Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare Read Online Free

to your problem?’”
    “Ah, that is indeed the case, Watson.” Holmes grabbed the tongs and took an ember from the fire to light his pipe. “I have solved the mystery of the manuscript, I am already aware of Mr. Miller’s role in it and where he might be located, but none of it helps Lady Harcourt.” He turned to me then, blowing out a large cloud of smoke. “Would you care to accompany me in my investigations, Doctor Watson? I assume you have time to spare in the next two days?”
    “Uncanny, but you are right again, Holmes. I have no appointments; I have only rounds to make. My wife is away to visit her sister in Scotland, so I am completely at your disposal.”
    “Excellent, Watson. I will see you at Waterloo Station at ten o’clock in the morning. If you visit old Mrs. Jacobson at the end of your round, you would only be five minutes away from the station.”
    I decided not to question how Holmes knew my rounds, and I did not ask him why he reckoned I would be calling on Mrs. Jacobson the next morning as I had received no word of her being unwell. Instead, I just bade him farewell.
    By the time I left the Baker Street residence, the rain had stopped and the streets were nearly empty, making for an easy walk home.
     
    ***
     
    As I was having my morning tea, a footman arrived with a message.
    Curious, I opened it at once to discover a request to visit Mrs. Jacobson that morning as she had been taken ill during the night. I shook my head, less over the news of Mrs. Robinson’s failing health, but more over Holmes’s seemingly supernatural ability to predict the future. I promised I would call on her and proceeded to do so, as on Holmes’s suggestion, at the end of my rounds. I then went on to Waterloo Station, where I found Holmes waiting impatiently on the platform, conversing with the conductor of the train to Dover.
    “Honestly, Watson,” he exclaimed exasperatedly, “You are a full minute late. Do make haste and board before Mr. Evans here decides he will not wait a second longer.”
    I did so instantly, recognizing that my good friend was in one of his moods, and was followed by Holmes into the compartment. He had not closed the door before the conductor blew his whistle and the train was set into motion.
    “We are going to Harcourt Hall, I presume?” I inquired of Holmes, wishing to circumvent his ire.
    “We are not, Watson,” Holmes said not-so-gently.
    “Then might I inquire where we are going?”
    “You may.”
    I waited for a moment but received no answer, which I promptly pointed out to him.
    “Oh, you were inquiring with the presupposition that an answer would also be forthcoming.”
    Having confirmed that sentiment, I saw Holmes smile and recline into the seat, resting his elbows on the armrests and placing his fingertips together again, closing his eyes and not opening them again until the train had reached the village of Penstone Heath.
    We alighted from the train there and Holmes proceeded rapidly from the station into the village. I marched quickly but found it hard to keep up with Holmes’s long strides.
    We walked through the village without a stop and we turned onto a country lane without a word. After some minutes of steady walking, I saw the imposing figure of a country estate come into view. I assumed it was Harcourt Hall and our destination.
    Almost a mile away from the estate, though, Holmes pointed to a side road that joined the lane there, cutting a gap between the willows that lined the lane. “That’s the road to Harcourt Hall,” Holmes proclaimed, although he continued along the lane to quite a different estate in front of us.
    I blinked and missed a step. “Harcourt Hall? But I thought that was where we were headed.”
    “No, we are going to call on their neighbor, the Marquis of Tach Saggart.”
    “The Marquis of Tach Saggart?” I had not heard the name before.
    “Yes, that is his estate, Clonmore House.” Holmes gave a chuckle of laughter. “The Marquis is