Reviews people PLEASE? No sorry that was rude; I crave them as Watson craves reprimanding Holmes for his craving of drugs which in turn crave usage. I have just re-read the entire Mary Russell series over night so please excuse the grammar mistakes.

Chapter 2; "I'm a great fan of yours!"

The carriage clattered into the gravelled driveway causing a sound resembling heavy rain to erupt around it. As soon as the horses had halted Holmes leapt from his seat and alighted the carriage. He was met almost instantaneously by Lestrade and a smart young officer in plain clothes. The former of the two gave the detective a curt greeting; however he was studying the latter with interest. He was short and slim without a hint of muscle on his meagre frame. However he made up for his lack of physical prowess with his bright, piercing green eyes, mottled dark hair and accentuated chin. "Inspector Vincent Winters sir!" he grinned acknowledging Holmes's gaze, "I'm a great fan of yours!"

"I'm very flattered to hear it!" chuckled the detective. Their conversation would have continued further if not for Lestrade sighing theatrically, "Are you quite finished Mr Holmes?"

"Yes… of course, for now. Now, what were these err… items you wished to clear up with me?"

"Three things, firstly I suppose Mr Norwood has informed you of his wish to keep everything surreptitious?" Holmes nodded slowly. "Good secondly I thought you might want to view the body in forensics at Kent for any, ha, clues?"

"Yes, that would be convenient, go on."

"Thirdly will you take Winters along with you? Only due to the enormous amounts of money involved…"

Holmes bore a tolerant expression; "I trust that he is competent?"

"Yes indeed, more than competent if his record is correct, he's only been here as inspector for two months and I have had very little dealings with him, but apparently he possesses skills similar to your own!" Holmes looked sceptical, but resisted the urge to say anything. So it was that five minutes later Winters, Holmes, Watson and Norwood left Scotland Yard to board the carriage that was to take them to Charring cross and hence forth to Shortleat where they would view the body.

It was an odd carriage and train ride, simply because the roles of the passengers were completely reversed; Norwood and Watson sat dissonantly in the corners while Holmes and the newcomer were engrossed in animated conversation about topics varying from hydrochloric acid to the keeping of bees to the case of the speckled band. They spoke continually hardly paying attention to the other occupants of the carriage or the passing countryside. Watson sighed, he was more than slightly hurt, if it wasn't for Winters, Holmes would be deep in moody contemplation, he certainly wouldn't be talking. However the doctor suppressed his jealousy, after all it would only be for this case.

At one thirty that afternoon the train pulled up and the small company stopped for an insubstantial lunch, (during which the subject of human ears was discussed!) before taking a cab to the local police station. A lumbering constable arrived to greet them, and take their coats.

"Thank you Mr… err Groats." murmured Holmes.

"My god sir, how did you know my name? It's amazing…"

"-ly obvious!" Grinned Winters before the detective could answer, "You are wearing a badge which appears to be bearing the name Groats, that was a simple piece of sight-work and hardly worth the alias as a "perception"!" Holmes laughed, Watson and Norwood smirked and the constable who had received the butt of the joke blushed; "I'm sorry sir I had not recollected my name tag! If you would just step this way to view the body." They did so, Holmes and Winters passing a whispered comment then smiling.

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The room is quite well lit, with an expensive looking table and chair to furnish it. Upon the bench a well dressed woman is seated her teeth clenched at the sound of swearing and muffled phumps seeping through the door. Suddenly a man staggers in. He is reeling about in fits of drunkenness smashing against the walls, "BEER," he cries in a half groan half shout, "Is the giver of life, I love it!"

The woman turns away tears pricking at her eyes, "How can you say that, it bestows nothing but pain for all involved!"

"Courage!" he gurgles, smiling wickedly at her, "It gives courage! I could never have got any of this without it!"

She is suddenly alert, "What do you mean?"

"Without it I would never have had the courage to do in your Frederick!" He laughs madly as if he has made a joke, however his wife is standing now; "Y-y-you killed him? But the accident…"

"A lie of course, how blind can you be woman? It was faked, yeah I killed him," he rocked unsteadily forward, "but what are you going to do about it?"

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"Very sparsely furnished, this room!" Holmes commented as they were lead in.

"The dead very rarely need embellishments, and it might be deemed insensitive to have a gramophone or paintings positioned at our fine police forces disposal!" Winters replied, again causing the assembled company to grin reluctantly. The body lay prostrate on a table in the centre of the room. It was completely naked save for a pair of shorts. Holmes strode forward purposefully, but then gasped inaudibly and started back at the sight of the face. It was contorted into a grimace of absolute and complete horror. His mouth was wide open and his teeth were in the process of decaying inside it. His lips were drawn back over rotting gums, and his whole head was twisted so violently on the axis of the neck that it seemed surprising to know that it wasn't broken. However, it was his eyes that were really the most disturbing; they were popping sickeningly far out of the skull, and although they were lacking the vital fire of life, they still bore traces of the terror the poor man must have felt before he died. Everyone stood just staring at his countenance for a few moments, before Winters woke them from their trance: "Grim… very grim. Although I am not a medical man, I confess I think heart attack is almost certainly the cause of death."

Norwood muttered something about poison, but Holmes interrupted. "Poison? I think not. I would imagine the Ashford pathological department has had a chance to examine and analyse the contents of the stomach. If they had found anything, I trust the good Constable Groats would have told us. No, I am inclined to think along the same lines as Inspector Winters."

Winters smiled vaguely at him, then turned back to the body, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He felt as if he had known the man in front of him some time ago. He frowned, then started as something caught his eye: "You say this Mr Angels was a hermit?"

"Well, yes," replied Norwood bemusedly.

"In which country?"

"Why, in Yorkshire, I believe."

"Then please explain why it is that he is tanned?"

Everyone gasped. It was true, it wasn't immediately obvious, but there was a brown tinge to his wrinkled old skin. Watson stepped forward to take a closer look: "This is deep set, not recent. He must have spent some considerable time in a tropical country, like Africa or India."

"India, I fancy," mumbled Holmes, "look at those old scars on his chest. They resemble those that might be inflicted by a shikari; I would guess this man had spent some time in the army."

Norwood shuddered. "To survive those he must have been strong physically and mentally. What on earth could have given him shock enough to kill him?"

Winters sighed, "People grow older, they lose their vigour, and these gashes are decades old, he will have changed. Mr Holmes, it is my opinion we shall get no more here."

The detective nodded. "I agree entirely, on to Shortleat then!"

R&R or I'll stop writing!