The House Of Silk

pieces. The hill was steep and it was as if we were plunging into a chasm with the snow swirling all around us and the wind sucking us down.
    Forty yards, thirty … somehow we were managing to close the gap between us. The hooves of the other horses were thundering down, the wheels of the curricle madly spinning, the entire structure rattling and shaking as if it would tear itself apart at any time. Harriman was aware of us now. I saw him glance back, his white hair a mad halo around his head. He reached for something. Too late did I see what it was. There was a tiny flash of red, a gunshot that was almost lost in the cacophony of the chase. I heard the bullet strike wood. It had missed Holmes by inches and me by even less. The closer we were, the easier a target we became. And yet still we hurtled down.
    Now there were lights in the distance, a village or a suburb. Harriman fired a second time. Our horse screamed and stumbled. The entire dog cart flew into the air, then came crashing down, jarring my spine and setting my shoulder ablaze. But fortunately the animal had been wounded and not killed and, if anything, the near calamity only made it all the more determined. Holmes cried out wordlessly. Thirty yards, twenty. In a few seconds we would overtake.
    But then Holmes was dragging on the reins and I saw a sharp bend ahead – the lane veered round to the left, and if we tried to take it at this speed we would be killed for sure. The dog cart sluiced across the surface, ice and mud spitting out from beneath the wheels. I must surely be thrown off. I tightened my grip, the wind battering me, the whole world barely more than a blur. There was a sharp crack ahead of me – not a third bullet, but the sound of splintering wood. I opened my eyes to see that the curricle had taken the corner too quickly. It was on one wheel and that had placed an unimaginable strain on the wooden frame which broke apart even as I watched. Harriman was jerked out of his seat and into the air, the reins pulling him forward. For a brief second he was suspended there. Then the whole thing toppled on to its side, with Harriman disappearing from sight. The horses kept running, but they had become separated from the carriage and took off into the darkness. The curricle slithered and span, finally coming to a halt right in front of us, and for a moment I thought we would crash into it. But Holmes still had the reins. He guided our horse around the obstacle, drawing it into a halt.
    Our horse stood there, panting. There was a bloody streak along its flank and I felt as if my every bone had become dislocated. I had no coat and I was shivering with cold.
    ‘Well, Watson,’ Holmes rasped, breathing heavily. ‘Do you think I have a future as a cab driver?’
    ‘You might have one indeed,’ I replied. ‘But don’t expect too many tips.’
    ‘Let us see what we can do for Harriman.’
    We climbed down – but one glance told us that the pursuit was over in every sense. Harriman was covered in blood. His neck was so badly broken that, although he lay sprawled out with his palms down on the surface of the lane, his sightless eyes stared up at the sky and his entire face was contorted by a hideous grimace of pain. Holmes took one look at him, then nodded. ‘This was no more than he deserved,’ he said.
    ‘He was a wicked man, Holmes. These are all evil people.’
    ‘You put it quite succinctly, Watson. Can you bear to return to Chorley Grange?’
    ‘Those children, Holmes. Those poor children.’
    ‘I know. But Lestrade should by now have taken charge of the situation. Let us see what can be done.’
    Our horse was full of fire and resentment, its nostrils steaming in the night. With difficulty we managed to turn it round and drove slowly back up the hill. I was surprised how far we had come. The journey down had been a matter of a few minutes. It took us more than half an hour to return. But the snow seemed to be gentler and the wind had dropped. I was glad to have time to collect myself, to be alone with my friend.
    ‘Holmes,’ I said. ‘When did you first know?’
    ‘About the House of Silk? I suspected that something was amiss the first time we came to Chorley Grange. Fitzsimmons and his wife were consummate actors but you will recall how angry he became when the child that we questioned – a fair-haired boy by the name of Daniel – mentioned that Ross had a sister who worked at The Bag of Nails. He covered it well and tried to