The very least I could do was to wait outside the police station for Ana. She stomped out of the building and barely glanced at me.
"Cabby!" Ana shouted.
"Are you all right?" I asked, concerned.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. 221B Baker Street." Ana called as she climbed inside, and I followed. When the cab reached my old lodgings, I paid the driver and hurried after Ana.
She had shut herself in her room, my old one, and then emerged in a clean blue dress. Sitting in front of Holmes' make up mirror, she pulled her hair back into an elegant knot and pinned her hat on.
"Are you ready to go?" Ana asked, shuffling through the mess in front of the mirror. She pulled out a pair of white gloves, and a sealed letter.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I forgot! Holmes asked me to give this to you... last... night... before he... left..." Ana seemed lost in thought, staring at the envelope. Then she shook her head and handed it to me.
It was a simple envelope, white but smudged at the edges. Holmes had sealed it shut using a dripping candle and pressing his thumb into the wax. I slipped my finger under the seal, keeping it whole, and opened the envelope.
Watson - (the letter said)
Dearest Ana never gets energy rushes. If we imagine little ladies buy everything the apartment kitchens endure now two halves. Every watch and tower engine route find real obstacles. Now teas share happiness every day.
Look at the first!
-Holmes
I read the letter several times, and then out loud to Ana.
"What?" she said, and came to read the letter herself. We both stood and puzzled over it for a moment.
"Well, I can't make any sense of it." I said, confused.
"Nor can I." Ana sighed. "Well, are you ready to go?"
"Go?"
"To the bank of England, of course!" Ana said. After a moment's hesitation, she slipped Holmes' magnifying glass in her pocket.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As I anticipated, we were stopped outside the doors of the bank.
"I'm sorry sir, miss. No one but police allowed inside." The guard at the door told us.
Ana drew herself up. "Excuse me, officer? Do you know who this man is?"
"No..." the guard looked uncomfortable.
"This is Inspector Richardson, head of the department of investigations at Scotland Yard!" Ana shot him her most vicious sneer. "And I am his secretary."
"Very - very well sir." The guard stuttered and moved aside to let us in.
I wished that Ana hadn't come. When we entered, the first thing we saw was the murdered guard sprawled face down on the floor, blood splashed over the white marble. The bloody knife lay next to him and several detectives swarmed around the evidence.
Ana seemed unruffled, however, and carefully glanced around the crime scene. She walked toward the safe door and I followed. Taking Holmes magnifying glass she looked over every inch.
"Well, I don't see a damn thing. Here." She handed the glass to me. I, too, examined the door but had as much luck as Ana. Surely even Holmes would admit there was nothing there...
Next Ana slowly and carefully walked from the safe to the body, counting how many steps it took. Then she bent down next to the dead man.
"What's this?" she asked, running a finger along the floor. Her white glove became black with some unknown powder.
"And there's more!" she muttered, scooping a small handful up. She peered at it anxiously. "Watson, do you have an envelope to put this in?"
I felt my pockets. "Well, no... but - " I drew out Holmes' gibberish letter.
"That'll do. Just take the letter out."
I did as Ana asked, not noticing as Holmes' wax seal fell to the floor. Ana tipped her hand into the envelope and the black powder fell in.
She stood and brushed her hands together. "Well, I think that's about it..." With one last glance around the bank, we headed for the door.
Lestrade passed us on the way out.
"Good morning, Lestrade," we both said nonchalantly.
"Cabby!" Ana shouted.
"Are you all right?" I asked, concerned.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. 221B Baker Street." Ana called as she climbed inside, and I followed. When the cab reached my old lodgings, I paid the driver and hurried after Ana.
She had shut herself in her room, my old one, and then emerged in a clean blue dress. Sitting in front of Holmes' make up mirror, she pulled her hair back into an elegant knot and pinned her hat on.
"Are you ready to go?" Ana asked, shuffling through the mess in front of the mirror. She pulled out a pair of white gloves, and a sealed letter.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I forgot! Holmes asked me to give this to you... last... night... before he... left..." Ana seemed lost in thought, staring at the envelope. Then she shook her head and handed it to me.
It was a simple envelope, white but smudged at the edges. Holmes had sealed it shut using a dripping candle and pressing his thumb into the wax. I slipped my finger under the seal, keeping it whole, and opened the envelope.
Watson - (the letter said)
Dearest Ana never gets energy rushes. If we imagine little ladies buy everything the apartment kitchens endure now two halves. Every watch and tower engine route find real obstacles. Now teas share happiness every day.
Look at the first!
-Holmes
I read the letter several times, and then out loud to Ana.
"What?" she said, and came to read the letter herself. We both stood and puzzled over it for a moment.
"Well, I can't make any sense of it." I said, confused.
"Nor can I." Ana sighed. "Well, are you ready to go?"
"Go?"
"To the bank of England, of course!" Ana said. After a moment's hesitation, she slipped Holmes' magnifying glass in her pocket.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As I anticipated, we were stopped outside the doors of the bank.
"I'm sorry sir, miss. No one but police allowed inside." The guard at the door told us.
Ana drew herself up. "Excuse me, officer? Do you know who this man is?"
"No..." the guard looked uncomfortable.
"This is Inspector Richardson, head of the department of investigations at Scotland Yard!" Ana shot him her most vicious sneer. "And I am his secretary."
"Very - very well sir." The guard stuttered and moved aside to let us in.
I wished that Ana hadn't come. When we entered, the first thing we saw was the murdered guard sprawled face down on the floor, blood splashed over the white marble. The bloody knife lay next to him and several detectives swarmed around the evidence.
Ana seemed unruffled, however, and carefully glanced around the crime scene. She walked toward the safe door and I followed. Taking Holmes magnifying glass she looked over every inch.
"Well, I don't see a damn thing. Here." She handed the glass to me. I, too, examined the door but had as much luck as Ana. Surely even Holmes would admit there was nothing there...
Next Ana slowly and carefully walked from the safe to the body, counting how many steps it took. Then she bent down next to the dead man.
"What's this?" she asked, running a finger along the floor. Her white glove became black with some unknown powder.
"And there's more!" she muttered, scooping a small handful up. She peered at it anxiously. "Watson, do you have an envelope to put this in?"
I felt my pockets. "Well, no... but - " I drew out Holmes' gibberish letter.
"That'll do. Just take the letter out."
I did as Ana asked, not noticing as Holmes' wax seal fell to the floor. Ana tipped her hand into the envelope and the black powder fell in.
She stood and brushed her hands together. "Well, I think that's about it..." With one last glance around the bank, we headed for the door.
Lestrade passed us on the way out.
"Good morning, Lestrade," we both said nonchalantly.
