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William Shakespeare pulled on his Van Dyke beard, smoothing it, and then pulling again. “No, no, no. I have no living brother.”
Watson chuckled. “He distinctly asked me, ‘Who said I was alive?’”
“That’s a great line from a play I once wrote.”
Holmes eyed the backdrop that was being put in place backstage and the workers there. “Your next play?”
“It is.”
“New?”
“Old, actually.”
“And it’s title?”
“March through Hell.”
“Rather morbid sounding.”
“The working class loves this kind of play. It’s how they see the world, dark and foreboding. A challenge they can never win at. It shall have a happy ending.”
Holmes smiled. “They need hope.”
“We all do, especially you if what you say of my brother is true.”
“Why is that?”
“The man was certifiably insane when he left this world.”
Watson scowled at those words. “You mean we’re being haunted by a bloody ghost with mental problems?”
William barked with laughter. “What a great line, might I use it with my play?”
“Be my guest.”
William nodded, and then considered what he had asked. He tended to be somewhat impulsive at times, acting upon the moment, when further thought would yield far better results. He paused, chewed on his beard a moment, and then smiled. And as a guest, I shall much like you to review the changes in my play just this moment to reflect what we have talked about.”
Holmes eyed William questioningly.
“I shall call my new play “The Ghost of Warden’s Borough.”
“The insane asylum,” Watson chuckled. “Will, I don’t know whether to be flattered, or to think you truly as mad as your departed brother.”
William laughed. “Thank God for that!”
Holmes turned back from what he had been
watching. “Tell me, William, if you had a brother....
alive that is...how tall would he be?”
“Almost your height. Very gaunt and slender. Rough voice, but cultured.”
“I see.”
Watson turned to watch where Holmes was looking. “And how old would he be?”
William turned to watch the workers. He frowned a moment, then pointed. “About the same as that man carrying the swords.”
The man carrying the swords swung about, almost as if on cue, a smile on his face.
Watson gasped. “It’s him, Holmes! The stranger who attacked us!”
The man moved so quickly that none of them were prepared for what happened next. A triple bladed dagger hurled through the air.
At Watson’s face!
