The Holmes-Dracula File Fred Saberhagen (feel good fiction books txt) 📖

holding medical consultation on his behalf without his knowledge. What sedative have you prescribed?” At my reply he nodded thoughtfully. “It seems to be strong enough to help him rest; and perhaps rest will suffice.”

   “You really think so?”

   “Let us give it a chance. If you think some stronger sedative is indicated, here is a sample of a South American drug I have found invaluable in cases of nervous exhaustion. It induces mental relaxation and a deep sleep without deleterious side-effects.” After groping in his pockets for a moment, Seward produced a small, plain box, which he opened to show me a single pill. “One dose is all I have with me at the moment; but the patient should have no more than one in a twenty-four hour period, and if you desire more you have but to call on me.”

   I accepted the box with thanks, and put it in my own pocket. Seward tore a page from his pocket-book and began scribbling on it. “Here is the address of my establishment in Purfleet—this is the telephone number, should you have the opportunity of getting to an instrument to call. Please do so at once, should there be any outbreak of violent or frantic behavior by the patient, or if for any other reason you wish my assistance. All the facilities of my asylum are of course at your disposal if the need arises, which we must hope it does not. Members of some of the most eminent families in Britain have been among my patients there. I have been thinking lately of giving up the old place and re-settling elsewhere, so there are few or no patients in residence at the moment—all to the good in this case, where we’d certainly want privacy. Some old friends are in from Exeter for the Jubilee, but they have visited before and know the rules, and so should present no problem.”

   Seward soon departed, bearing with him my heartfelt thanks. Left alone again, I felt distinctly better for having unburdened my mind, and, as I hoped, gained an able partner in my struggle on Holmes’ behalf.

   He was up not long after, and looked better for his long rest, though he rubbed his eyes on entering the sitting-room, and actually stumbled momentarily against me. This dazed condition quickly passed, however, and his manner was alert as he looked about him. “I see we have had visitors,” was his first comment.

   “Two acquaintances of mine,” I answered, relieved that my friend gave no sign of being aware that I had administered a drug to him by means of last night’s curried chicken.

   Evidently Holmes’ thoughts had already passed on to other matters. “I must return this morning, Watson, to an old acquaintance of mine whom I visited briefly yesterday—no doubt you remember the blind German mechanic, Von Herder?”

   “Of course—the man who built air-guns for Colonel Sebastian Moran, of evil memory. Do you go to visit the blind man in prison?”

   “No.” Holmes smiled to see my quick expression of concern. “Nor is the blind man still to be counted among my enemies. Since he has quite reformed, he has come to live in London; a change of address which I had some small hand in arranging for him, and for which he has been kind enough to express his gratitude, by placing his skills at my disposal. In fact, I expect that he has been at work for me all night.”

   “If you go to see him, I shall come with you.”

   “That is impossible. His reformation is quite genuine, but the presence of someone he does not know is likely to upset him.” Holmes fell abruptly silent. He was standing at the window, so that for a moment I thought he had spied something of unusual interest in the street. But then he said, without turning: “Do you remember, Watson? It was the sight of my face that sent her running, screaming, to her death.”

   “Of course I remember, Holmes. But it was not your fault.”

   He turned to face me. “Have you thought about vampires, Watson, as I urged you?”

   “Yes.” It was an unwilling answer, and I was agreeably distracted by the arrival of the girl with the breakfast which Holmes had ordered on awakening.

   “Good, very good!” He sounded almost hearty. “When the time comes, I must have with me someone I can trust.” And he sat down and attacked his bacon and eggs with an energy that gave me hope.

   When the girl was safely out of hearing again, I said: “You may of course trust me in this.”

   His eyes fastened on mine with a suddenly alert suspicion. “Watson, you must pledge me this instant, upon your honor, that you will never mention the subject of vampires to my brother Mycroft; it is the one thing that would undo him utterly. Have I your pledge?”

   “You have,” I answered in a heavy voice, and with the gravest mental reservations. Actually I had been considering for some time that circumstances might very soon oblige me to consult with Mycroft. As most of my readers may know, Holmes’ older brother was, to the best of my knowledge, his next of kin—indeed, his only living relative. Mycroft was employed by the Government, and never left London. So constant were his habits, in fact, that I had put off consulting him, feeling that I should have no trouble locating him for that purpose at any hour of the day or night.

   Some train of thought begun with Mycroft had plunged Holmes into an introspective pause, almost a reverie, his plate of food abandoned before him as if he had suddenly forgotten it.

   “I have never spoken to you of my childhood, have I, Watson?”

   “No, Holmes, you never have.”

   “There were painful things in it, which I suppose is common enough. But not such things... at any rate, Mycroft’s childhood must have been worse, for he was seven