Sherlock Holmes in Dead Loss

By Lyn McConchie

Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Miss Emily and Mandalay the cat return in this new mystery novella!

Once again, Miss Emily Jackson’s brown Burmese cat, Mandalay, returns from his wanderings with a prize—an old leather bag containing… a bar of soap. But the soap hides a secret that proves dangerous. Miss Emily calls in Holmes and Watson, and the mystery turns into murder.

A family tragedy and a series of burglaries and assaults spark a desperate hunt to find the killers. Can Miss Emily, her employers, and Dr. Watson fend off an armed incursion while Holmes discovers the reasons for these attacks? Will they be able to put a stop to the violence and solve the mystery before another is killed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Jun 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781479461042

Book preview

Table of Contents

DEAD LOSS

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

ALSO BY LYN McCONCHIE

DEAD LOSS

DEAD LOSS

LYN McCONCHIE

A Holmes and Watson / Miss Emily and Mandalay novella

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2021 by Lyn McConchie.

All rights reserved.

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

ALSO BY LYN McCONCHIE

Sherlock Holmes: Repeat Business

Sherlock Holmes: Beastly Mysteries

Sherlock Holmes: Poisonous People

Sherlock Holmes: Catalyst

Sherlock Holmes: Familiar Crimes

Sherlock Holmes: Found Dead

DEAD LOSS

Winter had come and gone, and what felt like every one of my patients had a severe cold, influenza, pneumonia, rheumatism, or pleurisy. I was overworked and run down. During my busier periods I was forced to call in an old colleague, since work as many hours as I might, I was not able to see all my patients. Now that the season—and the ills it produced—were past, perhaps I could arrange to take a day or two away from my practice to recover my usual energy. I said so to Holmes over an early dinner that evening, and he agreed with me.

My dear fellow, I do not like to see you looking so pulled. If I might suggest, why do you not take longer than a day or two? Get away from London completely for several nights and fill your lungs with cleaner air.

My patients…

Your patients will do very well with your colleague. Since that was true I had no reply and altered the subject.

Where do you suggest I go?

A distinct twinkle appeared in my friend’s eye. High Beacon, he said, and I blinked.

I knew the village. Small and on the edge of Epping Forest, not far from central London, it held no particular attraction I knew of and I wondered why he should recommend the place.

High Beacon? Why there?

In response he picked up a letter that had arrived that afternoon and read it aloud.

Dear Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson,

The Semples are too busy at the moment to work on their second book, therefore I have taken a position just outside High Beacon village. Brayly Hall is owned by the Brayly family. It has a long history, which they wish to immortalize for both the family and locals with a book, depicting its history, attractions, and the family who have owned and inhabited it. There is a goodly amount of material available, including diaries and sketchbooks, and I have immersed myself in the work, which looks likely to last several months.

Mandalay was permitted to accompany me and enjoys himself very much. The Braylys do not mind his peregrinations, while he has become something of a favorite with their staff. However, something odd occurred recently, and if it is not too much trouble, I would value your advice. Yes, Mandalay found something. Where, I do not know, but I am troubled as to its true ownership and what I should do, or whom I should tell of it. There may be many who would eagerly claim it, should its discovery become known. Hoping that you may be able to assist in this matter, I am, etc. etc.

Yours, most affectionately,

Miss Emily Jackson

(and Mandalay)

Having read the letter aloud he handed it to me and I read it again before looking up.

I don’t like the sound of that, I said quietly.

Nor I, Watson. Clearly the cat found something of considerable value that shows no indication of ownership. Such an item, once known, could subject Miss Emily to importunate claims and even attempts at robbery, since in such a case possession might indeed be nine-tenths of the law. The girl is rightly concerned that if an owner can be found it should be returned.

I understood. And that is why you suggest High Beacon.

You mentioned taking a day or two away in the country, Holmes said blandly, and I laughed.

I did, and you are right. High Beacon it shall be. Now, how do I get there?

That discussion and the excavation of timetables, road maps, and other directions took us an hour, by which time I decided to simply take an omnibus to the nearest point and hire some conveyance from there. The village had not only the Brayly family estate within walking distance, it was said to have a pleasant inn, several shops, and a number of scenic attractions, this sounding better than my initial impression. I therefore wrote a note to my colleague asking if he would take over my practice for as much as a week or two, went to pack my case, and was in receipt of his agreement before I set out the next morning.

The journey, if a little tedious, was pleasant enough, and in the early afternoon I was set down right before the doors of the Green Man inn. It was a long, low building, in good condition, with sparkling brass-work on the door, a freshly holystoned doorstep, and everything clean and tidy.

The landlord came when I called and introduced himself as Mr. Lodge, at your service. Brian Lodge, that is, sir. A proper name for an innkeeper as you might say, and ’tis been in my family since my great-grandfather’s time, when he first purchased this inn.

I was given a spacious room, comfortably doubling, by means of two large folding screens, as both a bedroom and sitting-room, and with a small washstand in one corner alcove with jug and basin, and across which alcove a curtain could be drawn. The cupboard beneath the washstand contained the usual item. The bed was a respectable size, there were two armchairs and a table, the fire was laid but not lit, and kindling, logs, and a filled coal-scuttle were available. All in all, I should be very comfortable here.

The landlord, a large, hearty figure of a man, smiled at my praise. Yes sir, we’ll deal with you well. Now, would a nice pigeon do for your dinner? We’ve roast potatoes, gravy, and green peas to go with it, if that’s your fancy, and a piece of apple pie with custard, unless you’d prefer a bit of cheese.

I settled for the pigeon and apple pie, anticipating, if the food was as well prepared as the inn, an enjoyable meal. I then turned to the reason that I was here.

Is there a way I can send a note to Brayly Hall? I have a young friend staying there, and would wish to ask if she would like to dine here with me this evening?

The landlord considered. Aye, sir. I can send the stable-lad ’round, ’tis but a step from here to the Hall. He won’t be gone more than fifteen minutes if he don’t waste time. If the answer is that the lady will come, you’ll be wanting that dinner for two. Would that be in your room, sir?

His voice was so toneless that I