Sherlock Holmes. An Unknown Story. (на английском)

                     My wife Tina’s passion of spending her free time in museums could have been welcomed, had it not been for one thing: she always wants me to accompany her. And I don’t really like this.

One evening nothing seemed to portend a disaster. Tina was leafing through The Times, when she suddenly said "Is the Sherlock Holmes museum really situated at 221B, Baker Street?”

"So it begins”, thought I and muttered under my breath "Newspapers can write anything. I guess, it’s a hoax”. Although I knew, that the Sherlock Holmes museum was indeed established at 221B, Baker Street in 1990.

"They write here, that it’s in the house built in 1815, and that building is included in Her Majesty’s list of buildings of architectural and historical importance”.

Further resistance was futile and I asked her, sighing "When?”

"How about tomorrow, what do you think? We would have some great time!” she was absolutely not surprised by my agreement and took it for granted, and raised her right thumb as a sign of her satisfaction.

But not everything was lost, thought I, as I still had a choice: either "to agree with pleasure” or "with pleasure to agree”. As the head of the family and having the deciding vote, I chose both.

At the museum we were met by an elderly (just as I am now) man with a Conan Doyle pipe in his mouth. And he began fervently to tell us everything we already knew from the books by Arthur Conan Doyle. I moodily followed him and pretended to be absolutely absorbed in his stories, when I suddenly saw a basket full of yellowish papers covered with writings. At that moment Tina and the guide entered into polemics, demonstrating their vast knowledge of the Sherlock Holmes stories, and went to some stands in the other room. I, being left alone, started looking through the papers. The writing was illegible. Almost undecipherable texts looked like someone’s thoughts with slight remarks here and there, and sometimes different versions of one and the same sentence. Still looking through the papers, I fished out a large sheet, completely covered with terrible writings on both sides. I could only decipher dots. I folded it up and put it into my pocket.

Saying goodbye to us the self-satisfied guide saw the basket and changed his countenance. 

"That Madlen”, muttered he, "she left Sir Arthur’s manuscripts again”. 

I decide not to tell Tina of my improper deed, knowing her temper, so, when we got home, I hid in my room and started to decipher the manuscript. I’ve been poring over it for more than a month. I would come late for work and would run from it earlier, I would wake up at daybreak and would go to sleep at first light. But I succeeded.

And now, a hundred and twenty years later, the readership can see an unknown creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. So, make yourself comfortable…

"Mrs. Alice told me that story, but she asked me to keep it secret, while uncle Michael, aunt Polly’s cousin and the hero of this story, is alive. So I lay aside the manuscript until I receive the news of his death. (Such is the preface to the story by the famous author.) of badgesamd magnets in Toronto

In autumn 1891, just before lunch Sherlock Holmesreceived a note from one Mrs. Stella with a request to see him immediately on an urgent matter. Studying the letter the experienced detective determined that there was something extraordinary in this case and decided to meet Mrs. Stella at once. In an hour Mrs. Stella’s carriage stopped by the house and she was admitted to the detective’s study.

Mrs. Stella sat in an armchair and said: "Mr. Holmes, you must have heard about the murder of the draper’s factory owner, Mr. Douglas, three days ago. He was my husband”.

"Yes, of course, I heard about that. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how I can help you. As far as I know Scotland-Yard has taken up this matter”.

Mrs. Stella smiled "They start to think the criminal cannot be found by any means…”

"You are exaggerating my abilities. I might not be able to help you”.

"I’m sure you will help. I have a clue ignored by the police. It will definitely help you”.

"And what’s that?”

"A badge, just a badge that was on the crime scene. I noticed that it was lying under the broken magnolia branch. Perhaps it fell out of the criminal’s pocket, when he was running away and his jacket caught and broke the branch”.

"You’re showing extraordinary abilities”, said Sherlock Holmes with a smile. "Do you have the badge with you now?”

"Yes, here you are”, Mrs. Stella took the badge from her purse and handed it to the detective.

He studied it carefully and took the magnifying glass. Some minutes later he said: "As far as I know there was an exhibition of private collection of badges in Torontoand souvenirs at the British museum. It could have been stolen from there. The clasp of the badge still has hair of the material it was pinned to. The criminal tore it off without unclasping it”.

Mr. Holmes carefully put the badge on the table and asked Mrs. Stella, "Your husband was an inveterate collector as well, wasn’t he? He had a large number of exotic souvenirs”. 

"Yes, he has been collecting rare badges for years, just like my uncle Michael. But why are you saying "as well”?”

"Because the criminal is also a collector. That ill-fated night your husband’s suitcase went missing, if I’m not mistaken. Did it hold his collections?”

"Yes, that was the case where my husband kept his collections, but that night he carried an empty case: the collections are safe and sound in my husband’s personal safe, and I have the keys. I hid them in a reliable place”. 

"But the criminal didn’t know that, he thought he would become the owner of a rare collection, but he went wrong in his counting”, said Sherlock Holmes and stood up, meaning that the audience came to its end. But seeing the confused face of Mrs. Stella he went on. 

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Лица. Валерий Золотухин

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