Chapter three

I awoke the next morning thoroughly refreshed of mind and body, the clocks read ten; late, but that was alright, I had nothing to do the next few days, all my affairs were in order and the clinic certainly didn't need me every day. The Baker rooms looked bright and clean, clearly an effect of my mindset as the rooms were almost always in a state of utter disarray.

I rose to my feet, stretched my limbs and proceeded to call up Mrs. Hudson.

As the landlady busied herself with my breakfast I headed into the study for some sign of Holmes.

There sitting on the small inn table sat a small piece of note paper, even from where I was I could make out Holmes' distinctive flourish.

My Dear Watson,

I had a very busy night and there's a very busy day ahead of me.

Do, try and stay awake, I suspect I won't be back until late this evening, but I have ever so much to tell you.

I'm close Watson, oh so close, but this man is like the devil himself.

Holmes.

I folded the paper carefully and set it back on the table, Mrs. Hudson came up carrying a silver tray, the agreeable scent of fried eggs on toast rose to meet my nose.

Mrs. Hudson set down the tray, bid' me good morning and left me to eat my meal in peace, muttering something about strange habits and late breakfasts.

As I sat in the cushioned lounge chair, munching on my toast, I took it upon myself to apply Holmes' methods to this curious piece of paper he had left me.

I wiped my hands on my trousers and picked up the foolscap as carefully as possible, my vision blurred as I attempted to scrutinize every detail of the paper, was it new? Certainly not, for it had not the feel or smell of brand new paper.

Was it Holmes' usual note paper? I turned the letter over and around and held it up to the light, in an effort to determine a watermark; it was sometime before I found it, faded and gray, sitting quite unnoticeably in the bottom left hand corner.

The paper was made by Barrett and Co. Holmes' paper; he was most religious in his use of it.

I brought the note up to my nose and took a long whiff. It smelled strongly of alcohol and tobacco smoke, not the fine tobacco of rich merchants, but the grimy mixed tobacco of the poorer class.

I peaked over at the clock, it was now one, and I had spent the better part of three hours attempting to discover all I could about this simple piece of paper.

Clearly it was Holmes' writing, for I knew it well. It was a kind of paper he often used, and the note had been composed in some sort of drinking establishment, a pub of one kind or another.

But other than that it had been a fruitless search, I learned nothing about Holmes' whereabouts other than that he had been in a pub, and I learned nothing about the location of our quarry, other than the fact that Holmes was close on his tail.

I spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude, basking in the tranquility of the moment, and yet suffering in my eagerness to know what had transpired when Holmes had sent me home in the hansom.

Holmes blustered into the room later that evening, delight playing across his face. "I've found him Watson, it was a long, hard chase, but I've found him!"

I sprang to my feet, dropping the newspaper I had been reading. "Wonderful news, how'd you go about it?"

Holmes slumped into the easy chair, a sigh of satisfaction escaping his lips. "Elementary my dear Watson, I simply had to do some footwork," Holmes removed his muddied shoes and gently rubbed his feet, "A good deal of footwork I should say." He chortled, "Edward Colepepper had me tramping all over London."

"Quite the devilish fellow, ehh Holmes?" I asked.

"Indeed he was Watson, I always seemed to be moments behind him. The second after I sent you off in that cab I lost no time in procuring my own and directing it to Diogenes. To my pleasant surprise Lestrade had indeed found the card I 'mislaid'. I relayed to him the information concerning our little interview, he took my word on it and immediately sent his regulars tramping off into the mist." Holmes smacked his lips, "I say Watson, would you rustle me up some coffee; I haven't had anything to drink since last night at the club."

I handed Holmes my untouched cup, sitting upon the table. He greedily swallowed the black contents. Placing the cup back on the table with a sigh of relief, Holmes continued his narrative.

"As I was saying. On returning to the club I immediately ferreted out the owner and demanded the address of his recently hired maid. As I expected, the address was a fluke, leading me to a simple packaging warehouse. I must give young Colepepper credit, he always seemed to be one step ahead of me. After the debacle of the address I went to the theater which most commonly employs Sir Edward, the result was very satisfying. I met with a young lad, Mr. Cyril Thornberry; quite talented, likely to take Sir Edward's place. A most interesting individual, he was most helpful. He explained that Sir Edward had been nervous and sullen as of late. He explained to me that Sir Edward had rented a small apartment on the other side of town, he had rented it on the excuse that he needed some time away.

That was the obvious place for Sir Edward to go after committing his deeds, young Cyril even cited as much. After validating that Colepepper had retreated to his den, I summoned the Baker Street Brigade and put them on strict orders to watch the place until the police had arrived."

"And how did the capture of Sir Edward go?" I asked.

"I didn't bother with that, Lestrade promised to return here and tell us once he was apprehended. I thought you would like to hear the story."

I smiled. "I was indeed glad, but you should have stayed, there are an infinite amount of scenarios that could have taken place were you there."

"Posh Watson, you're too much of a romantic," he smiled wryly, "after all, I had to make the regulars feel wanted in some way. But hark, if I'm not mistaken that is the sound of the good inspector's footsteps upon the stair."

Lestrade burst into the room huffing and puffing, sweat dripping down his flushed face. Holmes opened his arms wide. "Ah Lestrade, how went the ordeal. Watson and I were just discussing the many possible contingencies."

"Edward Colepepper..." the winded detective drew a long breath, "was found murdered."