As used as I am to the adventures of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I must admit I was startled when, in the middle of the night, I was shaken awake. Holmes was standing over me with his dark lantern lit but shaded - I could smell the hot metal burning.
Holmes put a finger to his lips and then nodded towards our sitting room. I was instantly awake and straining my ears against the night. It was a moment before I heard what Holmes obviously already had - a soft rustling and tread of footsteps.
Holmes leaned down towards me and whispered in my ear. "I am going to take him by surprise. When I yell, open the lantern."
I nodded and took the lantern from his hands. In the darkness, I could just make out the revolver Holmes pulled from his dressing gown pocket.
Together we crept to the bedroom door, Holmes listening intently. Then, in one swift movement he flung the door open and pounced on our intruder. The room was instantly filled with the sounds of a violent struggle. The floorboards creaked, a punch was thrown, the table was overturned and something glass shattered
"Watson!" came Holmes' urgent voice, and I opened the lantern, flooding the room with light.
In the middle of our disheveled room Holmes was crouched, one knee in the back of our rather small perpetrator and rendering the criminal helpless by holding his gloved hands together. The cool steel of the revolver was nuzzled against the back of our unfortunate guest.
Holmes was speaking gently to his captive. "I would advise you not to move. I am going to turn you over. If you attempt to run, I will shoot."
He grasped the shoulder of the small stranger and turned him over. A black mask covered the features of the stranger and Holmes defiantly stripped it off.
A tumble of golden hair fell from the mask, and I found my self staring in shock at the young girl. Her blue eyes blinked in a frightened way, but her soft pink lips tightened into a thin line. She took advantage of Holmes' shock and hit him round the head. The revolver dropped and the girl scrambled for the door. Holmes leapt and caught her round the middle, the force of which slammed them both through the unlocked door. I ran to follow them out to the landing, astonished.
The girl and Holmes were locked in a furious battle, but she had a definite advantage. While Holmes was hesitant about striking the young lady, she had no qualm at all and was obviously giving him her best. She broke free of his grasp and tumbled headlong down the stairs, where she lay at the bottom, moaning. She was still for a moment and Holmes stood and watched in horror.
Then, much to our surprise she righted herself and was out the front door before we could move. Holmes was down the stairs in a flash and ran out into the snowy night. I started down the stairs, only to be met by Holmes rushing back up. "Quickly Watson!" he cried. "Your things!"
In a matter of moments we were dressed and pulling on our coats. Holmes and I followed the footsteps left in the snow, shivering in the pale lamp light. We were led down to the less respectable area of London, and I was growing colder and uneasier each moment.
Holmes stopped suddenly, and put an arm out in front of me. I had been absorbed in buttoning my coat tighter and had the wind knocked out of me. Then I heard the voices, too. Angry yells in the night. I couldn't make out the words, but it sounded like a man's voice, and a young girl's! We crept closer, trying not to make a sound in the deep snow.
Now we were at the edge of a dim alleyway, and Holmes and I hid in a darkened doorway.
"...caught?!" said the man's voice, enraged.
"I swear that..." came a desperate pleading - and then a gunshot.
Holmes and I both stiffened, and in the silence that followed, stared at each other in horror. Someone strode briskly out of the alley, tucking a pistol into his jacket. He glanced down both sides of the street, and Holmes and I both drew back against the doorway.
Fortunately he did not see us, and brought a small bottle from his pocket. He drained the bottle and hurried away, a slight stagger in his walk.
Holmes waited until he could no longer see him then sprang from the doorway. In a flurry of snow, we ran down the alleyway. In a corner, slumped over, lay the girl.
I gasped as Holmes slowly lifted her, noting the blood that was slowly blooming from her arm. After a quick examination I removed my scarf and bound the wound.
"Watson? What do you - "
"She'll be alright, if we can get her back home I can patch her up..."
Holmes swung the girl into his arms and stood. She groaned and struggled to open her eyes, then lay still. He kicked some snow over the bloodstain on the ground and glanced at the sky. A few flakes began to fall and he muttered something about "cover the footprints..."
Then, "Come, Watson."
The two of us hurried back to Baker Street.
Holmes put a finger to his lips and then nodded towards our sitting room. I was instantly awake and straining my ears against the night. It was a moment before I heard what Holmes obviously already had - a soft rustling and tread of footsteps.
Holmes leaned down towards me and whispered in my ear. "I am going to take him by surprise. When I yell, open the lantern."
I nodded and took the lantern from his hands. In the darkness, I could just make out the revolver Holmes pulled from his dressing gown pocket.
Together we crept to the bedroom door, Holmes listening intently. Then, in one swift movement he flung the door open and pounced on our intruder. The room was instantly filled with the sounds of a violent struggle. The floorboards creaked, a punch was thrown, the table was overturned and something glass shattered
"Watson!" came Holmes' urgent voice, and I opened the lantern, flooding the room with light.
In the middle of our disheveled room Holmes was crouched, one knee in the back of our rather small perpetrator and rendering the criminal helpless by holding his gloved hands together. The cool steel of the revolver was nuzzled against the back of our unfortunate guest.
Holmes was speaking gently to his captive. "I would advise you not to move. I am going to turn you over. If you attempt to run, I will shoot."
He grasped the shoulder of the small stranger and turned him over. A black mask covered the features of the stranger and Holmes defiantly stripped it off.
A tumble of golden hair fell from the mask, and I found my self staring in shock at the young girl. Her blue eyes blinked in a frightened way, but her soft pink lips tightened into a thin line. She took advantage of Holmes' shock and hit him round the head. The revolver dropped and the girl scrambled for the door. Holmes leapt and caught her round the middle, the force of which slammed them both through the unlocked door. I ran to follow them out to the landing, astonished.
The girl and Holmes were locked in a furious battle, but she had a definite advantage. While Holmes was hesitant about striking the young lady, she had no qualm at all and was obviously giving him her best. She broke free of his grasp and tumbled headlong down the stairs, where she lay at the bottom, moaning. She was still for a moment and Holmes stood and watched in horror.
Then, much to our surprise she righted herself and was out the front door before we could move. Holmes was down the stairs in a flash and ran out into the snowy night. I started down the stairs, only to be met by Holmes rushing back up. "Quickly Watson!" he cried. "Your things!"
In a matter of moments we were dressed and pulling on our coats. Holmes and I followed the footsteps left in the snow, shivering in the pale lamp light. We were led down to the less respectable area of London, and I was growing colder and uneasier each moment.
Holmes stopped suddenly, and put an arm out in front of me. I had been absorbed in buttoning my coat tighter and had the wind knocked out of me. Then I heard the voices, too. Angry yells in the night. I couldn't make out the words, but it sounded like a man's voice, and a young girl's! We crept closer, trying not to make a sound in the deep snow.
Now we were at the edge of a dim alleyway, and Holmes and I hid in a darkened doorway.
"...caught?!" said the man's voice, enraged.
"I swear that..." came a desperate pleading - and then a gunshot.
Holmes and I both stiffened, and in the silence that followed, stared at each other in horror. Someone strode briskly out of the alley, tucking a pistol into his jacket. He glanced down both sides of the street, and Holmes and I both drew back against the doorway.
Fortunately he did not see us, and brought a small bottle from his pocket. He drained the bottle and hurried away, a slight stagger in his walk.
Holmes waited until he could no longer see him then sprang from the doorway. In a flurry of snow, we ran down the alleyway. In a corner, slumped over, lay the girl.
I gasped as Holmes slowly lifted her, noting the blood that was slowly blooming from her arm. After a quick examination I removed my scarf and bound the wound.
"Watson? What do you - "
"She'll be alright, if we can get her back home I can patch her up..."
Holmes swung the girl into his arms and stood. She groaned and struggled to open her eyes, then lay still. He kicked some snow over the bloodstain on the ground and glanced at the sky. A few flakes began to fall and he muttered something about "cover the footprints..."
Then, "Come, Watson."
The two of us hurried back to Baker Street.