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

utilized it?” I continued.
    Lowe appeared to hesitate at this question. “I cannot say,” he eventually replied.
    “Come now, Dr. Lowe, if you will not be honest with us, we cannot help you,” snapped Holmes.
    The man drew himself up from his slouched position. “You misunderstand me, Mr. Holmes. To disclose such a thing would be to violate patient-physician confidentiality.”
    I thought I understood his reticence. “Holmes, Fowler’s solution is most commonly used to treat syphilis.”
    “I know that, Watson,” said he, irritably. “I am not asking you for a name, doctor. Simply a date and time.”
    The man shook his head stubbornly, and then nodded at Bradstreet. “The inspector there has confiscated my date book. To divulge such information would be akin to publicizing my client’s malady on the front page of the Times .”
    “You will not tell me, even if such information would help free you?” Holmes said gravely.
    “No, I will not.”
    Suddenly, Holmes smiled. “Excellent. Well then, how about you tell me how much Fowler’s solution you did carry into Mr. Vaughan’s house that night?”
    Lowe pursed his lips and considered this. “I would estimate that seven ounces remained in my bottle.”
    “That sounds like enough to do in all three individuals,” interjected the inspector.
    “Indeed,” said Holmes, dryly. “And for how long have you been treating Mr. Vaughan?”
    Lowe shook his head. “Only a few weeks. I barely knew the man, why would I want to kill him?”
    “And the others? Reverend Arden and Mrs. Molyneux? Did you know them?”
    “Not at all. I met them for the first time yesterday.”
    Inspector Bradstreet suddenly blew out a burst of air. “Now that’s what I call cold-blooded. Maybe you had a serious grievance with Vaughan, but to poison his guests too, who you didn’t even know.” He shook his head forlornly. “It will be the rope for you, doctor, that is for certain.”
    “Thank you, Inspector,” said Holmes tersely. “Perhaps if you would give us a few moments alone with the doctor?”
    Bradstreet shrugged. “As you will. I will leave the key in the door. Please return it to me on your way out.”
    Once the man had departed Holmes turned his attention back to Dr. Lowe. “Now, then, Doctor, why don’t we start at the beginning? Please describe your relationship with Mr. Vaughan. You may leave out anything that is absolutely confidential, but remember that your life may hang in the balance.”
    Lowe studied Holmes for a moment before nodding his head. “I will relate everything that my oath allows. As you may know, I have been a physician for many years and my practice is quite established. I only take on new patients from time to time, but recently I have begun to develop a particular specialty in diseases of the blood. You may infer from that information what you will. For the last several weeks, I have been caring for a new patient to my practice, Mr. Clement Vaughan. He had recently dismissed his doctor of many years, Sir Jasper Meek. I knew little about the man, other than the fact that he was a jeweler and that he was reputed to be quite wealthy. In any case, my examinations of his body and his blood samples soon confirmed that he was a very ill man. In these matters, it is often difficult to be precise, but I estimated that his life was measured in months, if not weeks. I was frank with him regarding his prognosis, and he took the news well. Whether he had already been prepared by Sir Jasper, or whether he was intrinsically prepared for that final journey to the undiscovered country, I cannot say, but he exhibited little of the terror that typically overcomes people when faced with such grim information. He only appeared concerned about one matter. He was particularly fixated in ensuring that he would live until Christmas day. I, of course, could not promise such a thing, but I advised him that his survival to that date was highly likely. He seemed comforted by