AN: So, as I mentioned before, these two prompts line up ridiculously well, for some reason. This is part 2 to the two-part mini-story involving Adelia James, the wager, and the conclusion to this story! Without further ado: this story furthers on the mentions of attempted murder, injury, and political conspiracy.
I may have also veered a little away from this prompt to fit the story's context.
Day 6(Prompt 14): From Domina Temporis-Practice makes Perfect
Without the Pulse
Watson's POV
It stands to reason that a bored Sherlock Holmes was a very dangerous Sherlock Holmes—not to others, but himself on most occasions. Oftentimes, when I visited him while my wife was out with her family, I would stumble across a crime scene of his own making: Mrs. Hudson's walls shot clean through with his revolver, tobacco in his Persian slippers, and papers scattered across the floor as if a cat had suddenly taken nest in his lodgings.
If that didn't work, much to my disappointment, he would resort to his cocaine bottle or the heroin hypodermic needle. He had claimed that it kept his mind from burning out, but, even if it was perhaps a vain wish on my part, that I wanted to be the one to help keep his mind occupied. Even if I could not muster it on a routine basis, this is the end I hoped to achieve now.
After Holmes had lost the wager, I found myself with my friend back in the room with the bow-window in the Diogenes Club. Mycroft Holmes had allowed me to accompany Holmes, for even he knew what his brother would get up to if left on his own. However, the door had been bolted shut to prevent Holmes from fleeing out the door.
No newspapers were allowed in the room; after all, Mycroft did say he needed to be 'without his finger on the pulse.' This did not extend to the room's old books, so for the past hour, Holmes had been seated in a pile of books, scanning each of them intently. I was browsing an old medicine manual when I heard a derisive snort of laughter from Holmes.
"How perfectly absurd. They make an entire case out of a man murdering someone over fears of a ghost, and yet it is still somehow unsolved." Holmes chuckled, holding a book diving into the details of the Hammersmith Ghost Murder.
"Holmes, do you mean the ghost?" I asked, knowing my companion did not believe such things existed; no matter how much he enjoyed Fairy Tales, ghosts always earned his disinterest.
Holmes let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. "No, my dear Watson, I mean giving it the label of 'unsolved.' We all know who the murderer was, and while I do understand that finding the person under the sheet warrants a search, the attention of such a label serves better elsewhere." He reasoned. I could not fault him for that logic, but I could tell even he found intense interest in the idea of solving the mystery, more than he was willing to admit out of sheer boredom.
Holmes then clapped the book shut suddenly, lying in a prone position in the pile of other books. "Watson, how long has it been since we were ensconced in here?" He inquired, rolling his head towards me with a look of intense boredom on his face.
"It's only been an hour, Holmes." I said soothingly, as I lay on a prone position on my back by his shoulder so we could face each other better. "Your brother said he would come in and bring us food, should we need it; the only thing we can't ask for is anything connecting you to the pulse of the criminal world."
"I can't stand it, Watson!" Holmes ejaculated, throwing his arms into the air with clenched, shaking fists. "My brother knows my shortcomings too well; I can't even imagine what is going on in the streets below us as we speak! How many murders will go unsolved? How many cases will slip between the fingers of the hands of Scotland Yard? I may sound absurd, my dear Watson, but I feel as though without my finger on the pulse, I am both completely blind and deaf to the world."
I stared up at the ceiling, moved by Holmes's devotion to what he did, and not just for the thrill of a case. Oftentimes, it seemed everyone around Holmes had forgotten that he did not choose his profession just because it satisfied his unique brain, but his desire to seek the truth for those who could not find it themselves.
But I also knew I had to say something, so he knew I felt his frisson of anguished boredom. I turned my head towards him, placing my hand on his elbow. "Do not worry, Holmes; we will find something to do while we're in here." I said.
"Or, if we're lucky, a crime will perhaps wander under our window. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson; something usually comes falling into our midst when you're around." Holmes remarked, lowering his arms. "I suppose by then; we would have to escape—I would have gotten the lock, but as Mycroft was one of the founders of the Diogenes Club, the locks are not an option to get us out; they are difficult to crack." Said he.
I frowned, glancing over to the door. "I'm not sure Mycroft would let us go, even if the crime were under the window, he specified that we were to remain in here for as long as he desired." I said. "If I was able to deduce some of you, Holmes, then I can also tell your brother can be rather ruthless if the situation calls for it."
Holmes let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Capital observation, Watson, but you are not aware of the entire picture. Mycroft had wanted me to originally sit and observe the Rule of Silence that occurs outside of this room."
"What changed his mind?" I asked, suddenly sitting up at that revelation. Holmes sat upright, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"While normally I find the atmosphere soothing, I protested due to not having my finger on the pulse." Holmes answered as I couldn't help but let out a chuckle at that as well. "Or perhaps, since I carry my revolver on my person now, the threat of my usage of it inside, as I do in our lodgings."
"I don't think your brother would be pleased if we did that," I remarked, suddenly getting an idea to combat our boredom. I got to my feet in excitement, hurrying towards the piles of books that we had taken in with us. Holmes got to his feet, his expression of agitated boredom shifting to a look of brief interest.
"What are you aiming to have us do, Watson?" Asked he, as I grabbed a stack in my arms, placing them on the ground.
"It is a game my brother, and I played when we were children." I said, picking a book off of the stack. "We would take out books from the pile, read one page, and then try to guess the ending. If we were right, we could ask the other one question, without consequence." I explained. I expected Holmes's face to look bored, but he nodded, his eyes half-closed in his usual contemplative state.
"It is better than wondering what I could be doing instead of entertaining Mycroft's 'victory' over me for a few moments." Said he, opening his palm. "I shall go first, friend Watson; I will read the first page, and guess the ending."
I passed the book over as Holmes opened it, quickly scanning the page with a scoff. "The Mr. Hyde figure in question is Doctor Jekyll; both end up perishing after handing over Jekyll's fortune." He said.
How did he know? I could not accurately express my sentiments, as Holmes was as close to being correct without reading the whole book! Instead, I shook my head, gazing back at Holmes. "What do you wish to ask me, my dear Holmes?"
"Did you know Lady James before this case?" Holmes asked, studying me with intense interest. I had a feeling that he wished to know, as she was my wife's cousin. I was unsure if I wanted to reveal my knowledge of the woman, as it was sufficiently lacking. That was a fault on my part.
"No, I am afraid I didn't." I said eventually, wringing my hands in front of me. "Mary had mentioned her in passing, that she was a wonderful if not mysterious woman that even her family knew not what she did—she was always traveling."
"This case is certainly showing some unique features of interest." Holmes mused thoughtfully, before passing the next book to me without another word.
I was grateful I kept his attention, so I cracked open the next book, resisting the urge to chuckle. Wilde's style was almost instantly recognizable, as was 'The Canterville Ghost.' "Sir Simon was sealed into the walls like Fortunato in Poe's story, and Lady Virginia learns to accept his presence to achieve some form of peace." I said as Holmes snorted.
"You already knew it, Watson, the skin above your nose crinkles when you are trying to suppress a laugh or lie to me." Said he, pointing to the region above his own nose, for example.
"I do not crinkle my nose!" I protested though I could not help but reach a hand up to my nose self-consciously. "While I am preoccupied with this, I'll ask: why did Thompson choose to attack Lady James and the Ambassador yesterday?"
"My brother and I deduced that since it is the winter months where everyone is preoccupied with the holidays, no one, not even the Ambassador, would expect to be attacked. A foolish endeavor to let someone's guard down, but that is the folly of human nature, friend Watson." Holmes said as I hesitated on handing Holmes the next book.
What do I tell my wife? That her cousin was dragged into a madman's idea of a political rebellion? How do I help with this? I wondered as Holmes noticed the look on my face, lowering the stack of books on the floor.
"Perhaps there is something else we can use to occupy ourselves, Watson?" He asked, guiding me over to the window. "Do you remember the exercise my brother and I did when you first met him?"
How could I forget? The moment in which I witnessed their singular powers of deduction was burned into my mind, in a moment of pure awe where I paled in comparison to them both.
My rumination on the matter was interrupted by the sound of Holmes pounding his fists on the windowpane, budging against the glass to see if it would give. It did not, causing Holmes to grumble, leaning against the window heavily. "It seems we two are sealed in until I deduce a way to escape." Said he, turning to me. "Watson, you are a man who has been trapped in one room for long periods, have you not? I loathe to admit this, but I am at a loss as to how not to go mad trapped here."
I could not help but grin, nudging Holmes cheekily. "Practice makes perfect, my dear Holmes." I said.
"If you are implying that you wish to trap me in a room for a 'next time'—" Holmes cut off, raising his hand to hush us both. His attention darted down to the snowy streets below us, his other hand pointing downwards. I followed his hand, and much to my astonishment, the figure of Lady James was strolling down the sidewalk, arm-in-arm with a man with Holmes's constitution wrapped in a cloak, and a shock of curled blonde hair peeking from beneath a tricorn.
"That, my dear Watson, is Ambassador Anton McCarthy. Do you observe anything about him?" Holmes whispered as I pressed myself closer to the glass. As Holmes had seen, Ambassador McCarthy's face was obscured by some form of a mask seen in the Italian Carnevale festival: an intricate, golden piece that covered his eyes, with smooth, tight porcelain covering the rest of his face.
"Lady James was right about Ambassador McCarthy's burns, Holmes, though I will say, it is strange seeing him in something for Carnevale." I said. I had heard of the festival from some of my patients who had been visiting from Venice; each of their tales fascinated me.
"There is something of a hidden language in Carnevale masks, Watson. Ambassador McCarthy is wearing a volto mask, which the Venetian servants and commonplace wore during the festival. It was simple, but it was the perfect disguise for those who wished to stay anonymous." Holmes said, as his gaze slowly turned towards me.
"Thompson was not alone in his endeavor. Mycroft had uncovered a group who felt similar to the chef while we were trying to find him, so, Watson, given by the singular links in this chain, there is someone after them as we speak." Said he. "A crime has truly fallen under our window, indeed."
"Holmes, how do you deduce all of that from a mask?" I asked as I couldn't help but notice the interest in his eyes grow in intensity as if he were out in the snowy streets hunting the trail right now instead of being in here.
"It is a clever man's way of showing distress to those who know, Watson. Ambassador McCarthy's previous station was in Venice, as my brother found out, but he was positioned back here in England when he proposed his plans to repair relations with France. It gave him the knowledge and the enemies to put the 'ghost' mask into practice." Holmes explained.
I felt the earlier feelings of unease run through me as if I was poked with a fire-poker. Someone's still pursuing them? We are stuck here and can't do anything to help! My thoughts turned slightly frantic as I pushed on the window pane to see if we could escape to aid them. "What should we do, then, Holmes?" I asked. I tried pushing again, and again, and again.
No luck. I thought bitterly.
"I brought up my brother for a reason, my dear Watson. We can make better use of our time here in our confinement for two purposes. Escaping and deducing where the other villains may be." Holmes interrupted my bitter thoughts, sweeping his hand down at the snowy landscape.
I was, in equal measure, surprised and pleased with Holmes's reasoning. Earlier in our companionship, I would never have wagered that Holmes would put his mind into thinking about anyone besides himself and his interests, let alone an injured former soldier like myself. Yet, it seemed as though the more time I spent with Holmes over these seven years, the more he used 'us' when on his previously solitary cases.
Even though logic in knowing Holmes said this was him growing accustomed to me, I could not help but feel warm every time Holmes referred to it. So, I decided that I should not let down his faith in me. We trained our gazes on the streets below, keeping careful watch of those who came by our window.
"See that, Watson, the way she's holding herself?" Holmes asked, pointing to the first figure. It was of a young woman bundled into furs against the cold. Perhaps I was too far away, but the only thing I could notice was her fingers grasping the furs.
"Well, yes, Holmes, that is a young woman who is very cold." I said, trying to hide the confusion out of my voice. It was, of course, no use, as Holmes let out a soft bark of laughter.
"My dear Watson, yes, the young lady is cold, but your deductions are often in the realm of bordering the obvious." Holmes said before extending his hand downwards. "That, Watson, is a young woman who has been forced to find a room for the night." "Notice, her footsteps behind her. While snow is still fresh and falling, her tracks have yet to be covered. She's moving at a pace that suggests distress, while the hastily wrapped furs can be added to this chain of events as a dispute with her rather wealthy family, leaving her out in the cold."
I chuckled softly, turning my attention away from my view of the woman and to my friend. "You can tell from this distance?" Like a hawk, indeed. I mused.
"My vision has always been quite excellent, Watson; when I was a boy, I could see past that of my brothers. It translated into my art, and I've been honing it ever since. Practice makes perfect, as you said to me earlier." Holmes remarked, a smirk twitching its way on his face.
"Nevermind that, Holmes, how about that man?" I asked, ignoring his snark, pointing down at a man in a brown coat aimlessly wandering down the middle of the street.
"A poor painter, although he's recently had something stolen from him, an heirloom by the way he's not focused on where he is going." Came the response.
"The chestnut vendor?" I asked, hoping his observations were getting him somewhere. I, as much as I had been reluctant to hide my shortcomings to-day, I was growing more nervously agitated by the minute. "And the customers?"
"His wife has ceased to love him if he is selling his chestnuts with his clothes looking like that, Watson, his customers are of average note, but I dare say they are about to cheat on one another, none of these are our villains," Holmes replied simply.
We two fell silent as all who was on the road hurried inside, as the snowfall was getting blinding. It had seemed like only a few brief moments afterward that the streets were completely obscured in a familiar wintery haze.
Even if my nervous agitation was leveling to where I could hold steady, I could tell Holmes's agitation was only growing as he pressed his nose firmly against the glass. "It's a dreadful thing, Watson, that the weather should tamper down activity. Our criminals struck in a time where most would stop, yet this yields no such appearances yet." Said he.
I knew that Holmes's increasing sense of boredom only exacerbated this with each passing moment. However, this was perhaps the first and only time that I have seen Holmes display any emotion that resembled helplessness to his situation. It disappeared when I turned my full attention to him as he waved a hand in front of me. "I shall work better for silence, Watson."
"Let me know if you need anything at all," I said, hoping I made my point clear. If I wanted to reach out to Holmes, now was not the time. I had learned that the hard way when he had asked for silence while working out a burglary case, my question of if he wanted tea from Mrs. Hudson almost had me on the receiving end of a fire-poker from Holmes—and whatever chemicals he was working with at the time in my face.
Holmes nodded, and I settled myself down beneath the window at a far enough distance. I'm starting to think this wager will get the best of us. I thought, content to watch the snowfall for now.
Over the next hours of our confinement, Holmes had not said much to Mycroft Holmes, who was starting to make more appearances with either nourishment or a way to use the privy, provided we didn't try to run off. As for me, I was finally enlightened as to how exactly Holmes had lost the wager. Even if Holmes was a keen detective force, there were some places he could not get into, such as connecting Thompson to his political cabal.
This, combined with the Elder Holmes's superior detective intellect, caused my companion to fall behind, a sentiment he expressed with a typical 'black mood.' Upon Mycroft Holmes's last visit, he had left a long plank of wood for Holmes, which he had promptly used to knock it against the ceiling repeatedly.
"I'm testing how noises travel, Watson. I shall be fine." He had said, and soon thereafter, I found myself curled up, drifting off to sleep beneath the window-sill.
"Watson!" Holmes's voice called into my thoughtsfrom a source I knew not where. I jolted awake at his voice, noticing the sun had long since set since I fell asleep. Much to my amazement, one window had been smashed open, a fine layer of snow dust and shattered glass coating the window-sill. The chill was far from unpleasant, but Holmes's lack of appearance to accompany his voice when I awoke added to the apprehension.
"Holmes?" I called, pulling myself to my feet. "Where are you? How did you get the window open?" I asked.
"Look down, Watson! It was simplicity itself!" Holmes called back, his voice filled with his usual excited interest. I poked my head out the window, looking down to find Holmes standing on top of a snowdrift outside, bundled up in his coat.
"How on earth did you get down there, Holmes?" I asked as Holmes rubbed his palms together, glancing back up at me. Had it snowed that much while I was sleeping?
"I jumped, my dear Watson, the fall was the simple part, getting the window open required that plank Mycroft left me, and the strength I hold within my hands. It put up a good fight, but it was not long before I could free myself." Holmes said before he extended one of his hands upwards.
"Get dressed and follow me out; I know exactly where our clients and the villains are." I could hardly believe my ears, once more at Holmes's statement. Jumping out of windows was not a sport I wanted to make a habit of practicing, and Holmes had referred to it as if it were just a simple stroll down Baker Street!
"You wish me to jump? Has the confinement in the Diogenes Club gotten to you?" I called down, as Holmes shook his head, edging closer to the window I was showing trepidation in.
"Not at all, friend Watson, this is no time for your pawky humor, but I have had enough of being ensconced in there, and I would not leave you to stay in there alone to fulfill my half of the wager." Said he.
To-day seemed to be a day filled with my discovery of hidden depths in those round me. For that, I, as always, could not bring myself to say no to Holmes, despite my objections otherwise. Another matter was I wanted to see this case through. Lady James was my wife's family; I would not return home to my wife until I knew her cousin was safe.
I hurried to grab my coat from off the floor and wrapped it around my form to cut down on the effects of the December chill creeping in. Pulling myself into the window was easier said than done, my old injuries from Afghanistan protesting heavily at the action that exposed me to further chill.
At the sound of my feet crunching the broken glass, Holmes glanced back my way, moving to the edge of his snowbank. "Come, friend Watson!" He repeated, extending his hand upwards to me once more.
I slid from my perch, dropping towards the snowy ground below me. Holmes was right about one matter, at least, falling was the easy part—the Club's height was surprisingly unassuming. Before I hit the snow, his thin hand found mine, pulling me on top of the bank of snow beside him.
His grey eyes gleamed with nervous excitement through the darkness as he let go of my hand. "If you're quite alright, Watson, we have another Ambassador to stop." He remarked, setting off briskly on foot through the night after I brushed snow and glass from my person.
I followed after Holmes at a slowed pace, as my arm and leg were continuing their rebellion against me for leaving the warmth of the Diogenes Club, my feet sinking into the rapidly accumulated snow.
"Holmes? How deep does this political cabal go?" I called over the wind to the retreating blurry form of Holmes. If these enemies are as powerful and numerous as they seem to be, would they come for Mary due to her connection to Lady James?
"Deeper than Mycroft first deduced!" Holmes reappeared through the snow, slowing down to my side. "There are at least three ambassadors that I can put my finger on that have connections to the group, and one of them is a member of the Diogenes Club." His words stuck in my mind, another Ambassador?
"And you deduced this while in the bow-room with me?" I asked, this time unable to hide the confusion in my voice. My friend offered me a nudge as I had done to him earlier, the smirk from before changing into a brief smile.
"Your game with me inspired me, Watson. While you were sleeping, I played the game with my brother. I was able to pry the information about the Ambassador being at the Diogenes Club while furthering my deductions about the political cabal that has tangled our clients in their web. The wood was a bonus." Said he.
I hardly had time to register Holmes's usage of my childhood game to further our case when a startled yell pierced the night air, sending both of us on alert. I heard the click of Holmes's revolver in the night, as he grabbed my wrist.
"That is Ambassador McCarthy!" He hissed under his breath. "It's murder Watson, or worse, if we do not arrive in time, I may have admitted defeat on Thompson, but I will not now!"
I shook out of my pains, his words filling me with an energy I knew not I had. Spurred into action, I sped up and sprinted alongside Holmes, our footsteps ringing out against the soft snow coating the ground, following him into what had once been a prominent theatre in London's wealthier areas, but had since fallen into disarray.
Had we had not darted in as we did, I daresay Holmes's prediction would have been right. Lady James was tied to a chair with cloth and rope; a gun pressed to her temple as she watched with unbridled fear in her eyes as another figure stooped over Ambassador McCarthy sprawled on the floor face down.
I recognized the lean, red-haired man leering over Ambassador McCarthy, Ambassador Arthur White. I had run into him while I was in Afghanistan, while he was a newly appointed Ambassador there. He had been decent, if not forthcoming, to a fault to all soldiers who conversed with him. To give up his station for this, however, I knew not what to think.
"Did you think you could pass your ideas through us?" He spat, kneeling beside Ambassador McCarthy. "You French loving fawns are all the same." As Ambassador White went on about rather hypocritical policies, Holmes beckoned, and we two crept through the theatre, our revolvers drawn. Neither of the captors noticed us or our approach behind them.
"At least we have purer motives than you lot." Lady James grit out, twisting her head to glare at the man holding the gun at her head. "What does that say about an Ambassador and his party, that they're willing to stoop to murder?"
"I'd reconsider your words, Lady James; need I remind you who has the gun?" Ambassador White said, with the other man clicking his firearm in response. The instant he did, Holmes appeared from behind him, clapping his revolver to his temple. I moved behind Ambassador White, pointing my revolver at the back of his head at the same time.
"Should I remind you two that murdering an Ambassador is something that would get you detained? Put down your weapons; there shall be no more violence here." Holmes said as he fixed the other Ambassador with a cold stare.
The man with Ambassador White dropped his revolver, while Ambassador White raised his hands slowly. "I heard you were indisposed of, Holmes." He sneered, as Holmes couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter.
"You know I can never be gone for too long." Said he, as he then turned his attention to Lady James. "Were these the men you were seeking, Agent James?"
"Agent James?" I asked as I kept my weapon trained on Ambassador White, an inkling of familiarity creeping back in. Since working on John Openshaw's case with Holmes, we had been in contact with—I cut off my interior musings, as I knew immediately who my wife's cousin was. "A Pinkerton?"
Lady James gave a small nod, rising to her feet once Holmes had untied her. "Indeed, they have made a practice of hiring women since the success of Agent Warne with President Lincoln; I joined when I lived in America for a while." She explained. "The United States has been incredibly interested in the affairs of our Ambassador Declan Taylor and his involvement in the scheme to prevent Ambassador McCarthy's initiatives from passing. The cabal has been involved in similar attempts like this all over the world."
"A tangled web you wove, indeed." Holmes said, aiding Ambassador McCarthy to his feet. "Well now, I'm sure Scotland Yard will enjoy having to hear your schemes, as much as the United States will relish in having Ambassador Taylor in their custody. Come along, gentlemen!" He said, albeit cheerfully as we shepherded them out the door.
Later that night, I felt nothing but a sense of relief as Holmes and I found ourselves in our lodgings once more. The fire crackled and spat before us, I on the armchair, Holmes perched on the settee, his pipe hanging absently between his lips.
I placed down the manuscript for our adventure with the political cabal, Ambassador McCarthy, and Lady James on my lap as a question crossed my mind about tonight's events. "Holmes? How did you know Lady James was a Pinkerton?"
"You were a witness to her powers of observation, Watson. I also deduced from our visit with the lady that while she was born in England, her time in the United States weathered her accent to nothing I recognized within England. That, and her attachment to the Ambassador was decidedly clever—to those less observant, they were merely lovers, nothing more." Said he around his pipe.
I nodded, satisfied by his explanation as it was, although I knew that I would have to change both elements to protect those involved in my Strand publication. That writing was dashed for now when Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a telegram in her palm. "It's from your brother, Mr. Holmes." Said she, as Holmes got up, taking the telegram.
He opened it with a flourish, scanning the contents. "My brother knew he could not keep us for long, Watson." He chuckled, passing me the yellowed piece of parchment. "He has asked if we would like to try that endeavour again."
I read through the telegram, which read, "My dear boy, you only lasted six hours. Regardless of my leaving the wood plank for you, this was not part of our wager. If you have the time after you have paid for the window, I believe it would be good for you to do it once more."
"I find your brother to be decent from the little I've known him, Holmes, but even if you must practice being without your material, I shouldn't like to be confined in the Diogenes Club again," I remarked.
"Oh, indeed." Holmes chuckled again as we two settled down, a sense of momentary peace hanging over us as the snow continued to swirl in the moonlight.
AN: And that's it for chapter six! Like many of you, I had the Christmas holidays to contend with, so I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday! As usual, some thoughts and notes—firstly, Adelia James! Fun fact, I initially had her as a twist villain, but I decided to change gears and make her a Pinkerton! The first female Pinkerton was Kate Warne, who helped uncover the Baltimore Plot to assassinate Abraham Lincoln in 1861. Since the Pinkertons made a habit of employing women, I changed gears and settled on a Pinkerton backstory. (Note: If any of you want to use her in your Sherlock Holmes stories, feel free! Just reach out to me first. :))
Secondly, this story contains references to: 'The Adventure of the Naval Treaty,' 'The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist,' 'The Five Orange Pips,' 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band,' 'A Study in Scarlet,' 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men,' 'The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle' and of course, 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter' and the previous chapter, 'On Wins and Losses.'
Third, the Carnevale masks were all different depending on the class. The Volto mask was worn by the commonplace and was known as a 'larva' or 'ghost' mask, made of a tight, porcelain material. Not for the claustrophobics, it is extremely heavy, and it was known for being favored for those who wished to keep their faces hidden.
And finally, the Hammersmith Ghost Murder was an unsolved mystery from 1804, which set legal precedents in Britain. The 'unsolved' part comes from the question of who or what the ghost was: no one knows to this day.
Anyway, thanks for the reviews! I love hearing from you all!
-A Very Holmesian Christmas
