Showing results by author "Craig Copland" in All Categories

A beautiful young woman, just weeks away from giving birth, arrives at Baker Street in the middle of the night. Her sister was attacked by a bat and died and now it is attacking her. Could it be a vampire sent by the local band of Gypsies? Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are called upon to investigate. The step-father, the local Gypsies and the furious future mother-in-law are all suspects.

Du brauchst mehr Sherlock? Du liebst die Geschichten von Doyles Kanon, aber du willst mehr... mehr Geschichten, die den sechzig Originalen ähneln. Hier bist du richtig. Die einzigartige Tragödie der Atkinson-Brüder in Trincomalee: An Bord des Dampfschiffes Redolent, das kurz vor dem Hafen von Colombo lag, musste ich an die Worte des Kirchenliedes denken, das ich als Schuljunge in der Kapelle gesungen hatte. Sie sollten sich als besonders vorhersagend erweisen. Unter gewöhnlicheren Umständen hätten sowohl der Blick in den sternenbedeckten Himmel als auch die warme, feuchttropische Brise im Gesicht die Sinne erfreut.

THE MAN WHO WAS TWISTED BUT HIP. It is 1897 and France is torn apart by The Dreyfus Affair, a disgraceful episode of anti-Semitism that plagued France for a decade and brought out the worst of behavior in far too many French men and women. Westminster needs help from Sherlock Holmes to make sure that the evil tide of anti-Semitism that has engulfed France will not spread. While spending an uneventful morning searching for his nephew, Dr. Watson finds Sherlock Holmes and together they watch as a man is murdered, a direct consequence of the anti-Semitic conflict that is raging just across the Channel.

THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE ORANGES. THE KIDNAPPING OF A YOUNG WOMAN LEADS SHERLOCK HOLMES INTO A DEADLY BATTLE WITH THE KKK. On a miserable rainy evening a desperate father enters 221B Baker Street. His daughter has been kidnapped and spirited off the North America. The evil network who has taken her have spies everywhere. Years ago in America they murdered his father and his wife. They set fire to his home and burned them to death. Now, if he goes to Scotland Yard he knows that they will kill his beloved daughter. There is only one hope - Sherlock Holmes.

THE HUDSON VALLEY MYSTERY. A TERRIBLE TRAGEDY HAS TAKEN PLACE JUST OUTSIDE NEW YORK CITY. A YOUNG MAN MURDERED HIS FATHER AND THEN WENT STARK RAVING MAD. Sherlock Holmes is called upon by the lad's mother to solve the crime. So Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson make their way to America. There they meet the villains of Tammany Hall and maybe - no one will ever know - a ghostly apparition the haunts the pleasant glade known as Sleepy Hollow.

Pray tell, are you addicted to Sherlock Holmes stories? Read the entire Canon? But you need MORE SHERLOCK? You came to the singularly correct place. Sixty new "canonical" Sherlock Holmes stories; each one a tribute to one of the original stories in the Canon. Enjoy. STUDYING SCARLET. A strikingly beautiful mature woman from The South has come to London in search of her estranged husband. She makes contact with three of his associates and a few days later all three are dead, garroted by a shadowy group of anarchists. In need of help she enters 221B Baker Street and hires the world's greatest detective.

Eine schöne, junge Frau betritt die Baker Street 221B. Ihr Vater, dessen engster Freund und ein junger Medizinstudent sind alle in den letzten zwei Wochen gestorben. Obwohl jede Leiche kurz nach dem Tod gefunden wurde, war stets die Totenstarre bereits eingetreten. Die junge Frau glaubt, dass alle ermordet wurden, und sucht die Hilfe von Sherlock Holmes. Die Geschichte ist von der ursprünglichen Sherlock Holmes-Geschichte "Das Zeichen der Vier" inspiriert. Fans von Sherlock Holmes finden hier ihre geliebten Charaktere in einem völlig neuen Krimi.

Du brauchst mehr Sherlock? Du liebst die Geschichten von Doyles Kanon, aber du willst mehr... mehr Geschichten, die den sechzig Originalen ähneln. Hier bist du richtig. Das Fass Lagavulin: "Ah, Watson, wie nett von Ihnen, sich mir anzuschließen. Ich hoffe, ich habe Ihre Arbeit im Krankenhaus nicht gestört." "Keineswegs. Wir jüngeren Ärzte werden nicht gerade überlaufen von Patienten." "Noch nicht, mein lieber Junge. Noch nicht. Ich bin jedoch sehr dankbar, dass Sie hier sind, und ich gehe davon aus, dass es Ihnen gefallen wird, mein Treffen mit diesem Kollegen aufzuzeichnen."

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."

"To the man who loves intellectual stimulation," remarked Sherlock Holmes, "London in August is the lowliest month on the calendar. Those with the means to do so have departed for the Algarve and the Riviera. Those without are off to Blackpool and Brighton." "And what about those," I asked, "who are left behind? You and I are still here." "You at least have your sensational accounts of my efforts to keep scribbling. I, on the other hand, am losing faith in the enterprising criminal class."

On Easter Sunday of 1919, Lady Lillian Assherton attempted to take her own life, a second time. Her first attempt was in the fall of 1917 when Her Ladyship, recently widowed, received news that both of her sons, officers in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, died at Passchendaele.

He was not much more than a child. I estimated his age at fourteen. He was a handsome boy, with the raven-black hair and deeply tanned skin color that marks a person who came from the lands under the Raj. His young body was beginning to show the signs of an emerging well-made sportsman. From his place, lying on his back on the pavement, his dark-brown eyes stared up at the morning sky ... lifeless. Behind his head was a pool of blood, now darkened and congealed.

Royston Giles Tamblyn III paid a visit to 221B Baker Street without a prior appointment on the morning of Saturday, 4 May 1901. He was a handsome young fellow, with flawless pale skin, well-combed hair that was blond-on-its-way-to-brown, and straight, gleaming teeth. He was dressed in a blazer and flannels, a creaseless white shirt, and an expertly tied old-school tie. In his polished boots, I could have seen my reflection had I bent over to inspect them.

Royston Giles Tamblyn III paid a visit to 221B Baker Street without a prior appointment on the morning of Saturday, 4 May 1901. He was a handsome young fellow, with flawless pale skin, well-combed hair that was blond-on-its-way-to-brown, and straight, gleaming teeth. He was dressed in a blazer and flannels, a creaseless white shirt, and an expertly tied old-school tie. In his polished boots, I could have seen my reflection had I bent over to inspect them.

Sherlock Holmes was not happy. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I will not see her now. Send her away and tell her to come back later." It was just past seven in the morning and we were enjoying an early coffee on a pleasant Sunday in the first week of June 1902, when Mrs. Hudson interrupted us. Holmes's longsuffering landlady did not leave.

On Easter Sunday of 1919, Lady Lillian Assherton attempted to take her own life, a second time. Her first attempt was in the fall of 1917 when Her Ladyship, recently widowed, received news that both of her sons, officers in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, died at Passchendaele.