Chapter VI: Light in the darkness
I woke in Holmes' bed, alone. Shafts of morning light fell upon the wooden parquetry of the floor and I vaguely remembered getting up to relieve myself in the middle of the night. But exactly when the other two men had departed from the lumpy mattress, I couldn't at the moment recall.
Seated at the breakfast table was Holmes, a silk robe draped over his sturdy shoulders as he sipped tea. Taking the other chair, I found that my flatmate was nude beneath his housecoat, which opened at the front to reveal his burly chest. His large limp organ was visible, slumped to one side in the cleft of his crotch. For some reason I suddenly regretted that I'd taken Gregson in the drawing room--it seemed to bring sexual matters to the forefront of our living arrangement. An uneasy prickle blossomed in my chest; the image of coming home to find Holmes driving his gargantuan instrument once again into a willing man here in our shared space. As to why my feelings fell in this direction, I cannot say.
With an air of perfect restfulness, Holmes spread butter and jam on a blackened slice of toast. He informed me that Gregson had left just a moment ago, saying that the detective had been rather flustered at the thought of explaining to the men in his office why he had on an identical suit to the one he wore yesterday.
Giving me a sidelong glance, Holmes added that there had been some additional entertainment during the wee hours of the night. Apparently, he and Gregson had awoken in the darkness with hardened tools and begun kissing wildly. Not wishing to disturb me, they snuck over to my empty bed and gave themselves to one another with passionate enthusiasm. I tried to remain unreactive as Holmes described the incredible sensation of sinking his oversized contrivance into Gregson's keen and pliable pucker. Busying myself with the teapot, I suppressed a twinge of jealousy at having not been invited to the second act of this performance.
"I thank you for having opened Gregson to these matters," Holmes said, unexpectedly stroking my wrist with his hand. "I'm certain we will both be heartily received by him at some future date."
The intimate caress of his fingers didn't last long. Both Holmes and I pulled our hands back, as if mutually burned by a flame between us, and a moment of silence stretched.
Holmes smiled. "You provided me with a wonderful reward. After the concert, I spent some time digging into our mystery surrounding Dreber's ruby ring, and was able to solve almost the entire case."
I tipped my head in amazement, happy to focus on something other than the embarrassment that we had both just experienced. "Is that so? Well I am eager to hear the conclusion."
"Ah, but first, my dear Watson, I must explain how it is that I arrived at this most inevitable of deductions. The facts before yesterday had been thus: I'd learned from Lestrade that Drebber and his secretary Strangerson were last seen together at Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the third, that is, two days ago. At two in the morning the next day, Drebber had called Scotland Yard, telling them he had come home to find his house burgled. The question which confronted me was to find out how Strangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the time of the supposed crime, and what had become of him afterwards. Now, from my informants at Rache, I had learned that this public appearance had been a sham. The last time Drebber and Strangerson had truly been together was when they both visited the club later that same evening, around 10.30."
Here I cut in. "So that shrinks the time with which Strangerson is unaccounted for."
"Indeed," nodded Holmes. "But even more important was what Strangerson and Drebber had been seen doing at the club Rache--namely, arguing. The other patrons distinctly recall watching the two men have a heated row right there in the middle of the room, with Drebber unable to keep his temper under control at some news that Strangerson had given him. And we know from John Rance what this news item must have been: that Strangerson was re-enamored with his former lover, Jefferson Hope."
"Following the concert yesterday, I set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging houses in the vicinity of Rache. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had a great falling out and separated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night. By eight o'clock I reached Foley's Private Hotel on Duchess Street. On my inquiry as to whether a Mr. Strangerson was living there, they at once answered in the affirmative."
"'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said. `He had been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'"
"'Had?' I asked."
"'Certainly,' they answered. `After waiting in vain, he went off to find the gentleman and hasn't been seen since.'"
"I asked if the man had left behind anything in his room after absconding and the deskman showed me a single telegram that had been lying upon the floor in his room. It was dated from Cleveland a month ago, and contained the words `J.H. is in Europe.' There was no name appended to this message."
My brows were becoming crossed at having to pay attention to all the information Holmes was dispensing. "But then it seems you came to a dead end."
"So thought I!" said Holmes, shooting a finger into the air. "And yet I knew there must be more. Considering once again the ruby ring and what had become of it, I wandered about the area, looking for a jeweler. My initial thought was that Strangerson had decided to sell it."
"But then he already had it with him, prior to the time of the robbery?"
"Of course, my dear Watson. Drebber had needed an excuse to call the police following the break-in at his house, and the disarray in his bedroom seemed to indicate that a thief had been through it. But it was clear to both you and I that robbery had not been the intent of the intruders. The scene more resembled two companions engaging in sexual congress while the owner was occupied elsewhere."
"Why would they do so?"
Holmes grinned mischievously. "Revenge," he said. "What better way to take retribution on the man who treated you poorly for many years than by fucking another in his own bed?"
I had scarcely any time to consider his statement before there was a tap at the door. Much to my astonishment, a fashionably-dressed young man with full lips and high cheekbones introduced himself as Joseph Strangerson. He seemed to be in an agitated state.
"Please sir," he said, touching a light brown forelock. "I have the cab downstairs."
"Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling. "The cabman may as well help me with my box. Just ask him to step up."
I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything about it to me. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this Holmes pulled out and began to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the room, an olive-skinned, rugged individual, with the long bushy moustache of a Texan.
"Just give me a help with this buckle," Holmes said, kneeling over his task. He looked up at me. "Watson, let me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the man who will be marrying Mr. Joseph Strangerson in a short while."
The whole thing occurred in a moment--I could barely process the scene. Holmes' words and their import floundered in my mind.
"We have the cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to take us all to the club Rache. And now, my good friend, we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome to put any questions you like to me now, and there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them."
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