Chapter 6- A turn for the Worse
We whiled away the afternoon taking in all of the numerous spectacles of London. I showed her the Natural History Museum, the monument at Piccadilly Circus, the British art museum, the famous Madame Tussaud's, and the newly constructed Tower Bridge, among other destinations. Although I was not a very good guide, and the Jezail Bullet in my leg further hindered the jaunt, Kathryn absolutely enjoyed the trip. Her enthusiasm at all of the destinations made me appreciate the monuments even more. After almost 15 years living in London, this was the first time I looked at the landmarks properly after taking them for granted all this time. For the first time in a long while, Kathryn had reminded me of my own wife, Mary who passed away years before. Kathryn's vivacious disposition and her excitement at everything she saw was truly like Mary's own personality, and she made me laugh as I had not done so since Mary was alive.
We returned to Baker Street at about 6 o'clock that evening in very high spirits, but when we entered Holmes' and my rooms, it was clear that Holmes's day did not fare as well as ours. The floor, usually spotless, was now littered with crumpled up papers and cigarette ends. Holmes himself, who seated in a wicker chair, was in a dazed trance with his introspective, steel-grey eyes, which were half closed, were gazing beyond the both of us. It took a moment or two for him to realise that we were there and when he did, he started and jumped out of his seat.
"Pray excuse my actions, I did not expect that you would return from your tour so soon." He answered in reply to the expressions we wore on our faces, "You needn't be so surprised Watson, I thought you knew me well. I have not had a very progressive day, as you can plainly see."
He walked slowly to the window and stared into the bustling street below. "Ah, what a day," he mused to himself, "One enigma is quickly followed by another. I have still not found my missing jack-knife. It was on the mantelpiece yesterday morning, but this morning it is gone as if it vanished into thin air. And this murder case is as unclear to me as ever." He sighed, and then continued, "Well, here is the good Inspector Lestrade. Perhaps he can clear things up a bit."
A moment later, we heard a steady tread of the stairs and a knock on the door before the inspector showed himself in. A sudden change of appearance was immediately apparent to me. Lestrade's bull dog-like face was more haggard than it had ever been before, and his dark, beady eyes were visibly bulging.
"Good evening, Lestrade. Pray take a seat," said Holmes cheerfully. "Did you find any documents missing, or another new development in the case?"
Lestrade cautiously sat down on the chair offered to him and nervously fidgeted his hands for a moment. He then dove his hand into his pocket and took out a small, bloodied jack-knife and held it in front of Holmes.
"Does this belong to you, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
Holmes took the knife and scrutinised it for a moment before handing it to me.
"Does it, Watson?" he asked.
I took it into my hands and carefully looked at it. It had a plain, brown handle with a silver ring engraved at the base where it was joined to the blade. The ring was inscribed with Holmes's name on it. It was the missing jack-knife from our mantelpiece.
"Yes, I believe it does, unless it is a very good facsimile," I concluded, "Why do you ask, Inspector?"
What he said next was the most astonishing thing he ever said before or since that time.
"This was found at the scene of the crime shortly after you left" answered Lestrade morosely. He paused for a moment, as though unable to continue, then his face became hardened and he announced solemnly, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for the wilful murder of Julia Stamford. I've always respected you and your ways of attaining justice, no matter how eccentric they may seem, but this time you've gone too far."
Holmes was abnormally calm through the accusations that Lestrade had indicted upon him. He just looked at him with his introspective look until Lestrade had finished and continued to stare at him with a gaze that would have brought many strong men to their knees.
"Is there anything else that you would like to add, Lestrade?" said Holmes quietly, maintaining his usual sharpness of expression.
Lestrade, almost quailing under Holmes's gaze, managed to reply in a small voice: "Mr. Holmes, come with me."
He then led Holmes, who offered no resistance, slowly outside. Kathryn and I quickly strode over to the window, where we saw Lestrade usher Holmes into a brougham, climb in himself, then the carriage rattled away.
We whiled away the afternoon taking in all of the numerous spectacles of London. I showed her the Natural History Museum, the monument at Piccadilly Circus, the British art museum, the famous Madame Tussaud's, and the newly constructed Tower Bridge, among other destinations. Although I was not a very good guide, and the Jezail Bullet in my leg further hindered the jaunt, Kathryn absolutely enjoyed the trip. Her enthusiasm at all of the destinations made me appreciate the monuments even more. After almost 15 years living in London, this was the first time I looked at the landmarks properly after taking them for granted all this time. For the first time in a long while, Kathryn had reminded me of my own wife, Mary who passed away years before. Kathryn's vivacious disposition and her excitement at everything she saw was truly like Mary's own personality, and she made me laugh as I had not done so since Mary was alive.
We returned to Baker Street at about 6 o'clock that evening in very high spirits, but when we entered Holmes' and my rooms, it was clear that Holmes's day did not fare as well as ours. The floor, usually spotless, was now littered with crumpled up papers and cigarette ends. Holmes himself, who seated in a wicker chair, was in a dazed trance with his introspective, steel-grey eyes, which were half closed, were gazing beyond the both of us. It took a moment or two for him to realise that we were there and when he did, he started and jumped out of his seat.
"Pray excuse my actions, I did not expect that you would return from your tour so soon." He answered in reply to the expressions we wore on our faces, "You needn't be so surprised Watson, I thought you knew me well. I have not had a very progressive day, as you can plainly see."
He walked slowly to the window and stared into the bustling street below. "Ah, what a day," he mused to himself, "One enigma is quickly followed by another. I have still not found my missing jack-knife. It was on the mantelpiece yesterday morning, but this morning it is gone as if it vanished into thin air. And this murder case is as unclear to me as ever." He sighed, and then continued, "Well, here is the good Inspector Lestrade. Perhaps he can clear things up a bit."
A moment later, we heard a steady tread of the stairs and a knock on the door before the inspector showed himself in. A sudden change of appearance was immediately apparent to me. Lestrade's bull dog-like face was more haggard than it had ever been before, and his dark, beady eyes were visibly bulging.
"Good evening, Lestrade. Pray take a seat," said Holmes cheerfully. "Did you find any documents missing, or another new development in the case?"
Lestrade cautiously sat down on the chair offered to him and nervously fidgeted his hands for a moment. He then dove his hand into his pocket and took out a small, bloodied jack-knife and held it in front of Holmes.
"Does this belong to you, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.
Holmes took the knife and scrutinised it for a moment before handing it to me.
"Does it, Watson?" he asked.
I took it into my hands and carefully looked at it. It had a plain, brown handle with a silver ring engraved at the base where it was joined to the blade. The ring was inscribed with Holmes's name on it. It was the missing jack-knife from our mantelpiece.
"Yes, I believe it does, unless it is a very good facsimile," I concluded, "Why do you ask, Inspector?"
What he said next was the most astonishing thing he ever said before or since that time.
"This was found at the scene of the crime shortly after you left" answered Lestrade morosely. He paused for a moment, as though unable to continue, then his face became hardened and he announced solemnly, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for the wilful murder of Julia Stamford. I've always respected you and your ways of attaining justice, no matter how eccentric they may seem, but this time you've gone too far."
Holmes was abnormally calm through the accusations that Lestrade had indicted upon him. He just looked at him with his introspective look until Lestrade had finished and continued to stare at him with a gaze that would have brought many strong men to their knees.
"Is there anything else that you would like to add, Lestrade?" said Holmes quietly, maintaining his usual sharpness of expression.
Lestrade, almost quailing under Holmes's gaze, managed to reply in a small voice: "Mr. Holmes, come with me."
He then led Holmes, who offered no resistance, slowly outside. Kathryn and I quickly strode over to the window, where we saw Lestrade usher Holmes into a brougham, climb in himself, then the carriage rattled away.