Showing results by author "Craig Copland" in All Categories

Two teenagers, a brother and a sister from a strict religious family disappear. The parents are alarmed but Scotland Yard says they are just off sowing their wild oats. A horrific, gruesome package arrives in the post and it becomes clear that a terrible crime is in process. Sherlock Holmes is called in to help. Passions and hatred going back many years are revealed. Holmes, Watson, and Lestrade must act quickly before young lives are lost.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."

He was not much more than a child. I estimated his age at fourteen. He was a handsome boy, with the raven-black hair and deeply tanned skin color that marks a person who came from the lands under the Raj. His young body was beginning to show the signs of an emerging well-made sportsman. From his place, lying on his back on the pavement, his dark-brown eyes stared up at the morning sky ... lifeless. Behind his head was a pool of blood, now darkened and congealed.

Royston Giles Tamblyn III paid a visit to 221B Baker Street without a prior appointment on the morning of Saturday, 4 May 1901. He was a handsome young fellow, with flawless pale skin, well-combed hair that was blond-on-its-way-to-brown, and straight, gleaming teeth. He was dressed in a blazer and flannels, a creaseless white shirt, and an expertly tied old-school tie. In his polished boots, I could have seen my reflection had I bent over to inspect them.

He was not much more than a child. I estimated his age at fourteen. He was a handsome boy, with the raven-black hair and deeply tanned skin color that marks a person who came from the lands under the Raj. His young body was beginning to show the signs of an emerging well-made sportsman. From his place, lying on his back on the pavement, his dark-brown eyes stared up at the morning sky ... lifeless. Behind his head was a pool of blood, now darkened and congealed.

Sherlock Holmes was not happy. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I will not see her now. Send her away and tell her to come back later." It was just past seven in the morning and we were enjoying an early coffee on a pleasant Sunday in the first week of June 1902, when Mrs. Hudson interrupted us. Holmes's longsuffering landlady did not leave.

On Easter Sunday of 1919, Lady Lillian Assherton attempted to take her own life, a second time. Her first attempt was in the fall of 1917 when Her Ladyship, recently widowed, received news that both of her sons, officers in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, died at Passchendaele.

Sherlock Holmes was not happy. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I will not see her now. Send her away and tell her to come back later." It was just past seven in the morning and we were enjoying an early coffee on a pleasant Sunday in the first week of June 1902, when Mrs. Hudson interrupted us. Holmes's longsuffering landlady did not leave.

On Easter Sunday of 1919, Lady Lillian Assherton attempted to take her own life, a second time. Her first attempt was in the fall of 1917 when Her Ladyship, recently widowed, received news that both of her sons, officers in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, died at Passchendaele.

"To the man who loves intellectual stimulation," remarked Sherlock Holmes, "London in August is the lowliest month on the calendar. Those with the means to do so have departed for the Algarve and the Riviera. Those without are off to Blackpool and Brighton." "And what about those," I asked, "who are left behind? You and I are still here." "You at least have your sensational accounts of my efforts to keep scribbling. I, on the other hand, am losing faith in the enterprising criminal class."

Royston Giles Tamblyn III paid a visit to 221B Baker Street without a prior appointment on the morning of Saturday, 4 May 1901. He was a handsome young fellow, with flawless pale skin, well-combed hair that was blond-on-its-way-to-brown, and straight, gleaming teeth. He was dressed in a blazer and flannels, a creaseless white shirt, and an expertly tied old-school tie. In his polished boots, I could have seen my reflection had I bent over to inspect them.

"To the man who loves intellectual stimulation," remarked Sherlock Holmes, "London in August is the lowliest month on the calendar. Those with the means to do so have departed for the Algarve and the Riviera. Those without are off to Blackpool and Brighton." "And what about those," I asked, "who are left behind? You and I are still here." "You at least have your sensational accounts of my efforts to keep scribbling. I, on the other hand, am losing faith in the enterprising criminal class."

Five new pastiche stories of the world's greatest detective. These stories are shorter than the other novellas in the New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries set and were published earlier in either the MX Books or Belanger Books anthologies of Sherlock Holmes stories (Edited by David Marcum). 'The Singular Tragedy of the Atkinson Brothers at Trincomalee' is one of the unpublished cases we hear about in The Canon. The story Takes Holmes and Watson to the tropical island of Ceylon on behalf of the Foreign Office to investigate the murder of one of the Atkinson brothers.

On September 15, 1894, an anarchist attempted to bomb the Greenwich Observatory. He failed, but the attempt led Sherlock Holmes into an intricate web of spies, foreign naval officers, and a beautiful princess. Once again, suspicion landed on poor Percy Phelps, now working in a senior position in the Admiralty, and once again Holmes has to use both his powers of deduction and raw courage to not only rescue Percy, but to prevent an unspeakable disaster.

Five new pastiche stories of the world's greatest detective. These stories are shorter than the other novellas in the New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries set and were published earlier in either the MX Books or Belanger Books anthologies of Sherlock Holmes stories (Edited by David Marcum). 'The Singular Tragedy of the Atkinson Brothers at Trincomalee' is one of the unpublished cases we hear about in The Canon. The story Takes Holmes and Watson to the tropical island of Ceylon on behalf of the Foreign Office to investigate the murder of one of the Atkinson brothers.