The Adventure of the Manufactured Miracle (The Midwinter Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) Read Free Page A

your jacket pocket with Lestrade’s distinctive handwriting upon it. That item coupled with your unusual request could only mean that the two of you were engaged in a small wager on the side.”
    Bradstreet grinned. “Lestrade will be furious, but I knew that this was exactly the kind of case that would draw your attention. It’s not every Christmas that a supposedly-respectable physician decides to poison three people at a holiday party.”
    “By George!” I cried. “There are three men deceased?”
    “Not quite, Dr. Watson,” replied the inspector. “Lowe tried to poison two men, Mr. Clement Vaughan and Reverend Gideon Arden of Marylebone Chapel, and one woman, Mrs. Berenice Molyneux. However, for now, he has only succeeded in killing the Reverend and Mrs. Molyneux, while Mr. Vaughan still fights for his life.”
    Holmes nodded, as if this information was previously known to him. “And the poison utilized?”
    “Arsenic,” said the inspector, confidently.
    “You seem certain, Bradstreet. It is a difficult substance to detect, or is the Marsh Test already positive?”
    “No,” he grinned, “but we don’t need it. The bottle of arsenic in Dr. Lowe’s medical bag was empty, and he could not explain where the poison had gone.”
    “Fascinating,” said Holmes. “It appears that you have a cut-and-dried case on your hands, Inspector.” He rose from his seat. “Still, I would very much like to have a word with the doctor.”
    The inspector shrugged. “Very good, Mr. Holmes. Though I can’t see what good it will do you, or him. But come this way, if you please.” We followed him out of his office, and down a passage to a locked door. After opening it, we descended a winding stair to a white-washed corridor lined with doors on each side. Bradstreet stopped at the second door on the left and moved to shoot back the panel in the upper part.
    However, Holmes reached out and stopped him. “Can you please open the door, Bradstreet? It will be easier to question him directly rather than through that little slit.”
    “Well, I don’t know…” said the inspector.
    “Come now, Bradstreet. You did say that Dr. Lowe poisoned his victims, did you not? I take it he didn’t pummel them into submission? Are you concerned that he could possibly overcome three strong men such as ourselves and make his escape?”
    The inspector snorted in amused derision at such an absurd possibility. “Very well, Mr. Holmes, have it your way.” He slipped his key into the lock and swung open the door to reveal a thin man, who although he was seated upon a thin bed, I estimated to be of a middling height. He had a slightly olivine, cleanly-shaved face and coal black hair. Upon studying his features, I divined that he was man of deep character, a man with an alert and sensitive mind. His fine dressing gown and bedroom slippers only served to accentuate the incongruous appearance of this respected physician confined in a lowly Bow Street cell. Upon hearing the tumblers turn, he swung black eyes dull with despair toward us, but otherwise remained mute.
    Holmes opened the interrogation. “Dr. Benjamin Lowe, my name is Sherlock Holmes. Your wife has retained me to prove your innocence in regards to the murder of Reverend Arden and Mrs. Molyneux, and the attempted murder of Mr. Vaughan.”
    A faint smile graced the man’s bloodless lips. “I should have known that Rebecca would move heaven and earth to find me.”
    “Dr. Lowe, you should know that the charges against you are severe, and the evidence damning.”
    The man nodded slowly. “Yes, so they tell me. I wish I understood where all of my arsenic went to, but I have no explanation for its disappearance.”
    “In what form do you carry arsenic?” I asked.
    He peered at me. “You must be Dr. Watson. I heard you were a Bart’s man. I am glad to see that you are also on the case. My arsenic was carried as Fowler’s solution, of course.”
    “And when was the last time you