Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Thread of Murder by Luke Benjamen Kuhns Page A

was self-inflicted, this much I can tell,” said Holmes, looking at Daniels. “Take him down.” I looked around the room: there was a shattered glass bowl upon the floor which looked like Daniels must had kicked it when he took the fatal plunge. As the body was being taken down, Holmes began quietly examining the room, then left us as they laid the body on a table.
    While Holmes looked around I examined the corpse of Mr Daniels. I noticed an odd smell upon him, and a strange purple colouring on the flesh around his eyes.
    â€œWhat do you reckon?” Lestrade asked.”
    â€œI’m not sure entirely,” said I, “but it does look like an effect from substance abuse.”
    Just then Holmes returned, glanced at the body, leaned over and deeply inhaled before returning to his full height: “We have all we need. Lestrade, we will be in touch.”
    ***
    In the cab, Holmes turned to me.
    â€œWhat did you make of the body, Doctor?” he asked.
    â€œThe smell and discolouration? If memory serves me right he was poisoned by a rare flower found in Afghanistan...”
    â€œYes, the fire flowers are known to cause such effects. I’ve some knowledge of it”
    â€œIt’s a rare poison, Holmes. If I remember correctly, the petals appear to perspire under certain temperatures. The liquid created has toxic effects if absorbed into the system. It will cause one to be slowly driven mad until death takes them. It leaves behind a terrible smell and the purple colouration around the eyes. During my war days I treated a few men who suffered from this poison.”
    â€œHow long does the poison take to kill its victim?”
    â€œA small dose will take upwards of a month.”
    â€œRemind me of the symptoms?”
    â€œParanoia was common in all of them. It started slowly before manifesting into some kind of physical fear. One soldier attacked a captain whom he had thought disliked him, making the claim the captain was planning to kill him. They also saw things that weren’t there. Some would swear a spider or snake was on them when nothing was there at all. It manifests differently but it’s always a fear come to life.”
    â€œSo, who poisoned Daniels, and why?” Holmes asked rhetorically.
    â€œMaybe the Goblin isn’t real?” I questioned.
    â€œThere is no such creature; but there is a man.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œMud, Watson. A trace of it in the hallway from a large boot. Neither police nor anyone else who was frequent at Daniels. I found it near a window in the next room while you were looking over the body. Daniels, certainly, was not alone; he was shouting at someone.”
    â€œWhat do you plan to do next?”
    â€œYou can return to Baker Street. I need to go to the docks.”
    Chapter 9
    Martin Hewitt
    The Mystery At Davenport House
    Autumn 1890
    Taking the information from the manager, we made our way back to our lodgings. The rain had lightened, but the hour was late, and Hewitt and I agreed we would continue the investigation after a hardy dinner and a good night’s sleep
    Early the following morning, Hewitt and I procured a hansom to take us to Putney to Phillias Jackson’s lodging: Davenport House. The autumn air had become bitterly cold through the night but by the time we reached Davenport House, the sun was high in the morning sky and some warmth had returned to the air.
    Mr Jackson’s home was a large three floor house. Hanging outside the house was a sign saying: Room for Let. His lodgings were shared, not his own.
    â€œA further touch of the bizarre, Brett,” remarked Hewitt pointed to the sign.
    â€œNot the kind of accommodation I expected from Mr Jackson,” said I with a nod.
    â€œMy thought precisely.” Hewitt raised his large fist and banged on the front door. A bespectacled man with bushy sideburns and slicked back hair answered.
    â€œMay I help you?” he asked