THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES Read Free

inexplicable.’
    ‘On the contrary, it is crystal clear, and leads me to conclude there is more to the case than meets the eye.’
    ‘Then you will give it some thought?’
    ‘Leave your notes with me. There is a question of some errant footwear to be sorted out—we cannot leave our poor Mr Rodgers to Lestrade’s tender mercies—and a little research will be necessary, so it may be a while before I can visit the scene of these curious events. Watson, are you prepared to undertake a short trip to Cambridge?’
    ‘Of course, Holmes.’
    ‘Then be so good as to pack for a stay of three nights, and accompany Dr James back to King’s. Learn what you can without making yourself conspicuous. Above all, lock the remaining blank leaves away without disturbing them. I will join you at the first opportunity. And take heart, doctor. We may yet bring this matter to an early conclusion.’
    Within an hour Dr James and I had completed the cab journey to King’s Cross and were on a train racing through frozen countryside. Of the journey to Cambridge I need say little. James seemed in better spirits after Holmes’s words of encouragement, talking animatedly about the published accounts of our cases. I was surprised to learn that he was himself a writer of mysteries, though of the fictional, supernatural variety.
    It was already dark, but the sky was clear, with the smell of snow on the wind, when we reached our journey’s end. Little time was lost in taking a cab to King’s College and making our way to Dr James’s rooms.
    Here was the dwelling place of a prodigious scholar. Books were ranged two deep around the walls and stood in piles, interleaved with notes at points of reference. On the cluttered desk lay the few remaining sheets of blank paper, which we carefully locked in a drawer, as Holmes had requested.
    ‘I thought,’ said James, ‘that we might have our evening meal here. Even at this season there are sufficient residents in Hall to ask awkward questions, and enough avid readers of The Strand Magazine to make Dr Watson from London as instantly recognisable as Dr James from Cambridge was to Mr Holmes! Had you thought of a false identity?’
    We talked the matter over as we ate, and decided that I was to be Mr Crossley, representing David Nutt with plans to publish a little book by Dr James on the subject of John Dee. This, we felt, would justify any questions I might ask concerning the Trinity papers.
    Dr James was occupied with some College business early the next day, so it was late in the morning before we began our investigations at the Porter’s Lodge.
    Fortunately, we found Mr Muir on duty. Dr James’s description of him as small and frail proved accurate, but he was not wanting heart. Despite a livid bruise on his right temple, he stood to attention, pigeon chest stuck out, and told us what he would have done to the intruder had they met on equal terms!
    ‘Did you get a look at him?’ I asked.
    ‘Not at all, sir—first I knew was when ’e struck me.’
    ‘Who left the message for me?’ asked James.
    ‘That I couldn’t say, doctor. It was found by Mr Clifford, and passed on to me in the course of events, so to speak.’
    ‘Well, go carefully, Mr Muir. That is a very nasty bruise.’
    When we were out of earshot, James said, ‘Well, Dr Watson, that gets us no further. Let us see what our next port of call brings.’
    We walked to Trinity Library under driving clouds, white with snow—it seemed not at all unlikely that there would be a blizzard before long—and entered through the north cloister.
    My first glimpse of that wonderful interior left an indelible impression of magnificence. The immense proportions of its arcades, dully illuminated by winter light through many high windows; the rows of statuary depicting past luminaries; the great oaken bookshelves that lined, and broke out from, the walls, forming bays of bookish solitude—all combined to create a place perfectly adapted to the noble