Long Title is Long Sweenlock 3The Rather Nasty Business on Fleet Street or: The Story of Watson's Mustache Chapter 3 (final)
The next two days blurred together in a rush of faces and useless names. Holmes was intent upon finding Johanna's origins, and became more and more intrigued when they did not present themselves easily. He also became desperate to find the old beggar woman. I could barely keep up with him as he ran from place to place, interrogating shopkeepers, orphanage workers, and beggars. Toby came about late the second day with little news about Johanna. Holmes told him to check mental asylums, and asked him about Mr. Todd.
"I don't 'ave much to do wiv Mr. Todd, truth be told. I mostly work for Mrs. Lovett, cleaning and whatnot. There's been a lot to do, recently. She's re-opening the shop, see? We've been remodeling. Should be open by the end of the week, way we've been at it.
Long Title is Long Sweenlock 2The Rather Nasty Business on Fleet Street or: The Story of Watson's Mustache Chapter 2
The next day, Toby Ragg arrived at our door near lunch-time, short of breath and carrying a grungy sack. I imagined it to contain all of his earthly possessions. Holmes beckoned him upstairs to interrogate him.
"An explanation is in order, young man."
"I'm dreadful sorry, Mr. 'olmes, sir. But you see, I found new employment yesterday. Signor Pirelli dismissed me from 'is service. I've only now gone and got my things from 'is cart." Ragg indicated his sack. "Now I'm running errands for Mr. Todd."
"I hope that I am not the cause of your dismissal?" asked Holmes, prompting the boy to continue.
"Oh no, sir! Well you see, Signor took me along to Mr. Todd's establishment, seein' as 'ow 'e got 'is arse 'anded to 'im in the contest that morning. 'e went to pay off 'is wager. Well, I waite
Long Title is Long Sweenlock 1The Rather Nasty Business on Fleet Street or: The Story of Dr. Watson's Mustache Chapter 1
It was a foggy and dismal morning in April. I had walked into the sitting room of the flat at 221b Baker Street to find it as a battlefield; papers and miscellany strewn about the place. I found my flatmate sitting on his haunches, deep in thought, presumably over the bowl of purplish liquid sitting before him. He looked quite disheveled, his hair uncombed and his clothes covered in stains and rips. I judged that it was best not to disturb him, and attempted to clear a space upon the table. I went in search of my own tea; Mrs. Hudson certainly did not need to see this mess. When I returned with two cups of tea, it was to find Holmes pacing about, the contents of the bowl now a part of the rug. He had evidently kicked it over in frustration.
"Good morning, Holmes," I said. "Discover anything groundb