929. Chapter 929

After The G.D.S.

Episode 8.14

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: Me, own a Castle episode without SK? Rating: K Time: See above

Kate Holmes, the world's first and best female consulting detective, in fact, the world's best consulting detective walked through the door to her rooms at 221A Baker Street. She found her husband, Dr. Rick Watson, busy at the typewriter.

"There you are, Kate. I'm just finishing up my latest story on your incredible adventures. I'm calling it, The Adventure of the Tiger of San Pedro. Catchy, what?"

Kate kissed her husband. "Really, Rick, don't you think the titles are a bit….over the top? It was hardly an adventure. Just a few simple deductions and it was all over."

"Oh, simple for you, but not for the rest of the human race."

Kate blushed. "That's very sweet, but I need to do the London Times crossword puzzle."

Rick frowned. "I thought you had given them up as too easy?"

"I had my friend Mr. Azad translate the clues into conversational Persian. I plan to read them backwards in the mirror while hanging upside down. It might be a bit less boring that way."

Watson frowned. "Um, if you hang upside down, won't your skirts, um, fall down as well, exposing your legs?"

"I suppose."

"I'll help you out." Watson said, rising from his typewriter and going to her.

However, there was a knock on the door and the voice of their landlady, Mrs. Victoria Hudson called out, "Mrs. Holmes? There are two gentlemen here to see you."

Watson cursed under his breath.

"Send them in." Said Kate.

Two men came in, one was a stocky man in his late thirties who had a bristling mustache and pince nez glasses. He was quite well dressed. The other was older and also mustachioed, but was not as well dressed as his friend and appeared to be a bit more worn.

"Mrs. Holmes, I'm…."

Kate held up her hand. "You are Americans, obviously, and you, sir, are both wealthy and well educated. However, you have led a vigorous life, partly in the American West. However, you have now turned your attentions to politics. Your friend is definitely a westerner, not as well educated as you, sir, but hardly ignorant. And you are a lawman, sir."

"How the devil did you know all of that?" The second man demanded.

"Your hat is a Stetson, a type often worn in the west and you have a curious hat band of a type made by the Shoshone Indians. Your belt show signs of wear consistent with the wearing of a holster, and since you are coming to visit me, I have to assume you are a lawman and not a lawbreaker. As for your friend, he has a key from the Phi Beta Kappa on his watch fob, indicating he was an excellent student. His clothes bespeak wealth, so an excellent education is to be assumed. I would guess…."

"Yes, yes. All well and good, Mrs. Holmes. I am Theodore Roosevelt and I am a police commissioner for the City of New York. This is my friend, Charles Siringo, of the Pinkerton's Detective Agency. We are here searching for a killer. A vicious killer who has killed in both New York and London."

"How odd that he should kill two different cities. Do you have a motive for him, or any other information?"

"He was partners with a man called Jordan Keegan. The man wrote music hall pieces for a living. Light, fluffy stuff, nothing vigorous about it at all. And a lot of scantily clad women as well. But as a sideline he wrote truly dreadful books about murdering people. Horrible things. And it seems he killed people for the sheer sadistic joy it gave him. Charley here cornered him in his lodgings and shot it out with him. But Keegan set fire to his place before he died and a lot of the evidence was destroyed. We did find he had a partner, Trevor Nigel, who fled to London. We have a description of him, but it could fit half the Americans in London. However, he did work with Keegan writing those music hall pieces."

Kate thought for a moment. "I suppose we should begin by canvassing the local music halls to see if any Americans had shown up recently."

At the mention of music halls, both Watson and Siringo smiled, then quickly wiped the smiles from their faces before their partner could see it.

"My husband will, of course, accompany me. I shall disguise myself as an, oh, so scandalous upper class twit." Kate looked at Mr. Roosevelt. "You sir, should be yourself. A wealthy American seeing the world with….Your uncle."

That evening, Kate dressed rather scandalously and Rick, dressed very un-scandalously, and the two Americans began a tour of music halls.

At the first one, Kate asked an usher, "My American friend was told that there was an American playing here. A dancer I believe. I wonder if we could see him." Kate handed the man a one pound note. And that was all that was needed to get them back stage.

However, the American turned out to be a man of what Mr. Roosevelt referred to as the Negro race. However, Mr. Roosevelt stopped and talked to the man for some twenty minutes before taking his leave.

"That was not the man." Watson said. "Wrong race."

"True. "Replied Roosevelt, "But since the Civil War, his people have been faithful Republicans. Perhaps he'll vote for me one day."

The next two music halls had no Americans, but the next one did. Again, a little money got them back stage to meet, Cuchillo the Great, an American who threw knives at his lovely, and scantily dressed, assistant. Oddly enough, his knife always seemed to nick some part of the lady's clothing, exposing some skin. Quite scandalous.

"This could be him." Siringo muttered as they were led backstage. "Our killer killed with a knife. I know a little something about throwing knives and knife fights. Let me talk to him. Maybe he'll slip up."

Cuchillo the Great, born George Moore, was happy to talk to fellow Americans. He was happy because he'd been in London for over five years, and was homesick. Roosevelt told Cuchillo to look him up if he got to New York and he'd buy a ticket to see Cuchillo.

A brief talk with the theater people confirmed that Cuchillo had indeed been in London for five years.

The next music hall featured am American actor. As soon as they saw him, they knew he wasn't their man either. The actor, who was billed as Edgar Sands was a comedian, and extremely fat. In fact, he spent the whole time they were with him, eating. As they were leaving, he was still eating.

"In addition to not being anything like our description, he'd be too busy eating to kill anyone." Watson said, grumpily.

But Kate had heard something. A soft American voice. Peeking into a dressing room she saw a tall, stately blonde woman, heavily made up and wearing an elegant wig.

"Oh, you are so elegant." Kate said, entering the dressing room. "I must have you for one of my parties at our country home. Can you give me your name and where we might contact you?" She tossed the woman a notebook which she managed to catch clumsily.

Kate smiled. "Mr. Roosevelt, Mr. Siringo, I've found you Trevor Nigel for you."

Once Nigel had been arrested and they were all back at 221A Baker Street, Roosevelt asked how Kate had unmasked Nigel.

"It was with the help of your Mark Twain. In one of his books, Huckleberry Finn was disguised as a girl, wearing a dress. A suspicious woman threw him something, which he caught, but the woman noticed that Finn closed his legs when catching as a man, used to wearing trousers would do. A woman, used to wearing skirts would open her legs to if she missed the object thrown to her, it would fall onto her dress. The "woman" closed her legs like a man."

Roosevelt nodded. "You are truly the greatest detective."