A Mysterious Place
Holmes and I were in Bedfordshire on a case. There had been a break-in at an old estate, and yet the muddy footprints found at the scene did not match any of the soil types in close proximity to the building. As a result, we went for an exploratory walk in the surrounding area, with Holmes bending down to pinch a little earth between his fingers every now and again.
Our journey was notable for its eerie quietude. We passed not a soul as we walked, and when we eventually reached the main road, there was not a vehicle in sight.
“It’s like the land of the dead out here,” I remarked.
“Watson,” Holmes said, “you’re a reasonably well-journeyed man, are you not?”
“Well yes, I suppose I am,” I replied. “More so than your average London gentleman, I would venture.”
“In that case, I am sure this is not the first time that you have come across a place that has roads without vehicles, streets without people, and rivers without a single living creature in them.”
I scratched my head. “I can’t say that I have, Holmes. Even in the quietest of places, there’s always a person or two about, or a few tiddlers swimming in a stream.”
But when he told me of the place he had in mind, I realized that of course I was familiar with it, and had in fact spent many a happy hour exploring its reaches. What was it?