Read The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters: 25 Modern Tales by Masters for Free Online

one,” he said, his voice grave. “Count? Count von Kratzov? Can you hear me?”
    I reluctantly released her hand and stood. My medical vows required me to ascertain the count’s condition, although I was still concerned about the dowager duchess. I walked to Holmes’s side and gasped. The count lay sprawled in the corner, his face and shirt-front spattered with blood. I bent over him and rested my fingers on his pulse.
    A sudden commotion at the door drew my attention.
    “Grandmama! Grandmama!” Sheppington cried. “Let me through, you rogue!”
    A scuffle ensued at the door, ending only when the young man dodged beneath Stanislaw’s outstretched arm and darted into the room. His wild gaze roamed over Holmes and me, coming to rest upon the form of the dowager duchess.
    Falling to his knees before his grandmother, he caught her hand in his.
    “I am too late! The count has killed her!” He choked back a sob.
    “Pull yourself together,” said Holmes. Bent over from the waist, he was carefully examining the ruined jewel case on the floor beside the fireplace. A rough circle of shards and patches of glass ground to powder glinted upon the carpet and planks. “She is nowhere near death.”
    “Do not move her yet,” I said, turning back to my patient. “Holmes, I require more light.”
    “Maryja, matka Boga!”
    I glanced up. Carolus entered the room, carrying an oil lamp.
    “Bring the lamp here,” I ordered, loosening the count’s cravat.
    He placed the lamp on the floor beside me, then clasped his hands behind his back.
    “What has happened? Who has done this to my master?” he asked.
    “That is what we are trying to ascertain,” replied Holmes. He picked up the shattered jewel case and held it to the light.
    Carolus gasped. “The emeralds!”
    I finished my examination of the count, then rose stiffly, retrieving the lamp.
    “The count has been badly beaten and appears to have fallen and struck his head, resulting in his current state of unconsciousness. However, I do not believe he has any broken bones, nor any internal injuries.” I turned to Carolus. “Have two or three of your strongest footmen carry him to his bed. Does he have a private physician?”
    “Yes. He consults Sir Theobald Western, of Harley Street. Sir Theobald is in attendance tonight.”
    “Excellent. Send a footman to find him and take him to the count.”
    The dowager duchess stirred, groaning softly.
    “The devil with the count and his emeralds! What of Grandmama?” cried Sheppington. “She is bleeding!”
    “I will also require a bed or chaise in a quiet room for Her Grace,” I continued, ignoring Sheppington’s outburst.
    Carolus hurried from the room. I heard him shouting instructions in another tongue. Stanislaw and another footman entered the room, gathered up the count, and carried off the portly figure as easily as a young lady holds her fan.
    “Be still, Your Grace,” I said, setting down the lamp beside the dowager duchess and bending to examine the wound on her scalp. “Your Lordship, please allow me room to work.”
    After a moment, he sat back.
    I took her hand in mine, although I knew what I would see. The empty fingers of her glove depended from her wrist and quivered as I lifted her hand to the light; she had, at some point before she was injured, unbuttoned her glove at the wrist and drawn her hand out through the opening. The better to admire the emeralds? Yet she had not had time to fold away the surplus kidskin. I finished my examination of her hand and gently encircled her wrist with my fingers. Her pulse remained strong. As I probed the wound on her temple, she winced and drew in a sharp breath.
    “You may have a head-ache for a few days, but the injury is superficial,” I said, the tightness in my chest easing. I gave her a reassuring smile. “Is it possible for you to sit up?”
    She breathed deeply, then nodded. “Of course.”
    With the assistance of Sheppington, she sat up by degrees.
    “Do