The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

'A bluff, somewhat florid man. Though I shouldn't venture such a remark about a fellow medico I fancy he likes his port.'

'Which could be the reason for his dismissal.'

'I'm sure he's competent enough.' I hastened to the defence of my colleague.

My friend's only reply was a grunt.

'I must confess I'm baffled, Holmes. Do you believe Mrs Bertram's anxiety is genuine?'

'I believe Lady Abernetty's health is a subject of immense concern to quite a few people. The question is why.'

'You surely give no credence to Mrs Bertram's suspicion that she's met with foul play. Having met Charles Abernetty…'

'Did I envisage him as capable of matricide, that vilest of crimes? Did Alice Abernetty, like Clytemnaestra, dream she had given birth to a serpent who suckled blood from her breast?' He threw away his mood with his cigar.

'Come, Watson, deal the cards.'

The house in Mayfair, that most discreetly elegant of London districts was Georgian with a protective railing of iron spikes, double doors with flanking Doric pillars, large bay windows, a set of steps on the left leading down to the servants' entrance and mews leading to stable and coach-house.

'How much do you think this would fetch in realty?' murmured Sherlock Holmes. He had resumed his disguise of the previous day with luxuriant locks and moustache. 'Sebastian Flood and John Watson,' he announced to the elderly butler who answered the door. 'I believe Mr Charles Abernetty is expecting us.'

The small salon to which we were conducted had the furnishings of an earlier era with its marble Adam fireplace, its Chinese wallpaper and carpet and Chippendale furniture. Charles Abernetty greeted us enthusiastically. His sister, dressed in a dark cashmere gown, rose from a wing chair and glided across the floor to meet us. Her manner was more restrained, but no less welcoming. They were a singularly colourless pair, when one recalled the vivacity of their half-sister, both slight of build and with scarcely a year between them in age. They were so alike that the only differences between them were those determined by gender and a certain variance of personality. What soon became apparent was their deep affection for each other.

'You must forgive our old-fashioned furnishings,' said Charles when introductions were exchanged. 'This was how the rooms were originally when the house came into the family's possession, and Mother has always preferred it this way.'

'Ah, you have a parent in residence,' observed Holmes. 'Will we have the pleasure of meeting Mrs Abernetty?'

'Our mother is an invalid and does not receive visitors,' interposed Sabina. 'The cold weather disagrees with her.'

'Perhaps you would care to have my friend take a look at her.' At their startled look he hurried on. 'Watson here is a fully qualified medical practitioner. I'm sure that at any time he'd be happy to give you his professional opinion.'

As I murmured acquiescence I saw Charles dart a look at his sister. She maintained an impeccable composure.

'Thank you, you're very kind, but we have our own family doctor who takes care of Mother's needs.'

'Perhaps you might know him, Watson. What is his name?'

'Dr Halliwell,' she replied, after a brief hesitation. She was beginning to look a trifle annoyed, as well she might, by Holmes's persistence.

'I'm sure he's a very good man,' I said soothingly. 'And pray don't apologize for your furnishings. This is a charming room.'

'You are most fortunate,' added my friend, in the irrepressible role he had adopted, 'in owning this delightful residence in such an elite location. Its worth must be prodigious.'

Charles flushed up to the eyes. 'Mother would never consider selling up. It's quite impossible.'

'I've offended you,' said Holmes. 'My candour runs away with my discretion at times. Ah, I see the cards are on the table. I enjoy nothing so well as a good game of whist with friends.'

'Shall we play?' said Charles, eagerly, drawing out a chair.

As the game progressed companionably, I felt a sense of awe at the expertise in which Holmes sustained the bogus personality of Sebastian Flood. It was evident that Charles Abernetty admired him immensely and hung on his every word. It was equally apparent that Sabina Abernetty was reserving her judgement on their new acquaintance. She was pleasant, but decidedly cool.

At four o'clock she rose from the table and pulled on a bell-rope hanging beside the fire-place.

'Are you calling for tea, Sabie?' asked Charles. 'That would be welcome.'

Miss Abernetty's change of position had allowed her to see the fire had fallen low. 'We must ask Minter to throw on more coal,' she remarked.

'No need to bother Minter. He has enough work to do. I'll attend to the fire myself,' responded her brother.

Another bell rang somewhere in the house. A look of vexation crossed Charles Abernetty's face. 'There's Mother,' he said, tersely.

'I'll go,' said his sister, serenely. 'It's time for her medicine.'

'I suppose,' remarked Holmes, idly, as he watched our host at his fireside task, 'it requires quite a few servants to maintain a household of this magnitude.' Charles did not appear to hear, but Holmes persisted. 'It is admirable of Miss Abernetty to take the place of a nurse.'

'It's how she wishes it,' replied Charles. 'While my sister is away, gentlemen, I think we have time for a glass of this very excellent port.' He crossed to a decanter on the sideboard.

'Not an excellent port,' observed Holmes, as he sipped appreciatively, 'but a superb one.'

Charles flushed with pleasure. 'From my own cellar. I shall fetch you each a bottle.'

'Nonsense. I'll go at once.'

'For shame, to leave you alone,' said Miss Abernetty a moment or two later. 'Where is Charles? Minter is just about to bring in the tea.'

'I believe your brother has gone down to the cellar.'

A coal exploded from the fire onto the rug. Sabina started violently, seized the tongs and threw it back on the grate. She spent some little time examining the rug for signs of damage while my friend sat observing her.

Charles returned presently with a bottle under each arm. His demeanour had markedly changed. His face had a pale clammy look and his hands shook as he placed the bottles on the table.

'Why, Abernetty, you are ill!' exclaimed Holmes.

'Charles, come and sit down.' His sister led him to the wing chair, turning a grave face to us over her shoulder. 'My brother suffers from a morbid fear of confined spaces.You should have sent Minter, Charles.'

'You're right, of course,' Charles mopped his brow with his handkerchief, 'but he does so hate to go there himself.'

'Stuffy places, cellars,' agreed Holmes. 'I'm distressed that your kindness has caused you such discomfort.'

'My dear fellow, think nothing of it. It's a foolish whimsy of mine and will soon pass.'

After tea we took our departure with the promise to return the following Sunday afternoon for another hand. Once outside, the air of bonhomie Holmes had exhibited before the Abernettys fell away and his mood became thoughtful.

'Well, Holmes,' said I, 'we're no closer to solving the mystery, if there is one. It all seemed perfectly straightforward to me. Devoted children, really rather a sad pair. At least we know the mother exists.'

'How do we know that, Watson?'

'Why, you heard it yourself. She rang for attention.'

'A bell was rung from somewhere in the house, nothing more. But you are right, they are a sad pair. But there are undercurrents, Watson, that could be sinister. There were several incidents that pointed to this which you completely overlooked.'

'I wish you'd explain them to me.'

'By this time next week I will have uncovered their secret and I think it will be more evil than you can