Sherlock Holmes At the Raffles Hotel
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After the death of his second wife, and with patient numbers falling, Doctor Watson is considering retirement.
That is, until he gets an urgent telegram from Martha, the housekeeper of an old friend.
Sherlock Holmes is ill. Watson must make his way o his cottage in the village of Fullworth as soon as possible.
But he arrives to find Holmes alive and well, if a little melancholy. The telegram was a clever ploy by Martha to return Holmes to his former vigour.
In the village, Arshak Sarkies suggests a holiday for the pair as his guests at the Raffles Hotel in Singapore – it should be just what the doctor ordered. But knowing Holmes, they will only be able to tempt him abroad with the promise of one last case...
When they finally arrive at the hotel, it seems that Watson’s scheme has come true after all.
The wealthy wife of a hotel resident, Mr Derek Masterton, has been found dead in her apartment, her ‘Singapore Sugarplum’ sweets laced with arsenic.
With her money protected by a will, who would have the motive to kill Mrs Masterton?
How could they have gotten so close, and have predicted her every move?
And what of the strange goings-on reported by the butler?
Thrown back into the investigating game, Holmes and Watson must use all their deductive powers to solve the case of the poisoned sugarplums.
‘Sherlock Holmes at the Raffles Hotel’ is a brilliant addition to the Holmes and Watson casebooks.
'A treat for any Holmes fan'. - Robert Foster, best-selling author of 'The Lunar Code'.
John Hall spent many years in the civil service before becoming a professional writer specialising in crime fiction. His book ‘Death of a Collector’ won the Sherlock magazine’s competition for the best new fictional detective.
Endeavour Press is the UK’s leading independent publisher of digital books.
of ground. White, cool, airy, spacious – it seemed a veritable oasis of calm and comfort, even from the outside. “It is indeed impressive,” I told Arshak. “But just wait until you see the interior. I imagine you will be glad to get inside, out of the heat?” “Oh, the heat doesn’t bother me,” I told him. “Quite like old times, in fact. Does the heat trouble you, Holmes?” “The heat?” Holmes stared at me as if he had not heard me. “I had not noticed it, Watson.” And he went back to his own
services? My brother-in-law, perhaps?” “Insofar as I have a client,” said Holmes, “it is Mr Tigran Sarkies, a friend of Mr and Mrs Masterton’s.” “Oh, the manager at the Raffles Hotel? Yes, I see.” Gerard put his head in his hands, and sat like that for a moment, then he straightened up, and looked at Holmes. “I am sorry, Mr Holmes, but I have been much troubled. I am glad you are here, sir, for now we might be able to find the true murderer of my wife, Emily.” He nodded towards Ingham. “The
breakfast. Martha had done us proud with the meal, and I like to think that I did what I could to cheer up my old friend, but it was all in vain. Holmes’ sombre mood had returned with a vengeance, and he sat there, gloomily playing with his eggs and bacon, and occasionally muttering some reference to one or another of his old cases. Not his triumphs, though, not those cases which had made his name and his fortune, not the cases which had been reported in the national and international press; no,
all he could hark back to now were the failures, few and far between though these had been, the cases where he had been unable to find missing gemstones, or a missing husband, the cases where the client had been in danger and Holmes had failed to spot it, with fatal results for the client. Dreary indeed were his ramblings, on that splendid sunny morning, which should have been all warmth and comfort. As I have said, I tried to alter his mood, but all to no avail. So, when I had finished my own
shook his head. “I think not. Miss Earnshaw poisoned the violet centres, to kill Mrs Masterton. She did not, I believe, also poison the walnut centres, for she could not know that the box would be passed on as it was. She left it in Mrs Gerard’s room because she did not realize that it was the same box. No, I think she poisoned Mrs Gerard with a drink, a glass of something for her headache.” “Dreadful,” I said with a shudder. Holmes nodded. “I do not think she is a very nice person,” he added.