Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and all characters from the canon series belong
to Doyle and Doyle alone.
A/N: Hi, you guys. I am SOO sorry for posting so late ::hides from the angry readers:: Well, here's chapter 14, and it's the longest chapter yet, to give you some compensation. Don't worry, this story isn't dead, and I will finish it. The Plot is picking up for the final leg of this story, so stay tuned and enjoy!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 14- Unexpected Revelations
I awoke suddenly the next morning a persistent shaking on my side.
"Dr. Watson, Dr. Watson. I'm sorry to disturb you so early this morning, but I'm afraid that you have a visitor," Mrs. Hudson's voice quietly echoed my small cosy bedroom before turning to leave.
"Who is it?" I asked, rubbing my bleary eyes.
"It is Miss Granger. She has already been waiting for about half an hour and is very anxious to see you," she replied before stepping out of the room and closing the aged mahogany door behind her.
I sat up slowly in my bed and looked out of my small window out into the rustle and bustle of the streets below. It was still early, so there were only a few people walking along the paved and cobbled streets below. Everything just seemed so normal; the people went on with their lives, blissfully unaware of the events that have racked my mind for the past two days. Sighing at the irony that Providence always poses towards its lesser beings, I trudged tiredly towards my closet to pick out my clothes for the day.
When I finally emerged from my abode into the comfortable living room filled with the warmth of a blazing fire, it was to find Kathryn's tall and graceful figure standing by the window as she peered pensively down at the busy street below. At the sound of my footsteps on the plush vermilion carpet as I entered the room, she lifted her gaze and fixed her introspective emerald eyes on my own blue ones.
"Good morning, Doctor," she called cheerily as I beckoned her into a chair. "I hope that you slept well."
"I did, considering the circumstances," I replied politely as Mrs. Hudson stepped in with tea for us both.
"That is good to hear, for we have a busy day ahead of us," Kathryn stated as she picked up a cup full of the steaming liquid from the tray on the small table in front of her.
"I went to a tobacconist's shop yesterday, after I left here, in order to find out the type of cigar that the ash I found in the room of the deceased belonged to," Kathryn reported. "According to the store reference books, the ash I found in Julia Stamford's room was from a Havana cigar."
"Havana?" I asked with my ears perked. "Those are really expensive, aren't they?"
"Yes, I believe so," Kathryn replied thoughtfully. "Since Holmes doesn't smoke Havana cigars, this means that whoever visited Miss Stamford on the night of her death must have been a person with a reasonably high economic and perhaps social status."
"How would Kumar Rao be able to gain access to such a high quality brand of cigars?" I asked curiously.
"One step at a time, Doctor," Kathryn cautioned with an amused smile gracing her thin lips. "We are not yet certain that the ash belonged to Rao. It is certainly possible that a third person was present in Miss Stamford's room on that fateful night, or it is also possible, though unlikely, that Holmes has taken up to smoking Havana cigars on occasion." At this she allowed herself a small chuckle and the small smile turned into a sardonic smirk. "Whatever is the case, we mustn't let ourselves jump to conclusions, or it may just come back and haunt us later on."
"So what do we have to go on, then?" I asked carefully. "What are the points that we must follow out today?"
"Well, this is a little complicated in the fact that we must follow two seemingly completely different trains of thought in order to pursue the same solution," answered Kathryn as she turned and fixed her pensive gaze back outside. "First of all, we must confirm this new line of investigation dealing with Rao. It is one of the most singular turns that the progress of this case has made so far. This new point may be completely insignificant, but it may also tie the whole solution together when we have it in the end. We must not take the chance of letting precious information slip past our fingertips unchecked, especially the introduction of a new character in this scheme. We must follow this thread of inquiry, wherever it leads us, to the very end.
"There is also the small, yet not insignificant fact that we found an envelope stamped with the ? seal that contained a substantial quantity of opium among Miss Jennifer Thompson's belongings. There are several inferences which can be drawn from this issue, but I think that we should question the lady herself later on today to confirm or disprove the theories I have."
"So our first step should be to visit Kumar Rao's establishment, then?" I asked for confirmation, which came in the form of a slight nod. "Right then, I'll just go call for a cab."
I left Kathryn where she was at the windowsill, and quietly made my way out of the room and down the flight of stairs, briefly recalling that Holmes once told me that there were 17 steps. I wandered around on the ground floor in search of Mrs. Hudson, and found her in the kitchen, where she was enjoying a cup of tea.
At the sound of my footsteps, she hastily stood up and took a few hesitant steps towards me. "Is there a problem, Dr. Watson?" she asked worriedly at the clouded look in me eyes.
"It's nothing," I assured her half-heartedly. "Could you please call for a brougham to arrive here, please?"
"Certainly, Doctor," she replied graciously, her features softening. "I'll have one at the doorstep within ten minutes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." With that I trudged back up the flight of stairs in a melancholy mood.
"Is something the matter, Doctor?" Kathryn asked with concern in her emerald eyes that seemed to peer into my very soul as I stepped back into Holmes's living room. "You seem troubled."
"It's nothing, I'm sure," I replied quickly. "A brougham will be arriving within ten minutes."
"Good," replied Kathryn firmly as she came up to me and guided me into a chair by the fireplace. "Until then, you can be kind enough to tell me what's troubling you, and hopefully I can ease your qualms."
I looked up in surprise into the clear, twin pools of emerald light that were her eyes, and let myself become calmed and mesmerized in their bottomless depths. "It just seems so hopeless for Holmes," I whispered quietly. "If we don't get to the bottom of this, he'll be hanged for certain!"
"Don't worry. As much as that would give Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson a good laugh, Holmes will not go into the dock for this crime," Kathryn assured comfortingly. "Now, is there anything else troubling you?"
I slowly shook my head timidly, although there was indeed something else on my mind. It seemed to me that Kathryn saw past this attempt at deception, but she said nothing more, and the two of us made our way silently out of the room.
***
The cab ride was an uneventful one, though Kathryn tried to keep me occupied from my wistful thoughts by asking me about my profession and hobbies.
"So you're a private practitioner?" asked Kathryn, glancing up at the bowler hat currently sitting upon my head.
"Yes," I replied, recalling how the bulge in my old hat had brought Holmes to a similar conclusion in the past. "I'm a doctor in private practice," I explained in answer to the question she posed me. "I have been for some time. Business is not flourishing but at least there will always be a steady stream of patients coming in on a day-to-day basis. I frequently do house calls for patients suffering from severe symptoms of various diseases, but I mostly work at my office in Kensington."
"So what else do you do, apart from taking care of the sick in this world and chronicling our mutual friend's adventures?" Kathryn queried, leaning back in her seat across from me.
"Well I have my clubs that I attend every so often, where I play the odd game of billiards, but apart from that, I suppose that I lead a quiet life at home reading," I replied, somewhat surprised at my lack of activities.
"May I ask why, since I perceive that you are a sociable man?" Kathryn questioned, with her interest peaked.
I slowly averted my gaze from her scintillating green eyes, and peered thoughtfully at my hands, which were brushing an imaginary speck of dust off my trousers. "I suppose that I've had little opportunity to engage in social activities after the death of my wife, Mary, some years ago," I answered quickly as offhandedly as I could muster, although the mention of Mary's name brought back painful memories.
"Oh, I'm very sorry," replied Kathryn empathetically. "I shouldn't have asked that question."
"Oh, no," I assured, as I managed to put a small smile on my face, "Your question was perfectly reasonable. You couldn't have known."
The rest of the ride was filled with a tense and sombre silence, and it was with some relief that Kathryn and I alighted the brougham about ten minutes later at a cross street at the border of the Whitechapel District.
"Why would Rao want to set up shop here?" I asked curiously as I took in the dismal and depressing surroundings.
"Not everyone in this world is blessed with the riches and splendour of upper class life," Kathryn responded simply. The two of us made our way up Whitechapel Road and stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous building whose walls and windows were soiled with soot and grime. There was a sign hanging above the store, faded with time, which read, "Abdullah's Antiques, Merchants of fine furniture and artefacts since 1850."
With a quick glance at the worn sign, Kathryn placed her gloved hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened with squeaky hinges, and this triggered the slight tinkling of a bell, which signified our entrance into the establishment. The interior was completely covered with a fine layer of dust, and looked like some old museum, with its many trinkets scattered all over its many high shelves. As I gazed around the dimly lit room, My eyes took in the sight of intricately carved golden globes, maps from the time of Ptolemy, small bronze statues of some obscure deities from foreign lands, ivory jewellery from India, and ancient tomes and scrolls of literature of ages long past, which contrasted with the relatively new furniture from France, probably dating back to the 18th century.
"Strange place," I mused to myself, curiously examining one of the scrolls. "Whoever owns this establishment certainly did come by a strange array of antiques."
Kathryn seemed not to have heard me, however, as she quietly made her way around the room, carefully examining the various items for herself, before stopping at the main desk on which a quite modern till sat. It was with some surprise, therefore, that I heard her mutter, "Yes indeed, Doctor. This may be useful later on."
She quickly rang the small bell on the counter, and soon a man came bustling out from a back room just as the ding of the bell faded completely from our ears. I was surprised at the level of professionalism which he held as he entered the room. He was a stout young fellow with a clean- shaven jaw and square face framed with a head of fiery auburn hair. He was dressed in a rough shirt rolled up to the elbows and dusty trousers, which showed signs of wear and tear. On top of these articles of clothing was an apron, which looked like it hadn't been washed for decades.
At the sight of two possible customers, the man raised his bushy eyebrows above a pair of iron-grey eyes that held a warm twinkle.
"Good mornin', folks. What can I do for you?" he asked politely.
"My name is Dr. Watson, and I am working on a case with my friend here on behalf of Sherlock Holmes," I introduced myself succinctly.
At the sound of the famous detective's name, the young fellow's eyes widened in surprise. "You're workin' on behalf of Mr. Holmes? Well, I'd certainly say that he's done a lot o' good around 'ere, you know. My name is Harry Livingston, by the way. How can I be of service to you both?"
"We are looking for a man named Kumar Rao, the owner of this establishment. We need to ask him a few questions," Kathryn replied kindly, with a smile on her face.
Livingston furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I'm sorry, miss, but there's no man who works here under that name. The owner of this shop is my boss, a man named Abdullah Raquesh."
I was about to apologise for the intrusion, when Kathryn held up a hand and interrupted me, asking: "Mr. Livingston, would Mr. Raquesh be an Arabic looking person?"
"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Livingston replied with a slow nod. "You can never tell with those foreigners; Mr. Raquesh definitely was from out of the country."
Kathryn dove one of her hands within a hidden pocket amongst the many folds of her long, black dress. Soon, she pulled it back out with a slip of cardboard between her fingertips. "Do you recognise this man as being your employer?"
"Why, yes!" exclaimed Harry incredulously. "How on earth did get that picture? Mr. Raquesh isn't exactly very photogenic."
The question remained unanswered, however, as Kathryn voiced her own thoughts with an amused smile. "It seems that we have been searching for the wrong man, Doctor. May we speak with your employer, Mr. Livingston?"
"I'm sorry to inform you that he isn't here at the moment, miss," Livingston replied frankly. "I work here by myself managing the store most days, but the fellow will pop in every once in a while to check up on me."
Kathryn paused for a moment in quick thought, before posing another question. "Can you tell us where Mr. Raquesh is residing?"
"No, miss, I'm sorry," responded Livingston apologetically. "I just see him coming into the store from the back room, which has a door facing out into the street. I never go back there myself, but he always arrives here from the back, so I just assume that he enters the store through the door- it's only logical after all- but he could be coming from anywhere beyond that."
"May we see this back entrance?"
"Certainly, please come this way." Livingston beckoned us to follow him behind the counter and through the door through which he had originally emerged. We walked passed what seemed a large, dank storage room, full of odd dust-covered trinkets and forgotten treasures from all corners of the world, and as I passed row after row of these articles, I mused to myself how interesting it would be to spend an afternoon in here, just examining all of this odd bits and bobs. The storage room lead to a smaller, almost empty room furnished only with a wooden desk and a three-legged stool, which looked as if it would collapse under the slightest strain.
Livingston made his way across the room to a small, weatherworn door with a tiny glass window. "This is the door I was talking about," Livingston announced, looking at the door with a clouded expression. Kathryn however was gazing at the dust-covered wooden floor with a pensive expression on her face. She lightly tapped her foot against the ground, and her pensive expression grew darker.
"Miss Granger?" I asked, bringing her from her reverie. She promptly stepped up to the doorway and made a quick examination.
"When was the last time that Mr. Raquesh came to this store?" she asked suddenly, startling both Livingston and myself with the nature of the question.
"Well, now that you mention it, Mr. Raquesh did pop in for about an hour only yesterday," Livingston answered once he had regained his composure.
"It is as I expected then," Kathryn mused to herself. "This door hasn't been used for over a year, by its state."
"Then how does Raquesh get in?" I asked curiously.
For an answer, Kathryn suddenly bent down and began searching the dusty floor for something. After about a minute, her nails seemed to have dug into one of the slots between the floorboards. With a quick tug, the floorboard slipped out of sight, revealing a small metallic latch. Grasping the latch tightly with her hands, Kathryn pulled, lifting up a section of the wooden panelling large enough for a man to fit through, which revealed a darkened tunnel underneath.
"It seems very likely that Mr. Raquesh uses this hidden passage to arrive at the store," Kathryn said quietly. "It does, after all, belong to him."
"Let's go then," I announced as I looked uncertainly into the pitch-black passage. Livingston swiftly left the room and returned with a small torch. Kathryn deftly took the lantern and stepped down into the passage, followed closely by the two of us.
I couldn't discern much of the surroundings from the dim light of the single lantern, but by the sound of water dripping from the low ceiling, and the splashing of water as we made our way along the well-worn air, I could tell that the passage was extremely wet. We walked for what seemed hours as the path continued onwards, winding left and right. Just as I thought that the tunnel would never end, our little procession came to a halt at the foot of a flight of wooden stairs. With a quick glance behind her shoulder at Livingston and me, Kathryn made her way slowly up the steps. Livingston and I quickly followed her, and reached the top just as Kathryn opened the door at the end of the landing. The door creaked slowly open, and the sight that was revealed to us made Kathryn utter an audible gasp.
"Good lord," I gasped.
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Er.Sorry about this cliffhanger, but I'll update as soon as I can. Please R/R!
A/N: Hi, you guys. I am SOO sorry for posting so late ::hides from the angry readers:: Well, here's chapter 14, and it's the longest chapter yet, to give you some compensation. Don't worry, this story isn't dead, and I will finish it. The Plot is picking up for the final leg of this story, so stay tuned and enjoy!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 14- Unexpected Revelations
I awoke suddenly the next morning a persistent shaking on my side.
"Dr. Watson, Dr. Watson. I'm sorry to disturb you so early this morning, but I'm afraid that you have a visitor," Mrs. Hudson's voice quietly echoed my small cosy bedroom before turning to leave.
"Who is it?" I asked, rubbing my bleary eyes.
"It is Miss Granger. She has already been waiting for about half an hour and is very anxious to see you," she replied before stepping out of the room and closing the aged mahogany door behind her.
I sat up slowly in my bed and looked out of my small window out into the rustle and bustle of the streets below. It was still early, so there were only a few people walking along the paved and cobbled streets below. Everything just seemed so normal; the people went on with their lives, blissfully unaware of the events that have racked my mind for the past two days. Sighing at the irony that Providence always poses towards its lesser beings, I trudged tiredly towards my closet to pick out my clothes for the day.
When I finally emerged from my abode into the comfortable living room filled with the warmth of a blazing fire, it was to find Kathryn's tall and graceful figure standing by the window as she peered pensively down at the busy street below. At the sound of my footsteps on the plush vermilion carpet as I entered the room, she lifted her gaze and fixed her introspective emerald eyes on my own blue ones.
"Good morning, Doctor," she called cheerily as I beckoned her into a chair. "I hope that you slept well."
"I did, considering the circumstances," I replied politely as Mrs. Hudson stepped in with tea for us both.
"That is good to hear, for we have a busy day ahead of us," Kathryn stated as she picked up a cup full of the steaming liquid from the tray on the small table in front of her.
"I went to a tobacconist's shop yesterday, after I left here, in order to find out the type of cigar that the ash I found in the room of the deceased belonged to," Kathryn reported. "According to the store reference books, the ash I found in Julia Stamford's room was from a Havana cigar."
"Havana?" I asked with my ears perked. "Those are really expensive, aren't they?"
"Yes, I believe so," Kathryn replied thoughtfully. "Since Holmes doesn't smoke Havana cigars, this means that whoever visited Miss Stamford on the night of her death must have been a person with a reasonably high economic and perhaps social status."
"How would Kumar Rao be able to gain access to such a high quality brand of cigars?" I asked curiously.
"One step at a time, Doctor," Kathryn cautioned with an amused smile gracing her thin lips. "We are not yet certain that the ash belonged to Rao. It is certainly possible that a third person was present in Miss Stamford's room on that fateful night, or it is also possible, though unlikely, that Holmes has taken up to smoking Havana cigars on occasion." At this she allowed herself a small chuckle and the small smile turned into a sardonic smirk. "Whatever is the case, we mustn't let ourselves jump to conclusions, or it may just come back and haunt us later on."
"So what do we have to go on, then?" I asked carefully. "What are the points that we must follow out today?"
"Well, this is a little complicated in the fact that we must follow two seemingly completely different trains of thought in order to pursue the same solution," answered Kathryn as she turned and fixed her pensive gaze back outside. "First of all, we must confirm this new line of investigation dealing with Rao. It is one of the most singular turns that the progress of this case has made so far. This new point may be completely insignificant, but it may also tie the whole solution together when we have it in the end. We must not take the chance of letting precious information slip past our fingertips unchecked, especially the introduction of a new character in this scheme. We must follow this thread of inquiry, wherever it leads us, to the very end.
"There is also the small, yet not insignificant fact that we found an envelope stamped with the ? seal that contained a substantial quantity of opium among Miss Jennifer Thompson's belongings. There are several inferences which can be drawn from this issue, but I think that we should question the lady herself later on today to confirm or disprove the theories I have."
"So our first step should be to visit Kumar Rao's establishment, then?" I asked for confirmation, which came in the form of a slight nod. "Right then, I'll just go call for a cab."
I left Kathryn where she was at the windowsill, and quietly made my way out of the room and down the flight of stairs, briefly recalling that Holmes once told me that there were 17 steps. I wandered around on the ground floor in search of Mrs. Hudson, and found her in the kitchen, where she was enjoying a cup of tea.
At the sound of my footsteps, she hastily stood up and took a few hesitant steps towards me. "Is there a problem, Dr. Watson?" she asked worriedly at the clouded look in me eyes.
"It's nothing," I assured her half-heartedly. "Could you please call for a brougham to arrive here, please?"
"Certainly, Doctor," she replied graciously, her features softening. "I'll have one at the doorstep within ten minutes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." With that I trudged back up the flight of stairs in a melancholy mood.
"Is something the matter, Doctor?" Kathryn asked with concern in her emerald eyes that seemed to peer into my very soul as I stepped back into Holmes's living room. "You seem troubled."
"It's nothing, I'm sure," I replied quickly. "A brougham will be arriving within ten minutes."
"Good," replied Kathryn firmly as she came up to me and guided me into a chair by the fireplace. "Until then, you can be kind enough to tell me what's troubling you, and hopefully I can ease your qualms."
I looked up in surprise into the clear, twin pools of emerald light that were her eyes, and let myself become calmed and mesmerized in their bottomless depths. "It just seems so hopeless for Holmes," I whispered quietly. "If we don't get to the bottom of this, he'll be hanged for certain!"
"Don't worry. As much as that would give Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson a good laugh, Holmes will not go into the dock for this crime," Kathryn assured comfortingly. "Now, is there anything else troubling you?"
I slowly shook my head timidly, although there was indeed something else on my mind. It seemed to me that Kathryn saw past this attempt at deception, but she said nothing more, and the two of us made our way silently out of the room.
***
The cab ride was an uneventful one, though Kathryn tried to keep me occupied from my wistful thoughts by asking me about my profession and hobbies.
"So you're a private practitioner?" asked Kathryn, glancing up at the bowler hat currently sitting upon my head.
"Yes," I replied, recalling how the bulge in my old hat had brought Holmes to a similar conclusion in the past. "I'm a doctor in private practice," I explained in answer to the question she posed me. "I have been for some time. Business is not flourishing but at least there will always be a steady stream of patients coming in on a day-to-day basis. I frequently do house calls for patients suffering from severe symptoms of various diseases, but I mostly work at my office in Kensington."
"So what else do you do, apart from taking care of the sick in this world and chronicling our mutual friend's adventures?" Kathryn queried, leaning back in her seat across from me.
"Well I have my clubs that I attend every so often, where I play the odd game of billiards, but apart from that, I suppose that I lead a quiet life at home reading," I replied, somewhat surprised at my lack of activities.
"May I ask why, since I perceive that you are a sociable man?" Kathryn questioned, with her interest peaked.
I slowly averted my gaze from her scintillating green eyes, and peered thoughtfully at my hands, which were brushing an imaginary speck of dust off my trousers. "I suppose that I've had little opportunity to engage in social activities after the death of my wife, Mary, some years ago," I answered quickly as offhandedly as I could muster, although the mention of Mary's name brought back painful memories.
"Oh, I'm very sorry," replied Kathryn empathetically. "I shouldn't have asked that question."
"Oh, no," I assured, as I managed to put a small smile on my face, "Your question was perfectly reasonable. You couldn't have known."
The rest of the ride was filled with a tense and sombre silence, and it was with some relief that Kathryn and I alighted the brougham about ten minutes later at a cross street at the border of the Whitechapel District.
"Why would Rao want to set up shop here?" I asked curiously as I took in the dismal and depressing surroundings.
"Not everyone in this world is blessed with the riches and splendour of upper class life," Kathryn responded simply. The two of us made our way up Whitechapel Road and stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous building whose walls and windows were soiled with soot and grime. There was a sign hanging above the store, faded with time, which read, "Abdullah's Antiques, Merchants of fine furniture and artefacts since 1850."
With a quick glance at the worn sign, Kathryn placed her gloved hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened with squeaky hinges, and this triggered the slight tinkling of a bell, which signified our entrance into the establishment. The interior was completely covered with a fine layer of dust, and looked like some old museum, with its many trinkets scattered all over its many high shelves. As I gazed around the dimly lit room, My eyes took in the sight of intricately carved golden globes, maps from the time of Ptolemy, small bronze statues of some obscure deities from foreign lands, ivory jewellery from India, and ancient tomes and scrolls of literature of ages long past, which contrasted with the relatively new furniture from France, probably dating back to the 18th century.
"Strange place," I mused to myself, curiously examining one of the scrolls. "Whoever owns this establishment certainly did come by a strange array of antiques."
Kathryn seemed not to have heard me, however, as she quietly made her way around the room, carefully examining the various items for herself, before stopping at the main desk on which a quite modern till sat. It was with some surprise, therefore, that I heard her mutter, "Yes indeed, Doctor. This may be useful later on."
She quickly rang the small bell on the counter, and soon a man came bustling out from a back room just as the ding of the bell faded completely from our ears. I was surprised at the level of professionalism which he held as he entered the room. He was a stout young fellow with a clean- shaven jaw and square face framed with a head of fiery auburn hair. He was dressed in a rough shirt rolled up to the elbows and dusty trousers, which showed signs of wear and tear. On top of these articles of clothing was an apron, which looked like it hadn't been washed for decades.
At the sight of two possible customers, the man raised his bushy eyebrows above a pair of iron-grey eyes that held a warm twinkle.
"Good mornin', folks. What can I do for you?" he asked politely.
"My name is Dr. Watson, and I am working on a case with my friend here on behalf of Sherlock Holmes," I introduced myself succinctly.
At the sound of the famous detective's name, the young fellow's eyes widened in surprise. "You're workin' on behalf of Mr. Holmes? Well, I'd certainly say that he's done a lot o' good around 'ere, you know. My name is Harry Livingston, by the way. How can I be of service to you both?"
"We are looking for a man named Kumar Rao, the owner of this establishment. We need to ask him a few questions," Kathryn replied kindly, with a smile on her face.
Livingston furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I'm sorry, miss, but there's no man who works here under that name. The owner of this shop is my boss, a man named Abdullah Raquesh."
I was about to apologise for the intrusion, when Kathryn held up a hand and interrupted me, asking: "Mr. Livingston, would Mr. Raquesh be an Arabic looking person?"
"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Livingston replied with a slow nod. "You can never tell with those foreigners; Mr. Raquesh definitely was from out of the country."
Kathryn dove one of her hands within a hidden pocket amongst the many folds of her long, black dress. Soon, she pulled it back out with a slip of cardboard between her fingertips. "Do you recognise this man as being your employer?"
"Why, yes!" exclaimed Harry incredulously. "How on earth did get that picture? Mr. Raquesh isn't exactly very photogenic."
The question remained unanswered, however, as Kathryn voiced her own thoughts with an amused smile. "It seems that we have been searching for the wrong man, Doctor. May we speak with your employer, Mr. Livingston?"
"I'm sorry to inform you that he isn't here at the moment, miss," Livingston replied frankly. "I work here by myself managing the store most days, but the fellow will pop in every once in a while to check up on me."
Kathryn paused for a moment in quick thought, before posing another question. "Can you tell us where Mr. Raquesh is residing?"
"No, miss, I'm sorry," responded Livingston apologetically. "I just see him coming into the store from the back room, which has a door facing out into the street. I never go back there myself, but he always arrives here from the back, so I just assume that he enters the store through the door- it's only logical after all- but he could be coming from anywhere beyond that."
"May we see this back entrance?"
"Certainly, please come this way." Livingston beckoned us to follow him behind the counter and through the door through which he had originally emerged. We walked passed what seemed a large, dank storage room, full of odd dust-covered trinkets and forgotten treasures from all corners of the world, and as I passed row after row of these articles, I mused to myself how interesting it would be to spend an afternoon in here, just examining all of this odd bits and bobs. The storage room lead to a smaller, almost empty room furnished only with a wooden desk and a three-legged stool, which looked as if it would collapse under the slightest strain.
Livingston made his way across the room to a small, weatherworn door with a tiny glass window. "This is the door I was talking about," Livingston announced, looking at the door with a clouded expression. Kathryn however was gazing at the dust-covered wooden floor with a pensive expression on her face. She lightly tapped her foot against the ground, and her pensive expression grew darker.
"Miss Granger?" I asked, bringing her from her reverie. She promptly stepped up to the doorway and made a quick examination.
"When was the last time that Mr. Raquesh came to this store?" she asked suddenly, startling both Livingston and myself with the nature of the question.
"Well, now that you mention it, Mr. Raquesh did pop in for about an hour only yesterday," Livingston answered once he had regained his composure.
"It is as I expected then," Kathryn mused to herself. "This door hasn't been used for over a year, by its state."
"Then how does Raquesh get in?" I asked curiously.
For an answer, Kathryn suddenly bent down and began searching the dusty floor for something. After about a minute, her nails seemed to have dug into one of the slots between the floorboards. With a quick tug, the floorboard slipped out of sight, revealing a small metallic latch. Grasping the latch tightly with her hands, Kathryn pulled, lifting up a section of the wooden panelling large enough for a man to fit through, which revealed a darkened tunnel underneath.
"It seems very likely that Mr. Raquesh uses this hidden passage to arrive at the store," Kathryn said quietly. "It does, after all, belong to him."
"Let's go then," I announced as I looked uncertainly into the pitch-black passage. Livingston swiftly left the room and returned with a small torch. Kathryn deftly took the lantern and stepped down into the passage, followed closely by the two of us.
I couldn't discern much of the surroundings from the dim light of the single lantern, but by the sound of water dripping from the low ceiling, and the splashing of water as we made our way along the well-worn air, I could tell that the passage was extremely wet. We walked for what seemed hours as the path continued onwards, winding left and right. Just as I thought that the tunnel would never end, our little procession came to a halt at the foot of a flight of wooden stairs. With a quick glance behind her shoulder at Livingston and me, Kathryn made her way slowly up the steps. Livingston and I quickly followed her, and reached the top just as Kathryn opened the door at the end of the landing. The door creaked slowly open, and the sight that was revealed to us made Kathryn utter an audible gasp.
"Good lord," I gasped.
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Er.Sorry about this cliffhanger, but I'll update as soon as I can. Please R/R!