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Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Bulgarian Codex

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I looked across the garden to the back wall which leads into Mortimer Street. More than once, in fear of attack from Baker Street, Holmes and I made a quick exit by that route. Observing the unfurling leaves on the mighty London planes it was impossible to know we would soon be risking life and limb in a faraway country about which I - and most of the civilised world - knew or cared nothing.

Sidney Paget. Holmes came up the stairs at his customary three-at-a-time. He put his head around the door, a Coutts cheque flapping in his hand. Name any restaurant in the whole of London and allow me to invite you to dine there this evening. Shall we say a fish-dinner at The Ship, in Greenwich?

The invitation came as a welcome surprise. Holmes, by contrast, even when he is the honoured guest of a wealthy client, has been known to call for a tin of his favourite over-salted Benitez corned beef. The window commanded a fine sweep of the Vaudeville and Strand theatres, busy beyond measure.

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Many famous men had sat here, not least Gladstone and most of the greatest authors of our time. Each Feast of All Souls, Charles Dickens booked this same table with fellow members of the Everlasting Club to discuss the occult, Egyptian magic and second sight. We selected our meal from the superb bill of fare. After a suitable time the Chef appeared, walking imposingly alongside the lesser mortal propelling a silver dinner wagon. Holmes ordered slices of beef carved from large joints, with a due portion of fat. At a price well beyond my usual range, I partook of the smoked salmon, a signature dish of the establishment.

While you attend to the Dark Arts, writing your chronicles, I sit in desolation waiting for the next ring of the door-bell. Our adventures of late have been somewhat parochial, summoned hither and thither to one or other bijou villa in a London suburb or English village. My study of chemistry and a new combination of gases is not enough.

I am in the mood for something more exotic. It makes all Nature restless.

I AM SHERLOCKED - A Scandal in Belgravia - Sherlock - BBC

The Strausses conduct orchestras at Court balls. And ballooning - ballooning is becoming the fashion. Even that court actress, Katharina Schratt, has made three ascents. Not even the large, cracked blue-and-white plate looted at the siege of Alexandria in by the son of one of my elderly patients or the butter-dish was immune from the residues of his chemical experiments.

The greatest figures of our time welcome you to their tables. How you deduced the imprints below the window were from stilts and not the legs of a ladder still escapes me.

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  • The crisis once over, the actors pass for ever out of our lives. For the moment the future seems more than unusually uncertain. We summoned the waiter. With the utmost earnestness he said he knew nothing about it. I pulled the tureen towards me and lifted the cover. I passed the note to Holmes. To judge by the peremptory message he is accustomed to having his own way. And this note-paper. He is a man of some means. Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. He returned the page to me. Your encouraging words may be coming true.

    I fell at once into a peaceful sleep. It seemed hardly a minute passed before I awoke to a tapping at my door. Holmes was calling to me in a low urgent tone. I peered in the direction of the voice. At that hour half the world is out and about on Baker Street. A vital wish for privacy must bring our client here under the cover of a moonless night. I had hardly joined my fellow-lodger by a newly-lighted fire before his hand shot up. He glanced at me like a Baluchi hound. If I am not mistaken, our man arrives early. A motorised barouche is about to halt at our door.