The Unsuccessful Murder

As soon as we arrived at Hyde Park, I knelt beside the murder victim and began attempting to determine the cause of death. Before I could form a conclusion, I noticed something highly unusual about the man's left wrist.

"Doctor!"

"What is it, Basil?"

"Dawson, in your professional medical opinion, is there anything atypical about this fatality?"

My partner touched the victim's wrist. "I can still feel his pulse!"

"Precisely! If his life can yet be saved, this case may be solved with less effort than we originally thought!"

"I don't know, Basil. He's closer to death than you realize."

"Have you ever treated a patient this close to departing from this life?"

"Only once," Dawson responded.

"Did he live?"

"Yes, you did."

I pitied Dawson, for his nerves were blatantly frayed. The anxiety of the case had caused him to use the wrong pronoun! By using "you" instead of "he," my associate was unwittingly suggesting that I had been his patient who was only a few breaths away from the grave, and everyone in the empire knows such a predicament is not possible for someone of my notable caliber. I have spent my entire life without suffering the effects of terminal illness or potentially fatal injury, and although Dr. Dawson is highly skilled at his profession, I have never been in need of his medical assistance.

However, I simply had no time to discuss grammatical errors. We had to hasten to Baker Street as quickly as possible. I helped Dawson gently place the injured party on the bed in one of the guestrooms. To our astonishment, our visitor began to stir slightly. I slipped out of the room as Dawson began his typical speech.

"Easy. You'll be alright. I'm a doctor. I can help you. Just relax. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Several minutes later, Dawson emerged from the room. "He should live, but he's rather weak. I would discourage you from inquiring about the murder attempt until he's feeling a bit better."

"Resting now, is he?" I queried.

"Yes. He's very tired. Sleep is the best thing for him now."

"He has my sympathy." I lit my pipe. "It must be a most horrific experience to be nearly murdered. Now the poor chap is helpless from his wounds, and he owes his life to someone he barely knows. I'm certainly grateful I was never in such a wretched state!"

After a pause, Dawson inquired, "Do you remember the night you fought Ratigan on Big Ben?"

"Indeed!" I nearly shuddered at the memory. "I was most fortunate to have remained unscathed during the battle!"

"I still say I never danced with those women you mention so often!"

"You did. Take my word for it. I had never been more humiliated in my entire life."

"I may have made the mistake of drinking tampered beer at the pub, but I would never associate with burlesque dancers, let alone perform with one!"

"You performed with three," I corrected. "Doctor, I understand that someone of your career must maintain a certain amount of prestige, but I simply cannot tolerate mice who live in denial!"

I thought I heard Mrs. Judson laugh softly from the kitchen, but I wasn't sure.

"Even if it is so," Dawson began, "I can't let my blunder shame me for the rest of my life. After all, no one's perfect. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Almost everyone," I stated.

"Almost?!"

"I never have."

"What about shooting Mrs. Judson's pillows?"

I removed my cap and held it to my heart. "I'm afraid they were a casualty, but their noble sacrifice was for the greater good."

"What about Ratigan's trap?" Dawson continued.

"I knew he was waiting to ambush us!" I explained. "I merely allowed myself to walk into his trap in order to fool him into believing everything was going according to his scheme. I feigned despair so he would be oblivious to the fact that I was still plotting his downfall."

I thought I heard more laughter coming from the kitchen.

There are times I must question my sagacity in choosing to become a private detective. What good is being the most cunning investigator in the empire if no one ever believes my explanations?

Hearing a knock at the door, I went to answer.

"Detective," Leighton began, "how is the victim?"

"He is currently in the process of acquiring knowledge beyond our realm of comprehension, for he now knows without a doubt what occurs after death," I answered.

"A real pity!"

"Indeed."

"And Mansfield?"

"I shall continue the investigation tomorrow. Good evening."

Despite his protests, I shut the door.

"Why did you tell him the victim was dead?" Dawson queried.

"I shall explain later. At the moment, I wish to retire to my chamber. Sleep well, Doctor. Pleasant dreams, Mrs. Judson."