Read Online The Dragon Turn by Shane Peacock - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shane Peacock
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So, beginning tomorrow, they will haveit guarded around the clock until Hemsworth is sentenced, which should be shortly.”
The Jew’s face darkens. “I see. Zat vill be all, Mr. Starr. We shall find our own vay out through ze back.”
Riyah sends Sherlock on ahead, to shoo Scuttle away, not wanting to be seen by the ever-vigilant and conscientious younger lad. Holmes asks him if they can meet by the Garden’s gate — there is something he must tell him.
A few minutes later, he sees Riyah lumbering toward him, his hat under his arm. The boy almost runs to him.
“Sir, circumstances have changed.”
“Changed? What do you mean?”
“The hat … you either need to take it back and leave it where you forgot it a few days ago … and let Mr. Hemsworth go to his death. Or come with me to Scotland Yard, this instant, and tell them that this topper belongs to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The police think it is Hemsworth’s hat.”
“Zhey do?”
“And, as you know, they think it is his studio.”
“But ze hat obviously belongs to —” Then Riyah nods. “Ah, yes, our initials,
A.H
.… zey are identical.”
“You said you didn’t come forward because it didn’t matter. It matters now, sir, believe me.”
Three hours later Mr. Riyah and Sherlock are sitting on a wooden bench in the foyer of Scotland Yard off Whitehall Street when Lestrade senior and junior come blustering into the office looking angry and lacking in the last few hours of their Monday morning beauty sleep. They are accompanied by a uniformed policeman.
“Sherlock Holmes!” spurts the older detective the instant he sees the boy. “You didn’t mention he would be here, Constable Monroe. I’ll have your job!”
“Knew you wouldn’t come if I mentioned ’im, sir. But ’e’s the one who brought in Mr. Riyah. That’s the ’otel owner, sir, right there with the boy.”
“Riyah! He glares at the older man. Why in the name of the queen didn’t you come forward before! We have been looking high and low for you! Monroe says you have valuable information, sir. It had better be good! Out with it! A man’s life is at stake.”
“I let ze studio below ze Vorld’s End Hotel to Mr. Nottingham, Inspector.”
“You do? Well, that is of some interest. What is that accent, sir?”
“German.”
“Hmmm.”
“Und zis,” Riyah produces the hat, “is mine.”
Lestrade’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.
“It is?”
“It is.”
“Preposterous! Your name is Riyah! The initials on the inside are —”
“I changed my name some time ago … after I bought ze hat.”
“From what?”
“Does it matter, sir? I can prove it.”
“I believe Mr. Hemsworth is innocent,” says Sherlock, stepping forward.
“Well … I … I
don’t
believe it!” shouts Lestrade.
“Father, you must —”
“Close your gob, sir. I will handle this. The day may come when you can tell me what to do, but it has not arrived yet. Outside of your mother, I am the boss … of me!”
“Sir?” says Sherlock, “Shall you let Mr. Hemsworth go?”
“Let him go? … NO!”
“No?”
“This man may prove that he has changed his name and his true initials may indeed be
A.H.
, but … can he still prove that this is his hat!”
“But ze hat, sir, it is, I bought it many years —”
“Many years ago? Do you have a bill of sale?”
“No sir, zat would be imposs —”
“Aha! Hemsworth shall be tried for the murder of his rival. It does not matter if he did it in Nottingham’s workshop or his own. He did it. He had ample motivation, more motivation than I have ever seen in a crime during all my years on the Force. It makes perfect sense. And this may very well be his hat, anyway. Perhaps you and the accused have the same kind? This is a common topper, my good friend.”
“No, sir, I am sure —”
“And why would
your
hat be there anyway? Answer me that!”
“Surely, sir,” interjects his son, “Mr. Riyah
The Jew’s face darkens. “I see. Zat vill be all, Mr. Starr. We shall find our own vay out through ze back.”
Riyah sends Sherlock on ahead, to shoo Scuttle away, not wanting to be seen by the ever-vigilant and conscientious younger lad. Holmes asks him if they can meet by the Garden’s gate — there is something he must tell him.
A few minutes later, he sees Riyah lumbering toward him, his hat under his arm. The boy almost runs to him.
“Sir, circumstances have changed.”
“Changed? What do you mean?”
“The hat … you either need to take it back and leave it where you forgot it a few days ago … and let Mr. Hemsworth go to his death. Or come with me to Scotland Yard, this instant, and tell them that this topper belongs to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The police think it is Hemsworth’s hat.”
“Zhey do?”
“And, as you know, they think it is his studio.”
“But ze hat obviously belongs to —” Then Riyah nods. “Ah, yes, our initials,
A.H
.… zey are identical.”
“You said you didn’t come forward because it didn’t matter. It matters now, sir, believe me.”
Three hours later Mr. Riyah and Sherlock are sitting on a wooden bench in the foyer of Scotland Yard off Whitehall Street when Lestrade senior and junior come blustering into the office looking angry and lacking in the last few hours of their Monday morning beauty sleep. They are accompanied by a uniformed policeman.
“Sherlock Holmes!” spurts the older detective the instant he sees the boy. “You didn’t mention he would be here, Constable Monroe. I’ll have your job!”
“Knew you wouldn’t come if I mentioned ’im, sir. But ’e’s the one who brought in Mr. Riyah. That’s the ’otel owner, sir, right there with the boy.”
“Riyah! He glares at the older man. Why in the name of the queen didn’t you come forward before! We have been looking high and low for you! Monroe says you have valuable information, sir. It had better be good! Out with it! A man’s life is at stake.”
“I let ze studio below ze Vorld’s End Hotel to Mr. Nottingham, Inspector.”
“You do? Well, that is of some interest. What is that accent, sir?”
“German.”
“Hmmm.”
“Und zis,” Riyah produces the hat, “is mine.”
Lestrade’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.
“It is?”
“It is.”
“Preposterous! Your name is Riyah! The initials on the inside are —”
“I changed my name some time ago … after I bought ze hat.”
“From what?”
“Does it matter, sir? I can prove it.”
“I believe Mr. Hemsworth is innocent,” says Sherlock, stepping forward.
“Well … I … I
don’t
believe it!” shouts Lestrade.
“Father, you must —”
“Close your gob, sir. I will handle this. The day may come when you can tell me what to do, but it has not arrived yet. Outside of your mother, I am the boss … of me!”
“Sir?” says Sherlock, “Shall you let Mr. Hemsworth go?”
“Let him go? … NO!”
“No?”
“This man may prove that he has changed his name and his true initials may indeed be
A.H.
, but … can he still prove that this is his hat!”
“But ze hat, sir, it is, I bought it many years —”
“Many years ago? Do you have a bill of sale?”
“No sir, zat would be imposs —”
“Aha! Hemsworth shall be tried for the murder of his rival. It does not matter if he did it in Nottingham’s workshop or his own. He did it. He had ample motivation, more motivation than I have ever seen in a crime during all my years on the Force. It makes perfect sense. And this may very well be his hat, anyway. Perhaps you and the accused have the same kind? This is a common topper, my good friend.”
“No, sir, I am sure —”
“And why would
your
hat be there anyway? Answer me that!”
“Surely, sir,” interjects his son, “Mr. Riyah
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