Detective Mary

Chapter 29

Several months have passed since Sherlock Holmes left Netherfield Hall.

As far as Mary was concerned, it didn't take that long for Mr. Detective to solve a case. But this case was hardly a case at all.

For one thing, all the suspicions now pointed to the theft of Mr. Charles Bentley's contract, and the crime of manipulating the cotton market behind it was still in the doubtful stage.

In the second place, Captain Carter had acted discreetly, and during this time had stayed only with the officers, even if Sherlock Holmes, without any clue, had searched for a motive for his abetting young Geoffrey.

It's a good thing that no crime is ever committed without a crime.

Only a few days before, Holmes had located the factory owner who had met secretly with Captain Carter, none other than Mr. Bentley and Mr. Thornton's other partner, Mr. Hamp.

Now it was time to pursue the matter.

Mary could not contain her excitement; she had not seen Mr. Holmes for months, and this was the first time she had visited him, and she was so excited as she stepped out of the carriage that she did not know which foot to use.

The present Mr. Sherlock Holmes had not yet moved into Baker Street, and they drew up in a street somewhat unfamiliar to Mary.

Mr. Bentley knocked on the door of the apartment, and in a few moments a caretaker in his early to mid fifties came out.

Upon hearing that he was looking for "Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the doorman's face immediately fell, revealing a look of indignation: "He's here, knock on the door yourself."

Mr. Bentley: "......"

Mary: "Uh, we're not interrupting Mr. Holmes, are we?"

"An appointment has been made," says Mr. Bingley, somewhat puzzled, "and I don't think Mr. Holmes is a man of bad faith?"

Yet it was not untrustworthiness to which Mary referred.

Seeing that Mr. Bentley had no intention of saying more, she was not going to explain. Allowing her future big sister-in-law to walk right into the apartment, she knocked on the door of the room on the second floor.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Mr. Bentley spoke, "Are you there?"

Half a moment passed before a rush of footsteps sounded in the room.

The door of the room swung open with a click, and before Mr. Bentley could react, he saw a tall, thin shadow pass through the doorway and pace back to the drawing-room table with uncanny agility.

Mary didn't know what a London bachelor's parlor was supposed to look like, but at least she was certain that it was definitely not Sherlock Holmes-like. What should have been a place for guests to mingle and talk was filled to overflowing with various instruments, except for a sofa that had been set up.

The table placed in the center was also not a parlor table, but a large laboratory table, on which was placed a wide array of various colored glass test tubes and strange bottles.

The array startled Mr. Bentley, "Sir?"

Mr. Holmes resumed his seat in front of the chemical equipment, not forgetting the nonchalant, "Close the door, please!"

Bentley: "......"

Mary raised an eyebrow and looked at Mr. Bentley with unmistakable calmness: told you so!

Although she had never seen the living environment of Mr. Sherlock Holmes with her own eyes, as a fan girl who had read the novels, she knew what to expect as early as when the janitor's face changed when he heard the word "Sherlock Holmes".

In all fairness, the famous detective was not a pleasant housemate or resident, and only Dr. John Watson could tolerate him.

No wonder Mr. Darcy said he was thinking of moving when he was at Netherfield Manor - he was afraid that he had been annoyed by the next door tenant or landlord who had complained to his door many times!

"You've come at a good time," Holmes grumbled out loud, not even looking back, "please help yourselves to cigarettes from the Persian box, I'll be back to entertain you in a few moments."

Mr. Bentley's eyes circled around the room and finally landed on the Persian box, already stuffed with cigarette butts, on the plate that had been left on the sofa.

The Persian box was empty; Holmes had long ago smoked all his cigarettes!

Bentley: "............"

Mary couldn't help but burst out laughing.

In novels and movies and TV shows, the writers and directors had shown Mr. Sherlock Holmes' unconventionality in various ways, thus Mary had guessed the general idea as early as when she saw the watchman's gloomy face.

She had already prepared herself mentally, but she didn't expect the real picture to be more interesting than Mary had imagined.

Mr. Holmes was concentrating intently and with unparalleled swiftness as he removed a few drops of liquid from the test tube where the chemical reaction had taken place and placed them on the test paper.

"If the test paper turns blue, then nothing has happened." He spoke into the test paper, not sure if he was mumbling or explaining to Mary and Mr. Bentley, "If it is red, then someone has died."

And the chemical landed on the test paper, unsurprisingly showing a red reaction.

The detective ticked the corners of his mouth, "True enough."

He sidled his head and suddenly raised his voice, "Mr. Dougerson? Mr. Dougerson!"

It was the name of the apartment's janitor that was called out.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes rose from the front of his chair and strided towards the door. The watchman came in with a grim face and a guarded look, as if he feared that the detective was up to something else: "What are you up to again, Mr. Holmes?"

The detective shoved a letter into the janitor's arms, "Take a telegram to the sheriff, the murderer is the one who fainted in the first place."

He closed the door with a bang, ignoring the look on the janitor's face and a small grumble, before walking unhurriedly to the sofa, sitting straight down, and announcing grandly, "So, we can now begin our investigation."

Mr. Bentley gave a curious look, "Were you just investigating another case?"

Holmes gave a little nod, "A murder case that was boring as hell. There has been no progress on the matter of the raw cotton for months, and I must not allow my mind to remain idle for so long."

Mary was beyond curious, "Have you gotten any new leads, sir?"

Holmes gave Mary a look.

Having not seen her for months, there was no polite greeting or pretense of familiarity, and as the four eyes met, the detective's sharp eyes met Mary's expectant ones, and he quickly scrutinized the girl from the country before withdrawing his gaze.

"I've got news."

Perhaps because Mary had dispensed directly with useless pleasantries and social niceties, Mr. Holmes looked rather pleased.

"An Irish workman bumped into Captain Carter during his last secret meeting with Mr. Hamp," he said, "and I was informed the day before yesterday that the workman had been dismissed."

Bentley flinched, "He's trying to hide the secret meeting?"

Mary: "And what's next?"

Holmes: "It will be necessary for you to see Hamp, Mr. Bentley, and explain to him about the near theft of the contract and see how he reacts."

Yes, it's kind of a test.

After all, Mr. Bentley was his partner, and it was only reasonable that he should tell his friend about it. If he was honorable, that was all right; if he had a devil in him, it would be well to see in what posture he would respond.

It is still necessary.

"And what about me," Mary asked with a wink, "I don't suppose you asked Mr. Bentley to bring me here because you wanted me to visit alone?"

Mr. Holmes rose.

He took a coat from the hanger-a very different coat from the gray one he had had at Nesselfeld Manor, backward in style, old-fashioned in fabric, and even puckered and curled at the corners.

"Miss Bennet," he said, "you come with me."

"Eh?" Mary's expression went blank.

Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, had dressed for the day's outing with frightening speed: a tattered overcoat was only one item, and with a brown fedora and shoes that had had some wear and tear, the imposing gentleman who had made his appearance at Meryton had been transformed into an austere and scrawny pauper in no time at all.

He went to the door and opened it with a lurch of his feet, turning to look straight at Mary.

"What are you waiting for?"

"......"

It was only then that Mary finally realized - Sherlock Holmes, was asking her to assist in the investigation!

Goodness gracious!

As she followed Mr. Holmes out of the apartment, Mary was still in a state of unrealistic dreaming.

Could she have just been taken as a companion ...... and, to put it more shamelessly, an assistant, by Sherlock Holmes? How could things be so easy, knowing that this was Sherlock Holmes?

Wondering when Dr. John Watson would make his acquaintance, Mary now wished that they had done so later, so that she could have the exclusive and prestigious position of "the detective's companion".

--Yes, it was so honorable that Mary would not have exchanged it for Queen Victoria's seat.

At this thought she came back to her senses and, carrying the hem of her skirt, hurriedly followed Holmes, who was striding along, "Are you seeking an apartment where the landlord and the neighbors get along well, sir?"

Holmes raised an eyebrow, "I don't think it's a good thing to live with a landlord and a neighbor." This was a plan to live alone.

Mary: "You can't have it all."

The location where Sherlock Holmes is now living, is a single apartment, but there are three floors, probably also live a few families. And the caretaker obviously did not like Holmes the resident, look at his gloomy face, I do not know how many times he has been harassed by Mr. Detective.

She smiled and said, "What if there is a good-natured landlord, and a roommate who is a million times more likely to throw your temper?"

The detective eased his pace a little at that, casting Mary a look.

There was a flicker of thought in his light colored eyes, "You seem to have the right offer."

Mary's demeanor was half-unchanged, "No, I just think there are a lot of good people in the world. Where are we going? To look for the fired worker?"

How could the detective not understand such an obvious change of subject?

But he didn't poke Mary's little mind in the end, it was still the case that was most important at the moment.

So Mr. Holmes just calmly withdrew his gaze, "Go and find the dismissed worker."

The word used was find rather than see, and it seemed that even now the detective only had clues and had not yet seen the man himself. Mary's mind wandered, and eventually she spoke rather uneasily.

"That," she pursued expectantly and somewhat cautiously, "is it really all right for me to accompany you, sir? I'm afraid I might hold you back, or disrupt your plans."

"Not quite." Holmes paused in his stride.

"......"

Mary stopped after him, and when she realized where they were going next, it immediately dawned on her that Sherlock Holmes had said it was inappropriate, not because of herself, but because of the way Miss Mary Bennet was dressed today.

Mr. Detective had made a point of changing into shabby clothes, and Mary, even though she was used to simple, comfortable clothes, was still a young lady, the daughter of a squire.

The place they were about to enter was the slums.