The Return of Sherlock Holmes: A Classic Crime Tale. Philip Harbottle

will never mention this to anyone—ever. Please. I forbid you.”

      “Very well,” Shlessinger murmured.

      Lady Frances sighed, getting a grip on her emotions. “Now, there’s something else,” she said hesitatingly. “My brother, I’m afraid, isn’t satisfied with my progress.”

      “I’m very concerned to hear that,” Shlessinger said, frowning slightly.

      “He was here yesterday, and—”

      Shlessinger gave a start. “Lord Henry called here?”

      “Yesterday afternoon,” Lady Frances affirmed. “And he insisted—”

      She broke off as Cecilia entered from the hall.

      “Dr. Watson is here, Lady Frances,” she announced. “Forgive me for interrupting.”

      Shlessinger gave a start. “Doctor…Watson? Who…?”

      “Lady Frances’s new doctor,” Cecilia told him calmly.

      “I was about to explain,” Lady Frances put in.

      “Dr. Watson, did you say?” Shlessinger still appeared disconcerted.

      “I’ve taken him to your room,” Cecilia told Lady Frances. “He’s waiting for you.”

      “Very well, I’ll go along.” Cecilia helped her to rise and then escorted Lady Frances out. She looked at her gratefully. “Thank you. Perhaps Dr. Watson will get me well soon, and I’ll be able to manage by myself.”

      Cecilia glanced back over her shoulder and gave Shlessinger a warning look, then turned to Lady Frances and smiled. “I’m sure he will.”

      Getting Cecilia’s message, Shlessinger got a grip on himself. “Yes, of course, I’m sure he will,” he called after them.

      After they had gone Shlessinger stood in the middle of the room, scowling and muttering to himself. “Dr. Watson? It can’t be.…”

      He broke off as he thought he heard a sound outside the French windows. He started to go across to them, then stopped and shook his head, still muttering to himself. “No, no, it can’t be; all the same, something’s wrong.” Going over to the door, he looked after Cecilia and Lady Frances for a moment, then turned back to the centre of room. “First the damn’ brother and now.…” He spun and looked to the doorway as Cecilia returned.

      “What’s been happening?” he demanded. “Who’s this Dr. Watson?

      “Keep your voice down,” Cecilia admonished him.

      Shlessinger was still angry. “Not only do you let Lord Henry see her.…”

      Cecilia spread her hands. “He called out of the blue. I couldn’t shut the door in his face, could I?”

      Shlessinger calmed slightly. “And now this Dr. Watson—do you realize he must be an imposter?”

      Cecilia shook her head.

      “No, it’s the real one.”

      “But it can’t be,” Shlessinger protested. “He hasn’t been heard of since Sherlock Holmes’s death in Switzerland.”

      Cecilia remained adamant. “I tell you.…” She broke off as the doorbell rang. “That’ll be Milverton.” She crossed to the door and turned to look back before going on into the hall to admit the caller. “You’re expecting him. He’ll tell you about Dr. Watson.”

      Shlessinger exhaled violently. “This is supposed to be a quiet nursing home. It’s more like Paddington Station,” he muttered, and began pacing up and down, Suddenly he paused, going over to French windows again, and staring out. He failed to see anything, and turned as he heard Cecilia talking to Milverton as she admitted him into the house.

      A few moments later Milverton and Cecilia came into the room.

      Milverton was a man of about fifty, with a perpetual frozen smile. His keen eyes gleamed brightly behind horn-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a morning suit of perfect cut, and a fur-lined overcoat with collar and cuffs of astrakhan. He was carrying his hat in his hand. He waited, smiling at Shlessinger.

      “Mr. Milverton, for Dr. Shlessinger,” Cecilia said, formally.

      “Good morning, my dear Doctor,” the newcomer said affably, his voice smooth and suave. “Charles Augustus Milverton at your service. Charmed to.…”

      Shlessinger ignored his visitor’s extended hand. “All right,” he said sourly, “cut the soft soap…save it for your victims.”

      Cecilia smiled thinly. “I’ll leave you two to chat.” She turned and went out

      “Victims?” Milverton gave an imperturbable smile. “Victims?” he repeated, beaming. “I may be called the greatest scoundrel in London, the mere sound of my name may cause many to blanch, but then, as I try to reassure them, I do you no harm—on the contrary, I protect you against harm, danger, disgrace. So long as you continue to contribute a reasonable sum at intervals convenient to you.…”

      Shlessinger waved a deprecating hand. “All right. But what’s this about Dr Watson?”

      Milverton shrugged. “Well, what about him?”

      “He’s the friend of the late Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who I thought had disappeared without trace. He’s here attending our patient.”

      “You haven’t got it quite right,” Milverton said quietly.

      “It’s what Cecilia’s just told me,” Shlessinger insisted. “I say he’s an imposter.”

      “What I mean is,” Milverton explained patiently, “is that Sherlock Holmes is no longer ‘the late’; on the contrary, he’s very much alive.”

      “What?” Shlessinger was clearly shocked. “But…but he went over the Reichenbach Falls with Moriarty—”

      Milverton nodded. “That’s what was supposed to have happened. But though Moriarty died, Holmes survived.”

      “My God…Sherlock Holmes alive.” Shlessinger appeared shattered by the news.

      “No need to let it worry you,” Milverton assured him.

      “Worry me? Don’t you see what’s going on?” He paused to follow Shlessinger’s gaze and saw that Cecilia had came back into the room. “So it is Dr. Watson,” he went on. “Sent to spy on us by Sherlock Holmes.”

      Seeing her brother’s evident agitation, Cecilia glanced at Milverton. “Have you given him the good news?”

      “I was coming to that,” Milverton said.

      Shlessinger looked at him sharply. “Good news?”

      “Colonel Moran is taking care of Holmes,” Milverton told him complacently.

      As realization dawned, Shlessinger gave a grim smile, visibly relaxing. “Moran! Who was Moriarty’s closest friend?”

      Milverton nodded. “And who is determined to avenge his death.”

      “So you’ve nothing to worry about,” Cecelia added.

      “You can forget Sherlock Holmes,” Milverton told Shlessinger. “Lady Frances is all you need concern yourself with.”

      “But what about her brother?” Shlessinger said, looking at his sister.

      The woman shrugged. “He’s out of the way now…Zurich…urgent business. He went last night, so.…”

      “Which brings me to the matter of the letter,” Milverton interposed. He took a letter from his inside pocket and handed it to Shlessinger. “Just check that it’s the same as the fake her ladyship received.”

      Shlessinger took letter and began to read bits of it aloud: “‘My