Children's Whims (working title)

Chapter 2

By Imp

A/N: I must sincerely thank all of my reviewers. It is both useful and pleasant to receive comments and even criticisms from those of the readers who deign to use their time in such a manner. Here is another chapter, and I hope that it does not disappoint.

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Mrs. Hudson, with something between a gasp and an exasperated cry spun round and vanished from the room. And our strange caller stood before us. And he was peculiar in the extreme. He was of middle height, sharp faced but with a rather blunt nose, and a small mouth that now trembled and twitched, sometimes seeming as if to form a word, and then shaking as if from uncontrollable emotion. If I were asked at some time to make a list of those men whom I considered the strangest of my experience, it would be certain that J. Van Sarn should surely occupy an illustrious place in it. For in his manner and countenance was the most singular mix of emotion and physical activity that I have ever witnessed.

His hair was of a light brown, streaked with premature grey, and it now fell in disordered strands over his brow as if left uncombed or as though it had been subjected to some vigourous treatment during the morning. His face was thin, though more it seemed from strain and lack of food than from ordinary means. In appearance he was far from quite extraordinary however; yet as he entered he showed all signs of such an extreme emotional discomfiture he nearly appeared quite insane. And his sharp blue eyes danced and whirled in his head like marbles thrown from a child's hand. However the absolutely absurd thing about him, was the fact that he seemed entirely incapable of remaining still more than a moment. He rocked on his heels. He twitched. His pale hands jerked and tensed, first at his side, then at his breast creating a bewildering illusion of pertinent activity.

The agitation in my companion's face had not withdrawn. Indeed, I believe he appeared quite somewhat more disturbed than I had observed him for some time. He indicated a chair with one pale hand, while the other reached pensively for his cherrywood pipe.

But our visitor made no move to sit. He rocked back on his heels for what must have been the umpteenth time, and I was only just preparing rise to assist him – for he seemed almost ill as he twitched and rocked, when he spoke.

"You will help me, won't –you Mr. Holmes? You – really must help me – won't –you?"

The man's speech was irregular as his bearing, for he paused and tarried between words and sentences. The effect was one of a voice calling through a storm, where words were cut-off and thoughts uncertain to the ear of the one attempting to listen.

Holmes again gestured to the chair, with some slight impatience. "If you would kindly sit, Mr. Van Sarn, and state your business, perhaps I may be of assistance."

Van Sarn took one tentative step forward, and then three swift jerking strides and collapsed into the chair like a scarecrow deprived of its supporting beam. Glancing to Holmes, I saw a light kindled in his eyes, a light that had become quite familiar to me in our time as lodgers together. He had fallen back into his own chair once our guest deigned to sit. And he now leaned forward, face thrust out with that singularly eager and intense look of a hound on a scent, fingers pressed together before his face.

"Business…?" echoed Van Sarn. "Business – yes. I mean no. Mr. Holmes " – I realized that in that queer way of speech was also a vaguely foreign accent – "Mr. Holmes – you see, I'm afraid, very."

"Pray be precise," said my companion curtly.

"Precise?" Van Sarn echoed again. "It's – that is. I mean it is that they said you could help. They said you were the only…the only one…"

"Who?"

"Sholto… Merriweather… Some gentlemen – played cards with them – once."

"Sholto? Indeed… Continue if you please."

Van Sarn hesitated, pulling vaguely at his collar. He exhibited an unwonted vagary and uncertainty in his tone and way of speech, and to such an extent that I thought surely Holmes's asperities of manner could hardly overlook the irritation of it.

"It's that…these children, you understand, Mr. Holmes."

"The children? Yes, I thought so."

 "They are now six dead. Six! It's so very strange. Yet it comes out very natural. And then it's hardly natural -" our visitor swallowed his words in a sharp intake of breath, and then continued.  "But that's not my problem. I mean it is –but it's not quite-"

"Perhaps," Holmes broke in, glancing sharply up. "You would do best to begin with the beginning Mr. Van Sarn. I'm certain your story would do better to advantage me, were it somewhat more complete."

Van Sarn paused, again pulling at his collar, his face above it hardly less white. I rather pitied him as I perceived his inner turmoil and desperation, but there was also something strange in him, something not at all pitiable. It may possibly have been his oddity of bearing and speech, or the situation in which he presented himself. But however it was I had a distinct feeling of uncertainty about our visitor, and wondered distantly whether his story were quite worth listening to. But then my companion's manner seemed to contradict my thoughts entirely, for he appeared as impatient to hear and eager to have precise details as ever.

"I've been traveling for some months," began Van Sarn presently. "Over England, the Continent. I've been through France, and Spain – I went even as far as Russia. But I've been all through Europe now. I was married, but my wife died only a year after my son was born – that was of course eight years now, and left us to work things out for ourselves."

"Pray forgive me for interrupting," remarked my companion. "But may I ask why you have been traveling?"

Van Sarn's restless blue eyes turned up towards the ceiling, and then dropped, shifting to gaze at the floor.

"I always wished to travel,"

"Naturally." Holmes responded, yet I caught a distinct gleam of irritation in his hard eyes. "Go on."

"Well I've been taking my son along with me, on these – excursions and such. But… I mean I didn't have too much of a choice – "

"Why didn't you?"

"I – don't have the money to hire a governess or any good lady to look after him."

"But you have the means to bring him along?"

"Well – yes!"

"Continue – please."

Again I saw the look cross my companion's face, and it seemed to me that our visitor also had sensed the impatience of his listener.

"My son's been threatened!" he burst out suddenly.

"Where and when, if you please."

"Well I – he got a note –"

"A mere joke, perhaps?"

"Not at a bit of it – it was as serious as – as death. I fear it has something to –to with…"

"Indeed. Were you in England?"

"…Yes."

Holmes leaned back in his chair, raising his pipe thoughtfully to his lips. His gaze fell full upon Van Sarn, and I saw that he was so able to observe with his singular ability and minuteness the gentleman as though he were some specimen in a museum.

"Kindly," said my companion at last. "Keep your story to the facts, the entirely true facts if you will. I find it invariably difficult to deal with untruths when already confronted with mystery."

Van Sarn's face blanched, deathly pale and he started up, mouth opened yet devoid of word or sound.

"How – how dare you imply that I –"

"That you lie, my good fellow." said Holmes. "I dare only what is true, I assure you. However if you wish any assistance, I advise you thoroughly to avoid falsehood. Liars are both irritating and useless to work with."

Van Sarn swayed, blinked; and then fell back into his chair with a dazed frozenness to his expression which spoke very clearly of both surprise and fright. His eyes slowly took in Holmes's lounging figure in the chair, myself sitting stiffly to the side, and then traveled vaguely to window, at which point they widened to the extent that they seemed in danger of starting from his head. With a choked off cry he sprang unsteadily but rapidly to his feet, and started with great certainty for the door.

Holmes's manner had shifted as abruptly as Van Sarn's, before I could discern any clear reason for alarm, and he now leapt to his feet. The languid, inactive lounger was gone.

"The door, Watson!" he cried.

I was over the table and across the room in a moment. But it was too late. The nervous energy, which had so possessed our guest during the interview had quite carried him out of our reach. Below came the hurried slam of the door, a startled cry from Mrs. Hudson, and then the silence of the house descended and only the regular tap of hooves upon the cobblestones and creak of the stairs broke it. Holmes had arrived a half-second before me, and he now stood, gazing vacantly down the stair, for even he who could hardly be considered sluggish at any time had failed to waylay the fleeing Van Sarn.

"I suppose he is quite gone," said I helplessly, feeling somehow that it was indeed a loss.

Sherlock Holmes turned towards me, and a brief spasm of irritation crossed his aquiline face. But it was almost immediately replaced by a look of vaguely amused chagrin. With a shrug he pushed the door shut and fell into his armchair gazing thoughtfully at me as he reached again for his pipe.

"Do you know," said he thoughtfully. "I really ought to have known."

And he began to laugh.

I fear that though the laughter was preferable to his brooding quiet of the morning, it proved none the better for rendering him communicative. And I found myself as perplexed as before, if not more so from Van Sarn's peculiar visit and little less curious.

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A/N: I fear that the mystery is hardly cleared up. But I haven't the time to go on, and to be quite entirely honest the story still develops to some extent in my mind. But I am very much enjoying writing of Holmes and Watson. I don't believe I have anything else to say, and so -

Comments and even criticisms are certainly welcome. Thank you again for reviewing. Toodles - IMP