I found myself in the scene below, and I confess I was utterly lost! I saw the great Library ahead of me, but, beyond that landmark, I recognized nothing.
I peered first at a street sign, which proclaimed me to be on Baker Street. How the neighborhood has changed! I wandered down the street until I found No. 221B, intending to call upon Mr. Holmes, whom I had not seen for a long time, to renew our acquaintence.
The landlady, Mrs. Hudson welcomed me in, but informed me that neither Mr. Holmes nor Dr. Watson were at home.
She directed me to the gentlemen's sitting room to wait for them. I did so, first looking at the deplorable state of the room - dottles of tobacco everywhere, bullet holes in the walls, and an evil-looking liquid next to a syringe - and then reading one of Dr. Watson's recent recollections of one of Holmes's cases.
After some time, the gentlemen had not yet returned, and it was time for me to be off to my next appointment. I dashed off a note to Mr. Holmes expressing my disappointment that he was not in, thanked Mrs. Hudson, and found a hansom cab nearby to set me on my journey.
2 comments:
That Holmes scoundrel reportedly has yet an outstanding account with Mr Messmer for a deerstalker he took delivery of the winter before last. I and several of the other shopkeepers in the vicinity have 'unfinished business' with the gentleman and that he dares not show his unprepossessing frown in our good streets is a situation bettered only by nicely balanced books.
He does have some deplorable habits, does he not?
And bodies have an odd habit of turning up in his vicinity.
You have given me food for thought, Mr. Magellan.
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