The House Of Silk

spectacle as if it were being played out for their benefit. As I took this all in, a tall man, red-faced and elegantly dressed, called out and gesticulated with his stick.
    ‘Take him up, officer! I saw him shoot the girl. I saw it with my own eyes.’ He had a thick Scottish accent that sounded almost incongruous, as if this were all a play and he a member of the audience who had, unbidden, wandered on to the stage. ‘God help her, the poor creature. He killed her in cold blood.’
    ‘Who are you?’ the constable demanded.
    ‘My name is Thomas Ackland. I was on my way home. I saw exactly what happened.’
    I could not stand on the sidelines any longer but pushed my way forward and knelt beside my stricken friend. ‘Holmes!’ I cried. ‘Holmes, can you hear me? For God’s sake tell me what has happened.’
    But Holmes was still incapable of reply and now I found the constable examining me. ‘You know this man?’ he demanded.
    ‘Indeed I do. He is Sherlock Holmes.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘My name is John Watson and I am a doctor. Officer, you must allow me to attend upon my friend. However black and white the facts may appear, I can assure you that he is innocent of any crime.’
    ‘That is not true. I saw him shoot the girl. I saw the bullet fired by his own hand.’ Ackland took a step forward. ‘I, too, am a doctor,’ he continued. ‘And I can tell you at once that this man is under the influence of opium. It is evident from his eyes and from his breath and you need seek no further motive for this vile and senseless crime.’
    Was he right? Holmes lay there, unable to speak. He was certainly in the grip of some sort of narcotic and, given that he had been in Creer’s Place for the past hour, it was absurd to suggest that anything was responsible other than the drug that the doctor had named. And yet there was something about the diagnosis that puzzled me. I looked closely at Holmes’s eyes and although I would have had to agree that the pupils were dilated, they lacked the ugly pinpricks of light which I would have expected to find. I felt his pulse and found it almost too sluggish, suggesting that he had just been aroused from a deep sleep rather than involved in the strenuous activity of first chasing and then shooting down his victim. And since when had opium ever caused an event such as this? Its effects might include euphoria, total relaxation, freedom from physical pain. But never had I heard of a user being driven to acts of violence, and even had Holmes been in the grip of the most profound paranoia, what possible motive could his muddled consciousness have come up with for killing the one girl he had been most eager to find and protect? How, for that matter, had she come to be here? Finally, I doubted that Holmes would have been able to shoot with any accuracy had he been under the influence of opium. He would have had difficulty even holding the gun steady. I set this all out here as though I was able to deliberate at length on the evidence in front of me, and yet, in actual fact, it was the work of but a second born out of my many years in the medical profession and my intimate knowledge of the man accused.
    ‘Did you accompany this person here tonight?’ the constable asked me.
    ‘Yes. But we were briefly apart. I was at The Rose and Crown.’
    ‘And he?’
    ‘He …’ I stopped myself. The one thing I could not do was reveal where Holmes had been. ‘My friend is a celebrated detective and he was in pursuit of a case. You will discover that he is well known to Scotland Yard. Call for Inspector Lestrade who will vouch for him. As bad as this looks, there must be another explanation.’
    ‘There is no other explanation,’ Dr Ackland interjected. ‘He came staggering from round that corner. The girl was in the street, begging. He took out a gun and he shot her.’
    ‘There is blood on his clothing,’ the constable agreed, although he seemed to speak with a degree of reluctance. ‘He was evidently close to her when she was killed. And when I arrived in this courtyard, there was nobody else in sight.’
    ‘Did you see the shot fired?’ I asked.
    ‘No. But I arrived moments later. And nobody ran from the scene.’
    ‘He did it!’ somebody shouted in the crowd and this was followed by a murmur of assent, taken up by the children who were all delighted to find themselves in the front row for this spectacle.
    ‘Holmes!’ I cried, kneeling beside him and attempting to support