Chapter 4
After breakfast, I made my way to my room and got changed into one of the less fussy dresses that my cousins had provided me with. I heard Mycroft calling me and followed him to the door. We got into a cab that he hailed and set out to 221B Baker Street.
We reached the house and Mycroft rapped on the door. An old woman answered it. She had grey hair and looked rushed off her feet. She held a tray of tea and almost dropped it as we came in. I managed to catch it before the cups and teapot could shatter. The old lady beamed at me. She had a kind face and introduced herself as Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson's landlady, Mrs Hudson. I gave the tray back to her and followed her and Mycroft up the stairs. We reached a door and Mrs Hudson knocked before entering. The room was small and a little cramped. It was quite tidy but there was the distinctive smell of tobacco in the room. As we entered, three men stood. One had dark looks about him and was obviously Spanish. There was a shorter man, of about my height, who was also quite stocky. He wore a grey suit and had gingery blond hair and a moustache. He had very kind eyes and smiled at me warmly. I took this to be Dr Watson. The third man was Mr Sherlock Holmes. He was tall, six foot or more, angular and thin. He had slicked-back black hair and was clean shaven and quite pale. He had grey eyes and wore a black suit with a fashionable frock-coat.
He looked at me, a little puzzled. "You did not tell me that your interpreter was a girl, Mycroft".
I was a little angry at this remark. What right had he to make assumptions about me because of my age? I answered coldly "If you have another interpreter, Mr Holmes, I am perfectly happy to go home".
Holmes raised an eyebrow at this, but had the grace to look a little ashamed for an instant. I could tell though that he found me a little unorthodox. I saw Mycroft and Watson exchanging amused glances. My host had obviously told Watson about me, but not his brother. Holmes spoke up "No. I need you to ask this man some questions". I nodded. "This, by the way," said Holmes "is my friend and colleague Dr Watson". Watson shook my hand and smiled at me. I resolved that I liked this man. His friendliness did not seem patronising.
Holmes was very eccentric. His body language was over-blown and he was obviously terribly enthusiastic about his work. I must admit that he fascinated me. Holmes looked at me "will you interpret.
I nodded "Very well"
"Ask him his name"
I turned to the Spanish man "Buenos Dias, Señor. Como te llamas?"
"Me llamo Adár. Fernando Adár"
Holmes nodded "Ask him what he wants"
I did, and the next 45 minutes were taken up with questions from the three men, answers from the Spanish gentleman and interpretations from me. It happened that Mr Adár was from Malaga. He had been staying with his long-lost elder brother for three weeks before the man's wife had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. The lady had been having arguments with her husband, and her body was found, a day later, three miles from the house. Later that day, the man's daughter, Elena, who was just fifteen, had disappeared and had not been seen since. After the story was finished, Holmes looked up. "It becomes clear to me that we must go to the house. The child might yet still be alive."
"Everything points to the brother then" said Watson.
Fernando started to talk in Spanish. I translated "Mr Adár says that his brother has never denied having anything to do with his wife, and now his daughter's disappearance".
Holmes nodded "Mycroft, you stay here with Mr Adár." He turned to me, "Miss Hardy, we may need an interpreter". I nodded and followed him out. Dr Watson came out behind me and helped me into the cab that Holmes had hailed. "Runton House" Holmes cried up to the driver, and the cab sped off, into the countryside. As I looked out of the window, I saw smallholdings, farms, forests and animals passing by. As we came to the village of Runton, we passed a train station and a couple of shops. We carried on up the road for three miles until we came to Runton house. It was an unfriendly looking gothic mansion, covered in gargoyles and the like.
We got out of the cab at the front of the house. We turned as we heard a cry. It was in English, but the accent was definitely Spanish "Get off my land" the man cried. He charged at Holmes, but did not strike him. Watson seemed concerned for my safety and positioned himself between the man and myself.
"You are Mr Rodrigo Adár?" asked Holmes.
Adár bristled "Sí, and you are?" "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my colleague Dr Watson"
"And the girl?"
"She's a friend of ours. May we speak with you? Inside?". He soothed the man's temper.
Adár shrugged "If you must".
Adár still seemed a little angry, and I started to follow Holmes and Watson in, when Holmes took my hand "No" he said "wait here."
I scowled at him "Why?"
"Wait"
Before I could reply, Holmes and Watson had disappeared into the house. I waited a moment, and resolved to do my own hunting. I went round the back of the house, to the stables. Adár had some wonderful horses. I stroked the nose of a particularly beautiful white stallion. Suddenly, there was what sounded like an explosion from the back of the house. Smoke poured out of the house. I looked around, and after a minute, I saw Adár and a young girl jump into our cab. They started down the drive, and got about two hundred yards from the gates, before Holmes and Watson emerged from the other side of the house, following on bicycles.