The Problem of Threadneedle Street (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 2) by Craig Janacek Page B

began to lecture me on my investigative shortcomings. “I must say that the faculty of deduction is apparently not contagious, Watson. How else can we explain your failure to seize upon the possibly vital clue you held so briefly in your hands? Your shed has been emptied and the groundskeeper has vanished. I went over the entire area myself, but there is not a single clue to be found that might point me in the direction where they moved whatever it once contained. For someone to cover their tracks with such care, both in the garden and in the sewers, well, it can only be an audacious message to me. I tell you, Watson, this time we have got a foeman who is worthy of our steel.”
    “But you can track him?”
    He shook his head dejectedly. “On the contrary, Watson. Without further clues, I fear we shall never find him amid the millions in this great city. There are simply an almost infinite number of places where he could hide.”
    “So what shall you do?”
    “I am doing it. I am waiting. Eventually he will make a move, even if it is but a feint, and then I will seize my opening and sink my blade home.”
    “And how can I be of any assistance?”
    “I assure you, Watson, that if some occasion arises that falls within your purview, I shall not fail to utilize you.”
    Fortunately, we had not much longer to wait. A telegram arrived for Holmes. It ran:
     
    Mr. Holmes –
    Your suggestion has borne fruit. If convenient, could you meet me at Silvester’s Bank?
    GREGSON
     
    “What suggestion was that, Holmes?”
    “I asked Gregson to send a man around to each of the banks in the city in order to obtain lists of all of the recent accounts established at the respective institutions. It would then be a simple matter to see if all of these individuals had actually opened those accounts, or if our Mr. Wild had replicated his behavior. From Gregson’s note, it sounds like my name may have again been taken in vain.”
    I frowned in confusion. “I have studied your maps, Holmes. There is no river under Silvester’s bank.”
    “Yes, what of it?”
    “Well, how will they get in? A simple tunnel from a neighboring building?”
    Holmes shook his head. “No, Watson, he has tried that before. We are dealing with a terribly clever man, who changes his method to suit the locale. We will have to inspect the site to see if we can deduce what method he might employ.”
    When we arrived at Pudding Lane, Gregson was standing in the foyer of the bank. The inspector was deep in conversation with a familiar looking man, but when he noticed us, he beckoned us forward. Gregson shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know how you thought to investigate this, Mr. Holmes, but you were spot on. I, for one, believed you were backing the wrong horse.”
    “Indeed, Gregson, sometimes the dark horse is the one to stake your winnings on. So, you’ve found a suspicious new account?”
    “Yes, sir. It is rather cool of him to consider another job so soon and so near, but it must be him, beyond all doubt.”
    “How do you know for certain, Gregson? Did they use my name again?”
    “Not at all, Mr. Holmes. They used Dr. Watson’s.”
    Holmes burst into a hearty laugh. “A salute, Watson, an undeniable salute to your role in the firm!” said he. “I feel the presence of an enemy whose broadside is as quick and as devastating as my own. As a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without immediately embarking upon another perilous undertaking. We can therefore safely assume that this is in fact the work of our Mr. Wild. I had not put Silvester’s high on my list, however. I thought he might target Lloyd’s or the City and Midlands Bank.”
    “I too am most surprised that anyone would be so foolish to target my bank,” groaned the man with whom Gregson had been talking. He was a well-built middle-aged fellow, with a frank honest face and a slight,