I was in a long tunnel and at the end I could see a pinpoint of light, but
I did not hurry towards it because I remembered the words of a dear friend
of mine, who had nearly died during the war.
"I you ever find yourself in a tunnel with a light at the end," he told me, "never go to that light because that is death, Mary. When I was in the hospital, I could hear the cries of the dying that they were approachin' the light and a few minutes later, they were dead." He had then straightened his monocle and laughed, "Of course, I can't see that happenin' any time soon to the either of us, except for an angry criminal, I suppose."
So, following his advice, I turned towards the dark end and found myself waking on a bed in the room of a student. My hand reached for my sore neck and I knew that there would be bruises there that showed where Miss Small had tried to strangle me. A horrible headache raged in my head. I slowly sat up and listened to the voices which I could hear in the hallway.
"We shall be needing a statement soon, Mr. Holmes," said the voice of the police inspector, "Is Miss Russell up and about yet?"
"No, not yet, inspector," replied Holmes, "She was nearly strangled to death by your prisoner and all you can think about is getting your statement. Had you been of any greater assistance to her, you might just have your statement by now. When she is ready to give it, I will bring her to the station. Thank you inspector."
The inspector trudged away and Holmes entered the room, closing the door behind him. When he turned, he noticed that I was sitting up on the bed.
"Ah, Russell," he said, "I am glad to see that you decided to return from the realms of the dead. You have been unconscious for all night and I was just beginning to get worried."
From the sound of his voice, he seemed more annoyed than worried.
"What happened with you, Holmes? I had expected you a whole three minutes earlier than you came," I protested, "Did the telegram not reach you on time?"
"No, the telegram did reach me on time, but the train was late getting into the station and the inspector was difficult to persuade," he replied.
"Oh," I said, "Where is Miss Small now? and did you find your art forger in London?"
Holmes looked at his watch impatiently. "I will tell you on the way to the police station, Russell. The dear inspector should not be kept waiting, you know."
"Can't I have a glass of water before I go?"
He unceremoniously handed me a glass of water from a table and watched impatiently as I gulped it down quickly and stood up. For a moment the room seemed to spin, but then I got control of my head and stumbled behind Holmes as he left the room.
Walking through the hallway, a heard a voice call my name, so I stopped as saw Harriet Vane come up behind us. Her thick dark hair was slightly messy and her brown eyes were worried.
"Are you alright, Miss Russell? I saw what Miss Small did to you and I wanted to see if you were okay now. It was quite frightening when Mr. Holmes stopped at the S.C.R. to get the dean and the warden and then got me to come along also just in case," she said.
"Yes, Harriet, I'm fine," I replied, "It was better that she got me rather than anyone else, though. I'd hate to see you, the dean, or the warden hurt because of my inquiries. Miss Small could have murdered any of you over the last few days."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Harriet, then she added, "I also wanted to tell you that this whole thing has given me some great ideas for what I wish to become one day." "And what is that, Harriet?" I asked.
"An author of detective stories," she said with a smile, "Good-bye, Miss Russell."
Holmes was impatiently waiting for me in the quad. When I joined him, he took my arm and led me towards the police station. He then began to speak.
"Miss Small is now in the local jail and, after the case is brought to court, will probably be hung for murder. My art forger, as you call him, is also here because this is a case of the local constabulary. Mycroft actually found him and, when I arrived in London, told me where he was and that he was the man who would inherit all of Miss Woodhouse's money. Did you have anything to do with asking my brother to help out?"
"Yes, I did, Holmes," I answered, "I needed to find out where Lily's money was left, so I asked Mycroft to have someone look it up for me."
"Ah, I see. Well, it was rather helpful, Russell," Holmes said.
"Who was this mysterious art forger anyway, Holmes?"
"Robert Parker was his name and he came from Spitalfields in the East End of the city. His family was extremely poor and his father had a previous criminal record. To raise his situation, he worked as a clerk in an art dealer's store and later took it over when his employer retired. Parker soon found that he was not making enough money to support his rather lavish lifestyle, so he began to forge one or two pieces of famous paintings and sold them for large amounts of money. As he became more greedy, he forged more and more until his 'works' gave some notice to the authorities," Holmes told me as we approached the police station.
"Have the two told why they murdered Lily yet?"
"No, they have not," Holmes said, "We have been waiting for you, Russell."
I didn't dare reply to this, so we entered the station in silence. A constable hurried up to us and told us that the inspector was interrogating his prisoners in his office. Holmes thanked him and guided me towards the inspector's office.
The room when we arrived there already seemed to be filled with people, most of them being constables. The inspector was there, looking rather harried, and when he saw us, he jumped to the door to open it for Holmes and I. The inspector spoke to the constables and four of them left, so in the room there was only now one constable, the inspector, Holmes and I, and the two murderers.
Miss Small, when she noticed me, scowled. "I was hoping that you would be more injured, Miss Russell. Dead would have been preferable."
The constable quickly wrote down all of her words and the inspector said to her quietly. "Everything that you say will be used against you, you know."
"Why should I care? I'm going to hang anyway, so I can say whatever I want to, inspector," she replied angrily.
The man who sat beside her looked at Holmes and me with a look that could have frightened my greedy aunt to death. He would have been handsome except for the look of pure hatred in his eyes. I supposed this to be the art 'dealer' Robert Parker.
"Why must they be here, inspector? Pheobe and I did not ask for an audience," he said archly, looking at the inspector with a raised eyebrow.
"Mr. Holmes and his wife have the superintendent's permission to be here, Mr. Parker, so you'll just have to have them listen to your statements also," the inspector replied curtly.
Miss Small started and glared at me. "Wife? You're Mr. Holmes's wife?"
I couldn't help smiling when I replied in the affirmative. Miss Small swore vividly until the inspector told her to be quiet. Holmes smiled momentarily and nodded at the inspector, who then turned to the prisoners.
"Please tell your story about the murder of Miss Lily Woodhouse," he said to them, "Everything that you say will be used in the court room against you and you must tell the truth or lying to the police will also be charged against you."
Parker sneered perfectly like the antagonist in a Gothic novel and turned to Miss Small. "You tell them, Pheobe, I couldn't tell them the truth for anything. Anyway, with your education, you'd tell it better."
Miss Small sighed and began her story.
"I you ever find yourself in a tunnel with a light at the end," he told me, "never go to that light because that is death, Mary. When I was in the hospital, I could hear the cries of the dying that they were approachin' the light and a few minutes later, they were dead." He had then straightened his monocle and laughed, "Of course, I can't see that happenin' any time soon to the either of us, except for an angry criminal, I suppose."
So, following his advice, I turned towards the dark end and found myself waking on a bed in the room of a student. My hand reached for my sore neck and I knew that there would be bruises there that showed where Miss Small had tried to strangle me. A horrible headache raged in my head. I slowly sat up and listened to the voices which I could hear in the hallway.
"We shall be needing a statement soon, Mr. Holmes," said the voice of the police inspector, "Is Miss Russell up and about yet?"
"No, not yet, inspector," replied Holmes, "She was nearly strangled to death by your prisoner and all you can think about is getting your statement. Had you been of any greater assistance to her, you might just have your statement by now. When she is ready to give it, I will bring her to the station. Thank you inspector."
The inspector trudged away and Holmes entered the room, closing the door behind him. When he turned, he noticed that I was sitting up on the bed.
"Ah, Russell," he said, "I am glad to see that you decided to return from the realms of the dead. You have been unconscious for all night and I was just beginning to get worried."
From the sound of his voice, he seemed more annoyed than worried.
"What happened with you, Holmes? I had expected you a whole three minutes earlier than you came," I protested, "Did the telegram not reach you on time?"
"No, the telegram did reach me on time, but the train was late getting into the station and the inspector was difficult to persuade," he replied.
"Oh," I said, "Where is Miss Small now? and did you find your art forger in London?"
Holmes looked at his watch impatiently. "I will tell you on the way to the police station, Russell. The dear inspector should not be kept waiting, you know."
"Can't I have a glass of water before I go?"
He unceremoniously handed me a glass of water from a table and watched impatiently as I gulped it down quickly and stood up. For a moment the room seemed to spin, but then I got control of my head and stumbled behind Holmes as he left the room.
Walking through the hallway, a heard a voice call my name, so I stopped as saw Harriet Vane come up behind us. Her thick dark hair was slightly messy and her brown eyes were worried.
"Are you alright, Miss Russell? I saw what Miss Small did to you and I wanted to see if you were okay now. It was quite frightening when Mr. Holmes stopped at the S.C.R. to get the dean and the warden and then got me to come along also just in case," she said.
"Yes, Harriet, I'm fine," I replied, "It was better that she got me rather than anyone else, though. I'd hate to see you, the dean, or the warden hurt because of my inquiries. Miss Small could have murdered any of you over the last few days."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Harriet, then she added, "I also wanted to tell you that this whole thing has given me some great ideas for what I wish to become one day." "And what is that, Harriet?" I asked.
"An author of detective stories," she said with a smile, "Good-bye, Miss Russell."
Holmes was impatiently waiting for me in the quad. When I joined him, he took my arm and led me towards the police station. He then began to speak.
"Miss Small is now in the local jail and, after the case is brought to court, will probably be hung for murder. My art forger, as you call him, is also here because this is a case of the local constabulary. Mycroft actually found him and, when I arrived in London, told me where he was and that he was the man who would inherit all of Miss Woodhouse's money. Did you have anything to do with asking my brother to help out?"
"Yes, I did, Holmes," I answered, "I needed to find out where Lily's money was left, so I asked Mycroft to have someone look it up for me."
"Ah, I see. Well, it was rather helpful, Russell," Holmes said.
"Who was this mysterious art forger anyway, Holmes?"
"Robert Parker was his name and he came from Spitalfields in the East End of the city. His family was extremely poor and his father had a previous criminal record. To raise his situation, he worked as a clerk in an art dealer's store and later took it over when his employer retired. Parker soon found that he was not making enough money to support his rather lavish lifestyle, so he began to forge one or two pieces of famous paintings and sold them for large amounts of money. As he became more greedy, he forged more and more until his 'works' gave some notice to the authorities," Holmes told me as we approached the police station.
"Have the two told why they murdered Lily yet?"
"No, they have not," Holmes said, "We have been waiting for you, Russell."
I didn't dare reply to this, so we entered the station in silence. A constable hurried up to us and told us that the inspector was interrogating his prisoners in his office. Holmes thanked him and guided me towards the inspector's office.
The room when we arrived there already seemed to be filled with people, most of them being constables. The inspector was there, looking rather harried, and when he saw us, he jumped to the door to open it for Holmes and I. The inspector spoke to the constables and four of them left, so in the room there was only now one constable, the inspector, Holmes and I, and the two murderers.
Miss Small, when she noticed me, scowled. "I was hoping that you would be more injured, Miss Russell. Dead would have been preferable."
The constable quickly wrote down all of her words and the inspector said to her quietly. "Everything that you say will be used against you, you know."
"Why should I care? I'm going to hang anyway, so I can say whatever I want to, inspector," she replied angrily.
The man who sat beside her looked at Holmes and me with a look that could have frightened my greedy aunt to death. He would have been handsome except for the look of pure hatred in his eyes. I supposed this to be the art 'dealer' Robert Parker.
"Why must they be here, inspector? Pheobe and I did not ask for an audience," he said archly, looking at the inspector with a raised eyebrow.
"Mr. Holmes and his wife have the superintendent's permission to be here, Mr. Parker, so you'll just have to have them listen to your statements also," the inspector replied curtly.
Miss Small started and glared at me. "Wife? You're Mr. Holmes's wife?"
I couldn't help smiling when I replied in the affirmative. Miss Small swore vividly until the inspector told her to be quiet. Holmes smiled momentarily and nodded at the inspector, who then turned to the prisoners.
"Please tell your story about the murder of Miss Lily Woodhouse," he said to them, "Everything that you say will be used in the court room against you and you must tell the truth or lying to the police will also be charged against you."
Parker sneered perfectly like the antagonist in a Gothic novel and turned to Miss Small. "You tell them, Pheobe, I couldn't tell them the truth for anything. Anyway, with your education, you'd tell it better."
Miss Small sighed and began her story.