Peter Smith | Eccentricus Britannicus

ECCENTRICUS

SLEUTH

As catalogued in previous stories since the appearance of the Sherlock Sidewinder and the Menacing Moriarty in 1876 the life of Arthur Conan Doyle had never been the same. Dragged into an underworld he never knew existed Arthur’s life now hung in the balance as Sherlock and Moriarty brought their battle to the very heart of Baker Street. In 1892 Arthur was sat in the study of 221b Baker Street reading the latest letter from the Sherlock Sidewinder, it was different from the others and the Sherlock that came across was a Sherlock that had almost reached the end. Over the years mementoes from the many cases he and Sherlock had shared filled the small room he now sat in, the letter referenced this and the many successes but also explained he couldn’t stop until Moriarty, the ‘Napoleon of Crime’ was brought to justice. Arthur took one long puff from his pipe and folded the letter carefully placing it on the table. Turning to the fireplace he bent over to tap out his pipe narrowly avoiding the bullet that came through the window that would have a second earlier ended his life. Arthur picked up the fire poker and ran to the wall next to the window just as a slithering sound came from the stairs.

The door opened to a shadowy figure that removed its cape and produced a revolver at the same time. It was the Moriarty Marauder.

‘Hello Arthur, I expected you to die. What a pity, if you want a job doing...’ said Moriarty raising the revolver to point directly between Arthur’s eyes.

‘...Do it yourself ’ a different voice finished as the Sherlock Sidewinder stepped out of the shadows in the study, revolver also raised but pointing directly at Moriarty. ‘Your ruse worked Arthur, I’m impressed’ Sherlock added.

Moriarty nodded, ‘Touché my dear Sherlock, if I had a hand free I would clap. How on earth are we going to untangle this mess? One of us three will die’

‘One of us two Moriarty, it’s just between us’

‘On the contrary Sherlock, it’s still three, you’re forgetting that I didn’t fire the shot through the window and now that gun is trained on you instead’

And so the final problem presented itself, a triangle of death that could only be solved with a loss of life captured in this one painting with a solution embedded within its depths waiting for a sleuth to uncover the truth.

Can you find it?

Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker