As we walked outside, Ana fell flat on her face.
While she made it a habit to trip over the rug at Baker Street, Ana was usually quick on her feet. Her fall surprised us both.
"Well," she said, brushing herself off. "Isn't it funny how this cobble stone is a little higher than the rest? Come, Watson."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back at 221B Baker Street, Ana was almost as methodical about the clues as Holmes was. First she took the black powder and examined it closely under the magnifying glass, then under the microscope.
She talked to me while she did. "It appears to be... well... black powder. It's in little flakes and very fragile."
She hesitantly sniffed the powder. "Oh, it smells something awful."
Struck with sudden inspiration, Ana pinched some of the black flakes and rubbed them on the back of her hand.
Almost immediately, a red rash appeared.
"Aha!" Ana cried. "I know what it is! It's dirt and dust from the sewers! Always did make me itch..." she said as she scratched violently at her hand. "And now I think I know what happened. Someone came from the sewers and..."
Ana's face fell. "Murdered the guard and pulled Sherlock from the carriage? No, that doesn't make sense. But someone came from the sewers, for sure. Doesn't Holmes have a map around here somewhere?"
We both scrambled frantically around in the piles of paper. "Here!" I cried, "Isn't this it?"
Ana hurried over and snatched the map from my hands. "Yes! Yes it is! And look - the sewers run right in front of the bank. But how could someone have gotten out from the sewers?"
Ana walked towards the fireplace with the map...
...and tripped over the rug.
We were both struck with the same idea at once.
"The loose cobblestone!" Ana cried. She pinned the map on the back wall above the fireplace and grabbed a pencil.
"So they ended up here," she muttered, marking the map, "But where did they start from?"
"We have no way of knowing, do we?" I asked.
"Yes we do..." Ana sounded sad. "This all looks very bad for Holmes, doesn't it? Who would want not only to kill, but also tarnish his reputation?"
"Moriarty?"
"No. Inspector Lestrade."
"What?"
"Of course it's Moriarty!" Ana sounded exasperated.
"Oh."
"Now think, Watson. Really think." Once again, Ana sounded terribly sad. "When you first met me, Holmes and I made an "appointment" with Moriarty. Do you remember where?"
"No.. but..." I fished for my case records. "Here it is! 137 Ashwood Road."
Ana marked the house on the map and then began to trace the sewer pipes between the two buildings.
"That's odd. And discouraging. There are no pipes that lead right to Ashwood Road. The closest is three streets down. But that's close enough..."
Outside, a storm was brewing, and the room was dark as Ana turned to face me. "I don't know what we're going to do, Watson."
"Ana," I said softly. "You must be reasonable. You know what Holmes is like. In all probability he'll show up tonight with some dashing explanation. My advice is that you stay here. If it makes you feel better, I'll spend the night with you."
Ana nodded. "I would like that," she said, and slid into an armchair.
I went to send a telegram to my wife and left Ana staring mournfully out the window.
While she made it a habit to trip over the rug at Baker Street, Ana was usually quick on her feet. Her fall surprised us both.
"Well," she said, brushing herself off. "Isn't it funny how this cobble stone is a little higher than the rest? Come, Watson."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back at 221B Baker Street, Ana was almost as methodical about the clues as Holmes was. First she took the black powder and examined it closely under the magnifying glass, then under the microscope.
She talked to me while she did. "It appears to be... well... black powder. It's in little flakes and very fragile."
She hesitantly sniffed the powder. "Oh, it smells something awful."
Struck with sudden inspiration, Ana pinched some of the black flakes and rubbed them on the back of her hand.
Almost immediately, a red rash appeared.
"Aha!" Ana cried. "I know what it is! It's dirt and dust from the sewers! Always did make me itch..." she said as she scratched violently at her hand. "And now I think I know what happened. Someone came from the sewers and..."
Ana's face fell. "Murdered the guard and pulled Sherlock from the carriage? No, that doesn't make sense. But someone came from the sewers, for sure. Doesn't Holmes have a map around here somewhere?"
We both scrambled frantically around in the piles of paper. "Here!" I cried, "Isn't this it?"
Ana hurried over and snatched the map from my hands. "Yes! Yes it is! And look - the sewers run right in front of the bank. But how could someone have gotten out from the sewers?"
Ana walked towards the fireplace with the map...
...and tripped over the rug.
We were both struck with the same idea at once.
"The loose cobblestone!" Ana cried. She pinned the map on the back wall above the fireplace and grabbed a pencil.
"So they ended up here," she muttered, marking the map, "But where did they start from?"
"We have no way of knowing, do we?" I asked.
"Yes we do..." Ana sounded sad. "This all looks very bad for Holmes, doesn't it? Who would want not only to kill, but also tarnish his reputation?"
"Moriarty?"
"No. Inspector Lestrade."
"What?"
"Of course it's Moriarty!" Ana sounded exasperated.
"Oh."
"Now think, Watson. Really think." Once again, Ana sounded terribly sad. "When you first met me, Holmes and I made an "appointment" with Moriarty. Do you remember where?"
"No.. but..." I fished for my case records. "Here it is! 137 Ashwood Road."
Ana marked the house on the map and then began to trace the sewer pipes between the two buildings.
"That's odd. And discouraging. There are no pipes that lead right to Ashwood Road. The closest is three streets down. But that's close enough..."
Outside, a storm was brewing, and the room was dark as Ana turned to face me. "I don't know what we're going to do, Watson."
"Ana," I said softly. "You must be reasonable. You know what Holmes is like. In all probability he'll show up tonight with some dashing explanation. My advice is that you stay here. If it makes you feel better, I'll spend the night with you."
Ana nodded. "I would like that," she said, and slid into an armchair.
I went to send a telegram to my wife and left Ana staring mournfully out the window.
