"In the stupor of opium, of course," said Holmes, impatiently. "And yet with remarkable powers of observation, if it was able to notice the unusual lack of a spat in his left foot." He pointed to the offending shoe, effectively deprives it of its ghetto.

"If you took a cab to get home, it is unlikely that either was involved in a street fight," I reasoned. "Unless you have given the wrong address, or the driver has not sent down before you get there."

"Mmm."

"There's more, Mr. Holmes," Hopkins said, almost shyly. He had watched the scene until at this point in a closed almost reverential silence, and when he did he spoke as if afraid to break a spell.

"Oh yeah?" Said Holmes, with sudden interest. "Why did not you say earlier, Hopkins, for heaven's sake?"

Hopkins hesitated. "This is one of our agents, Mr. Holmes. Whitney has seen a few nights ago while on patrol. Imagining that would make him a question, I gave an order to remain available. "

" Fine " said Holmes, Hopkins, and lit up as if he had done a compliment.

Holmes, and a much lesser extent myself, we were fairly frequent visitors to this police station and several other of the city. Holmes was especially welcomed by many curious glances.

agent Jarvis told us that: "I was a patrol in Southampton Row, sir, when I saw a man in every way equal to the poor wretch who we rescued from the river coming down from a carriage public. Staggered so that one should stand at the door of the cab to avoid falling into the ground. The driver was waiting for her money and then the guy says (he had a loud drunk, sir), 'Wait a time when I go home to get '. Then the driver says, 'Do you think I was born yesterday? You now you figs at home without paying me a penny '. 'How dare you' the customer says, 'you do not know who I am' and in short were to come to blows, because the client had all warmed up and began to say that he had been insulted and the driver if he could forget who paid him, now. Then I was going to speak, sir, but then a man came out from inside the house of large tonnage, a blood type with his face flushed red. Pay the driver, takes the drunk's arm and if you drag into the house. At this point the driver has gone his way, and me too. "

"Are you absolutely certain that it was the same man who was rescued from the river today, Officer Jarvis?" Asked Holmes.

"I'm sure, sir, yes" he replied.

"What can you tell me the other man, the one who paid the driver?"

"There was nothing special, sir. It was as wide as an oak, a type threatening, but some common features. "

At the mention of the way I had a start: in Southampton Row overlooked fact the house of Isa Whitney, and I said to Holmes, who was limited to absorb information and nodded gravely.

"Watson, would you be kind enough to write down the address of the Whitney on a piece of paper? Thank you. "I gave it to Hopkins and said something they do not pay attention, distracted by a sudden need to take a breath of fresh air to the window. The sensory memory of the stench of dead had risen suddenly to my nostrils, getting a slight nausea.

"The wife has lied to you," remarked Holmes, as we boarded the third carriage of the day.

"Maybe it was not at home."

"Late at night?"

"Perhaps he was sleeping and did not notice anything."

"Unlikely."

I rubbed my eyelids with fingers. "What do you do?" I asked. I felt tired and downcast. This story seemed to get worse every moment.

Holmes looked at me for a long moment before answering. "I was planning to immediately proceed to question Mrs. Whitney, but I changed my mind. We will have breakfast first, because I deprived of your morning meal - and incidentally I have not eaten anything even me. "

" If you'd rather do, Holmes, come on. The events of the morning I do not have stimulated the appetite. "

" You need to eat, "said Holmes, in the final tone. "The case can wait an hour."

I was struck by his care, but obviously rude, just when they least deserve it. I stretched a hand to take her for a moment, in a familiar gesture. Holmes withdrew, but stared at the gesture as if he were completely alien.

"I am sorry for what happened yesterday," I said softly. "You do not deserve the abominable way in which I treated. I would like to express the depth of my admiration and my friends, but lately it seems that only manages to offend me in one way or another. Sorry, Holmes. I swear that offend you is the last thing I want. "

Holmes slowly parted her lips, as considering a response. "I do not There was no offense, "he said at last, but the warmth of his words did not extend to the tone of voice or facial expression. "So many things that I was clear yesterday they are today, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

"Nothing important." He ordered the cabbie to stop the carriage. "Come on. Account to have this case resolved before dinner. "




Kate Whitney was a slender, petite woman, with a kind of response, quiet beauty that do not appear at first glance, but after a few crept observer time. He looked haggard a person aged too quickly, and in fact showed at least ten years older than his actual twenty-four and a part was it had the terrible conduct of the husband, whose long disappearance and almost total inability to manage the family fortune (very large time the wedding, but not more so) women were exhausted from the fiber much more robust. When he opened the door, her eyes were red and swollen from crying. I knew from my wife, who had disappeared when Isa Whitney, his wife was crying day and night. But, to rethink our meetings in two years I doubt I've never seen in a state that was not the most complete and abject misery.

"Oh, doctor" said the poor woman, seeing in the doorway. "Have you any news? Can you tell me? Come in, please. I made a terrible nightmare last night ... "

" Mrs. Whitney began, taking off his hat. "I came with my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, who agreed to take up the case ..."

"In my dream, Isa was on the ground in a pool of blood. There was blood all around his head. It was ... it was ... "

" Mrs. Whitney, calm down, please. "

" ... so vivid

... "

I glanced at Holmes, who had no reactions. "Please, sit down," I said as politely as I could. Accompanied her hands up in the living room, and asked her to sit in the chair.

"Have you found?" Murmured Kate Whitney, her eyes wide. "How did she die? Oh, there's no point trying to deny a doctor, now I know ... I know it's too late. Just tell me how it happened. Please. I do not have the right to know? "

" Of course "I said softly. "Mrs. Whitney, unfortunately ... "

" Unfortunately

! "Repeated the wretched, breathless. It became, if possible, even paler. "I knew it! Oh, Isa, Isa, my poor ... "He put his hands to his face, buried him in a handkerchief and began to sob desperately.

During my medical career, I have consoled many widows. Death from disease is one of the horrors that the human mind shrinks supremely, is random, ruthless, and in most cases slower and more painful than necessary, if ever the need arises can be quantified. However, violent death is just one step less inconceivable. The arbitrariness of the human hand that steals life with a gun or a knife seems to find its mirror in the equal arbitrariness of God's hand that takes away with the disease.

"I sorry, Mrs. Whitney, "I muttered. "It was a tragic accident." I looked at Holmes, who seemed to have devoted his attention to an antique cabinet in the corner of the room. I saw him spend more time on the edge of the thumb.

"How?" Murmured Kate Whitney, his voice breaking with sobs.

"I do not know yet," I said.

"Mrs. Whitney, "debuted Holmes, rising from the floor on which he was kneeling for reasons known only to him," Can I ask how long has this mobile? A generous estimate is sufficient. "

" C-what? " whispered the woman. "The cabinet?" He looked at me as if I understood the question.

"Yes, the mobile" Holmes said again, impatiently. "How long has this house? One year? Ten? One day? "

" But ... but I do not know now ... well, on two feet ... He was already in the house when Isa and I ... Oh, I do not really know, Mr. Holmes. Five years, maybe. "

" And tell me, "Holmes continued, getting closer," Mrs. Whitney. When she saw her husband for the last time? "

Kate Whitney drew strong nose and straightened her shoulders bravely, taking exhausted air of dignity. "On the evening of the twenty-three. Isa is out for his usual reason, and is no longer ... "He let out a long sigh in a handkerchief, curled back on itself. The rested a hand on his arm gently. I could have - perhaps should - offer the usual words of comfort that the situation requires, but I had caught a terrible thought. If my wife, or worse, Holmes, I had been torn off in an equally cruel ...

"Mrs. Whitney, "said Holmes, with a staggering coolness," you give an attitude, if you please. "

" Holmes, which means ... "

"Tell me another thing," Holmes continued, ignoring my indignation. "Who is the man who constantly visit the death of her husband?"

Kate Whitney looked at him confused. "How do you know Charles?" He said.

"Charles is the man's name that gives the footsteps of his boot in his living room and stairs, leaving hair and blacks on her chair, lifted it from the back of a chair on which she sat, only to throw it away A second later, "Virginia tobacco and ash in his ashtray? Thank God I did not need to inspect his bedroom, "he added, in a hissing sound.

"Holmes, for heaven's sake, 'I exclaimed. "Back to you. Do you think the way to treat a lady? "

Holmes raised his eyes on me, reserving a cold stare. "'Lady' could be unduly generous a term, in light of the facts."

"What's going on here?"

to pronounce the phrase was a man who appeared in the doorway. Constitution was exceptionally high and wide, with a broad chest and big biceps from rugby culminating in trained hands, squat and hairy. The face was that of a thirty year old, but, as Kate Whitney, the wrinkles seemed prematurely aged around the eyes and dug deep furrows on the forehead by a certain, obvious aptitude for anger.

"Ah," Holmes said, frowning for a brief moment, then relaxing. "My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Whitney. I do not often wrong, but obviously today is not at all in me. "He turned then to humans. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, sir, and I was asked to investigate the death of his brother. These here this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, and the doctor was Isa Whitney, to whom we went to his sister the sad news of demise. "He paused. "It could not have come at a more appropriate time, Mr. ... "

" Bowles "said the man, abruptly. He reached his sister's chair, and put his hand on the back with gravity, a strong and protective gesture. "I remember asking the idler from Scotland Yard to investigate anything. There the police for the job. "

" It was me, Charles, "the woman said, tremulously. "I did not know what to do. I was so scared

, and the doctor helped us on other occasions, Isa and me, so I thought ... "

" You thought wrong, "said Charles Bowles. "Everything is something that came out is that a more intrusive has stuck his nose into the shame of this family. I told you to just stand quiet, Kate. "

" Quiet?

Quiet? How could I ever starmene quiet, with Isa out there, maybe pulled in a wagon, or dying, or a prisoner of the criminals of that horrible place, or drowned in the river! "

Holmes tapped his cane on the table with a impatience. "Unlike his sister, whose yield is very sensitive and sympathetic, she does not seem affected by the news, Mr. Bowles."

"What news?" Said the man, with pride. "I drugged and pocodibuono as my brother in law are all one end. It is a relief to finally know that there are free. "

" Charles! "Moaned Kate Whitney. "How can you say something so horrible?"

"It's the truth, Kate," he said. "You know, too." Then he turned abruptly to me and Holmes. "Gentlemen, you have bothered to come and refer your information, the police undoubtedly would have felt compelled to do so anyway. Now I must ask you to leave. "

" Just a moment, "said Holmes. At that moment the bell rang again, imperiously. Charles Bowles frowned, glancing toward the door. "Just one question, Mr. Bowles' said Holmes, as if nothing had happened. "It was his sister to help her carry the body, or bought the discretion of a member of servitude?"

"Madam, two gentlemen for you ..." announced the maid, looking out the door, followed immediately by two of our knowledge. Hopkins and the agent respectively Jarvis touched the brim of his hat and the edge of the helmet.

"Agent?" Said Holmes, pointing to Bowles.

"Yes, sir. It is he, sir. "
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"Yes, sir."

Charles Bowles was livid, as about to lose consciousness, but the entrance of the police seemed to have the opposite effect on him: everything turns in the face and suddenly became purple. "How dare this way of breaking into my house and spill on his absurd accusations?" He said at the time of my friend, who in turn looked at him without hesitation.

"Inspector Hopkins, I would fix his attention on the cabinet to his left. The front edge, in particular. Tell me if you notice something. "

Hopkins obeyed. "Here is chipped," he observed, passing over the finger. "It looks like a piece of wood to be blown away."
"Exactly," said Holmes. "And now, if you please, move it and watch the floor."
The maneuver did not take but a moment, then knelt on the floor Hopkins. "Blood!" He exclaimed, raising his face towards us.

"It would be difficult to prove that the blood is about ten days old, and has therefore been paid around at night in which Isa Whitney has been seen to return home. Regarding the reliability of testimony left by Mrs. Whitney and Mr. Bowles at Scotland Yard, I think ... "Holmes glanced around the room as he spoke, but was silent when it came to rest on Kate Whitney. He had stood up, pale as death, red eyes wide open and fixed on his brother. Opened her lips to speak, but then forces seemed totally missing and the woman slumped in a chair shot.

"Kate," cried Charles Bowles, kneeling next to his sister.

I took his pulse, he was weak, but not so much that I fear for his life. The took off the scarf and unbuttoned the collar apparel severe for him to breathe better. In doing so I noticed the signs of old scars - Scratches, mostly, some bruising, but also a small burn round the diameter of a cigarette - around the neck and wrists. "Gate of salt" I ordered the waitress, trying to conceal all emotion from my voice. "He ate these days?" I asked then to Bowles.

"Soon," he said, his forehead marked by thick lines of apprehension. "Isa, she knew nothing about it ..." he added, little more than a whisper, covering her eyes with one hand. "It was consuming concern for him."

the waitress returned with salt, which went to the face of poor Kate Whitney. The hair around their temples had begun to turn gray, like the rest of his youth. I felt a great pain for her, combined with anger. "How could she keep her secret to killing her husband?" I snapped, unable to control myself more. "His brother!"

"I have not done anything like that," said Bowles. He took the hand of Mrs. Whitney, whose eyelids had begun to tremble as he slowly regained consciousness. "Think of me what you want, but I am not a murderess!"

"This is precisely what must demonstrate," said Hopkins behind him.

soon regained consciousness, Kate Whitney grabbed the back of his brother as to seek a support. He readily embraced her, but she immediately pulled back with a stifled scream, as if the memory of what he had heard the grant was only at that time.

"not like you think. Kate does not like you think, I swear, "said Bowles, quickly.

"And how is it then?" She whispered, eyes full of tears. "What did you do, Charles?"

Bowles looked away. "Isa is back on the night of twenty-five. You got out of the car and began arguing with the cabbie because he would not pay it. He was completely inebriated, a disgraceful spectacle. I paid for him and I brought at home. I did not want to see him in those conditions, I wanted to bring in the guest room and let him sleep there. But Isa was completely out of himself, and said some things ... that you should never say or think. O

do. "He looked intensely sister for a long moment, and the silent communication between them seemed to exhaust the subject, because Kate Whitney sank Apparel collar around the throat and shuddered, but they were spending other words . "We started to quarrel," Bowles continued, "and we raised our voice. We have come to blows. Isa I jumped on him, and went against that unit. Then I do not know what happened, are fainted and when I woke up there was blood on the floor. My. Isa was not anywhere. "

" And the servants, a few doors away, have not heard anything? "Said Holmes.

"It was their night off."

"And Mrs. Whitney?"

Bowles sighed, still not looking up. "Since that unfortunate is gone, Kate took the laudanum to sleep."

"And she would have us believe," began Hopkins, "a man completely inebriated, unable even to stand, managed to put the carpet with such easily one of his size? "

"That's what happened," said Bowles, and he seemed ashamed of confessing such a thing, because it turns sharply in the face. "Here," he said, brushing aside the hair from a point just behind the left ear, "is where I banged."

studied the wound for a moment - nothing serious, almost scar - and I gave her my confirmation Holmes a nod.

A stifled groan from our shoulders, reminded us that Mrs. Whitney was still in the room. The poor woman was still a pain to switch from another, from one to another terrible news, and you could not say which was worse.
Eventually the agent
Hopkins Jarvis Charles Bowles arrested on charges of murder and took him away. Holmes and I were in the living room, my friend seemed more thoughtful than ever. I wanted to leave the house and be pardoned to watch the impending re-Kate Whitney in his eyes, but I had assaulted a terrible question, to which the consciousness required to find a solution soon.
"Mrs. Whitney called her up, sitting beside her. "I am sorry, but I must ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly. It can do this? "She looked at me
first as if not understanding, then slowly nodded.

"Who hurt you, Mrs. Whitney?"
"No" she replied, stiffly.
"Mrs. Whitney. Kate. You have my word of honor "I looked up," and that of Mr. Holmes that the thing will not leave this room. "

Kate Whitney was silent.

"Who has done such a thing deserves to be punished, Mrs. Whitney," I reminded her gently.

"He did not want," she murmured in the end, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. "He did not want. ... It was opium. It was one hell of a drug to transform it. It made him another. It was not him, he would never ... ever ... "

shook her hand. Holmes's gaze on me seemed strangely sympathetic.

"Suppose," I said a few minutes later, out on the street, "the story of Charles Bowles is true."

"Holmes, I also wish with all my heart that this unfortunate family was spared the tragedy of a 'hanging' I said, "but I do not know if ..."

"The desires of the heart have nothing to do with what I'm saying" he replied, curtly. "I speak of facts."

"Very well, then. Facts. What facts are we talking about? "

" Blood, for one thing. You yourself have said that Whitney has bled for a long time before his body was removed from where he was. I assume that you have never spilled blood on the floor and tried to remove it after it had already dried. "

" No, "I said, slowly. "I've never had this pleasure."

"It is not clear. Leave a halo, however slight, is almost indelible. Whitney in the house there was no such thing: the blood that I found was under the cabinet, where they were not looking to clean, but the floor had not discovered marks of any kind. "

" Okay, "I admitted. "What else?"

"It all for now. Now, suppose that Charles Bowles has not lied. "

" I thought that your method of restraining to speculate in the absence of data. "

I had the impression that Holmes would listen to me only partly. He started walking back and forth on the sidewalk, thinking aloud. "Do not interrupt me for a minute, will you, Watson? Imagine that, once the Whitney has entered the house, things have taken place as we presented them in-law. They have an altercation, which ended with Bowles overwhelmed. Bowles remains unconscious for some time, but not for too long, and when he wakes Whitney is nowhere. Cleans the blood in a hurry because the sister see him the next morning. Where it may be gone Whitney? "

" Wherever, "I said, vaguely exasperated. "If it was under the influence of ..."

"No. The effect was already fading, the proof is that Whitney has managed to overcome his brother in law. Let us assume that both new releases. Without money and the poor state that we can imagine, even if a thief wanted to attack him, why bother to kill him? With a blow to the head, remember. Before returning to retrieve the body, filled his pockets with stones and thrown into the river. Watson, admit that this scenario makes no sense. "

" Maybe returned to the den "I tried," for another dose of opium. "

" I seem to recall I heard you say, some time ago that Isa Whitney had the unhealthy trend of opium to repent bitterly of having used the substance when the effect wears off. "

" It's a trend of all those who use this kind of drug "I confirmed, dry place. "But it's not a rule."

"Well, never mind. For now we'll do, "said Holmes," as a working hypothesis. "

He turned on his heels with a snap decision and rang the doorbell with Whitney, which had just out.

"Holmes, what are you doing?"

"Checking our working hypothesis," he said, before slip between the jamb and the maid rushed to open the door and make his way alone in the hall. Holmes studied for a second surface of the wooden steps leading to the first floor, then stood up resolutely and took over. I followed him reluctantly, trying without success to divine his thoughts.

In the hallway on the first floor, Holmes opened a few doors before finding the room he sought, with a vague embarrassment that I found to be the bedroom of the Whitney.
"Holmes," I said slowly. "I do not you can really look for evidence of the murder of Whitney in this room. "
" Yes, "murmured Holmes, who was holding a large rectangular jewelry box and weighed it thoughtfully for some time. It turned upside down, showing the corner of a dirty faded red copper. Then, while still struggling to accept the implications of what I had just indicated, Holmes pulled the rug by the side of the window and revealed a large stain in the shape of semicircle inscribed in the parquet.

"Here ended the carpet," he explained, pointing to the straight line from one side. "As you can see, this is not perfectly clean rugs equal to its twin. "

It was about then that Mrs. Whitney came, followed a few steps away from the waitress. When he saw the stain on the floor, clearly visible even though someone had tried to wash it away, Mrs. Whitney became a very unhealthy complexion, and a second that I feared would faint again.

"Allow me," said Holmes, stepping forward to support her, but what they really did was to unbutton the collar of the garment and offset by a corner, and denuded the torn neck.

"Mr. Holmes, "wailed the woman, trapped in the iron grip of my friend, but at the same time giving the impression that it was enough to hold a child to hold it.

"I'm not a doctor, but I feel this burning more than a week old, Watson. Of course I refer to the higher rating. "

I nodded reluctantly. Holmes left Mrs. Whitney, who went with the look from my friend to me, not comprehend what was happening.

The maid came in at that moment and let out a muffled urletto, clearly upset at the sight of Holmes with his hands on her mistress. "Clarice. Exit "I said, trying to use my expression and my most reassuring tone more subdued. The girl I knew for some time, he knew he could trust me. "Mrs. Whitney does not no danger, you can be quiet. "

The girl hesitated, but if there is a gift that leaves a long medical practice in a man is the ability to find the voice and face best suited to calm the anxieties of others. When the girl was gone, Holmes thanked me briefly with his eyes.

"That night, Mrs. Whitney, her husband came into the bedroom and hurt," said the woman. He spoke with a strange slow, as if the words refused to come out of his mouth. "And she hit him with her pocket."

"You're crazy," said the woman, being able to play together completely terrified and passionate and convincing as the most innocent person in the world. "I do not see my husband ... since ... The doctor knows. I told him. "

" Burning, Mrs. Whitney, "remembered in the kindest tone I could. "And these bruises."

"He did not want," murmured Kate Whitney, shaking his head. "Isa would never ... Doctor, you know. Isa was a good man. It was opium to make him do. You know him, "she said, clinging to the slopes of my coat. "You know what's there. Isa is not violent. It is the opium to change it. Opium is the curse. "

" The I know, Mrs. Whitney said. There was a light of complete madness in his eyes, which worries me and filled me with pain. "It was definitely an accident."

"I just wanted to put you to sleep," whispered Kate Whitney. Hands lost power around my arms and the mouth of the woman leaned on the lapel of my coat, his voice muffled in the fabric, wide-eyed and distant. "Doctor, I had a strange dream last night. I do it every night now. There Isa on the ground with a circle of blood around his head, and always seems so ... so ... "

" Sorry "I muttered, feeling themselves increasingly heavy in my arms, and trying to support her, "I've had to endure all this."

"... so. Vivid

. "



Part 3