I arose a bit late the next morning, but shaved and hurried down to see which train we would take to Beasley Manor. To my consternation, Holmes was not there in our sitting room. Mrs. Hudson had laid my place at the table. Evidently hearing my footsteps on the floor, she hurried my coffee along with a lovely meal. I asked her, curiously, where Mr. Holmes might be. Her rejoinder was that he had left quite a bit earlier saying he had some errands before we were to leave. I couldn’t imagine what they could have been, though in his mind, he must have generated something that he thought he might find answers to here in the city.
I asked, “Mrs. Hudson, did he say anything more?”
“Just that you would be catching the 11:14, and hoped you would be prepared to join him,” she said.
I was just finishing my eggs, bacon and a delightful bun, as our door opened and Holmes stepped in. to my dismay, he was limping. I arose and asked, concernedly, "Holmes, dear friend, what happened to you?”
He shook his head at me in a dismissive way suggesting I should not be concerned.
“Holmes,” I said, “That looks like a nasty sprain, or you’ve possible twisted your knee itself. What ever happened?”
“I hesitate to tell you.”
“Were you assaulted? Who were the dastards?” I insisted.
“No, no, Watson, good fellow. I almost wish I had a better explanation, but I fear it to be a bit foolish.”
“Well, then, what did happen? That looks frightfully painful,” I said.
“Really it is minor, though I confess, it is painful, and somewhat limiting.”
“Of course, “ I went on, “We must postpone our trip to Beasley Manor to another day.
“No,” said Holmes. “It is in fact Beasley Manor that is the cause, indirectly, for this folly.”
“How, then, do you relate your injury to Beasley Manor,” I queried.
“As you said yesterday, at times I drift into a trance-like state when my mind reaches for possibilities . . . and without sufficient data. I fear I was mulling on what we had heard from Lady Beasley. I was thinking of the Earl dancing or leaping, or whatever he was doing, and strangely I found myself leaping around. Most foolish I must admit. Has Lestrade or someone from the Scotland Yard seen me, they may well have had me committed.”
"But why. . . , " I began, but he cut me off and went on.
“I only emerged from my deep thought patterns when I inadvertently over-stepped myself, and falling on the curb, or off it more precisely, I preceded to bring myself to this injury. With perhaps some wrapping and a stick, we can carry on. Yes, we must go on. This problem is intriguing me more and more.”
And with that, I wrapped his knee. We grabbed our grips and found ourselves on the 11:14 toward Beasley Manor.
Holmes scarcely had time to collect his usual cache of morning papers, without which it would have been difficult for him to endure the inactivity of our train trip. He was perusing them casually but suddenly brightened and sat quite erect.
“What” I asked, "did you find."
“Beasley Manor, Yes, by Jove, Beasley Manor.”
“Has something happened there since yesterday? Is there now a crime? Just what have you discovered?”
“No, no, “he quickly responded. “No crime, but perhaps the key.”
“Key,” I asked. “What key?”
“What divorce?” His reply had left me at sea regarding how it applied to Beasley Manor, “The Earl is unmarried!”
“Just so. But this item is not immediately with him. It is about the divorce or Lord and Lady Forecastle.”
“Well,” I responded, “What about it or them?”
Holmes replied, “At this point it is only conjecture, yet suggestive.
“How so? You’ve lost me completely.”
“As I said, it is merely conjecture," Holmes explained. Lord Forecastle and the Earl of Beasley have been very close chums since Cambridge. They have a passion for betting on the races and attending the gaming tables in the city.”
“But Lady Beasley indicated that her family had no financial concerns, unless their have been substantial losses of which we’ve not heard.”
“No” said Holmes, “I’ve not heard anything of the like and my ears usually bring me such news. No, it is something far deeper, I fear, if this is all connected.”
“Well, then” I urged, “What do you think is involved?”
“We shan’t know unless more data come our way. Ah, here we are at our station. Watson, get us a dogcart as I hobble along to join you.
I’ve stiffened up a bit.
“But . . . ,” I sputtered.
“No more until we arrive at Beasley Manor. I would direct your thoughts to the beautiful Lady Forecastle.”
Our dog cart arrived.