Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's timeless creation returns in a new series of handsomely designed, long out-of-print detective stories. From the earliest days of Holmes' career to his astonishing encounters with Martian invaders, the Further Adventures series encapsulates the most varied and thrilling cases of the worlds' greatest detective. A young Sherlock Holmes arrives in London to begin his career as a private detective, catching the eye of the master criminal, Professor James Moriarty. Enter Dr. Watson, newly returned from Afghanistan, soon to make history as Holmes' companion... By turns both shocking and exciting, David Stuart Davies' controversial take on the Holmes mythology is a modern classic in crime fiction that will defy all expectations.

David Stuart Davies is one of Britain's leading Sherlockian writers. He was the editor of Sherlock Holmes The Detective Magazine, and is the author of several Holmes novels, the hit play Sherlock Holmes: The Last Act, and an acclaimed biography of Jeremy Brett. He is also an advisor to Granada Studios’ Sherlock Holmes museum, and he contributed commentaries to the DVD releases of the Basil Rathbone Holmes films.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Just as Sherlock Holmes scrambled free out on to the ledge, one of his attackers launched himself forward and struck him in the leg. The detective gave a fierce gasp of pain as he wrenched himself free, and then suddenly he found himself falling through darkened space.

Blotting the pain of the wound from his mind, Holmes twisted his body, aiming it at the large rhododendron bush below him. He landed spread-eagled atop its leafy branches. It broke his fall, but it was only a temporary resting-place, for the weight of his body was too great to be supported by the bush and he tumbled in an ungainly fashion on to the lawn. At moments like this, Holmes's ability to think and act quickly was remarkable. He knew that if he stayed where he was, he would be captured or more likely killed by the assailants. If he fled, all his efforts that evening would come to nought. There had to be some centre ground. He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, gritting his teeth as the wound in his leg screaming with pain. He ran as fast as he could to the garden wall, and vaulted over on to the pavement. He crouched low against the bole of a large oak tree by the kerb. On the other side of the street he spied a carriage. The driver appeared to be peering at the house in anticipation.

Two of the assailants appeared in the garden, one swinging a bulls-eye lantern around wildly.

“He's scarpered!” cried one fellow.

“Yeah,” replied the other. “Never mind him, let's get this bleeder away before the whole neighborhood wakes up.”

The third man appeared at the door with a large burden over his shoulder, wrapped in a grey blanket. The burden was Patrick Graves. The man blew on a silver whistle and the driver brought the carriage to the gate. Graves was bundled inside, followed by two of the men; the other, obviously the leader, jumped up alongside the driver.

“Let's go,” he croaked, and the carriage set off.

Holmes slipped from this hiding-place and ran after the carriage. With iron determination he blotted from his mind the stabbing pain in his leg, and, clutching hold of one of the metal bars running parallel across the back of the coach, he pulled himself forward and managed to secure a foothold on the back of the vehicle. With amazing dexterity for an injured man, he was able to settle himself into a crouching position to the back of the carriage, hanging on in a precarious fashion as the vehicle gained speed. In this manner, he travelled with the abductors through the dark and winding streets of London.

Despite his limited vision, Holmes's encyclopaedic knowledge of London allowed him to deduce the direction in which they were travelling. All signs told him that they were headed towards
Rotherhithe. The detective clung on for dear life as the carriage swayed and rattled its way east.

After some twenty minutes, the roads narrowed and darkened - the frequency of gas lamps diminishing. They were now in the vicinity of the West India Docks -
an area of warehouses, giant wharves and silent, uninhabited streets. And then the carriage slowed down as it approached the gates of some huge warehouse. He heard one of the men blow hard on a whistle four times, and, peering around the edge of the carriage, Holmes saw the gates begin to open. Now he had to think fast. Decisions had to be made. Should he drop from the vehicle before he became trapped in the warehouse, or should he risk going inside to face to unknown? Once inside the warehouse, he felt certain that he would be able to discover much more concerning Moriarty's plot to steal the Elephant's Egg. The danger was, of course, that he would be trapped there, thus rendering the knowledge useless. In such situations as this, with his heart racing and his adrenalin pumping, Sherlock Holmes gave way to the emotional rather than the rational response. He stayed with the carri

Excerpted from The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Veiled Detective by David Stuart Davies
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