Alrighty here's part 2. Sorry it took so long. I was just so busy reading all the great stories on here that I didn't have time to finish my own! Anyway, I own nothing but Mr. Cummings, whom I don't give a hang about.

Please R&R! Thanks.

"The Adventure of The Rival Detective"

Part 2

I awoke early the next morning fully expecting Holmes to have arrived during the night, and be awaiting my anxious ears into which he might pour the tale of his evening. To my surprise, and Mrs. Hudsons' dismay, he had not returned. Or if he had, he must have left again exceedingly early. Our brief inspection of his bedroom disproved the latter theory. This not being terribly abnormal, I continued to my breakfast.

That afternoon, at the previously appointed time, Randall Cummings arrived for his second interview. Holmes had yet to return.

"Well Mr. Cummings," said I. " How goes your investigation? Any new breakthroughs?"

He shook his head sadly.

"Nothing too definite sir. Though I've not been idle I assure you! I had a terrible thought yesterday after I left here. And not wanting to cause any public uproar over the incident, I spoke to the Countess at once about having the river dragged."

"Why Cummings! Don't you think that was rather abrupt? The poor woman!"

"Well sir," he answered meekly. "I thought it better that she be introduced to the dreadful possibility by myself than by a London paperboy. I told her that with some special equipment, and some discrete assistance, I could do a sufficient job of it myself without involving the official force. Of course, I informed her that Scotland Yard could, in all probability do a better job, at no cost to Her Grace. And the equipment I would need was rather costly, but she insisted. Alas, I thoroughly searched over the entire stretch of the river. From it's nearest point to my lodgings, since we know he at least came that far, all the way to the dam. I found no body, but you'll not believe what I did find sir!"

I leaned forward in anticipation as he dug from his breast pocket a small parcel.

"This!"

He pulled from the wrapping a battered gold pocket watch and chain. I took the item from his outstretched palm. There was a good deal of water under the glass, the minute hand has broken away and was floating about. On the back of the watch, amid many newly acquired scratches and dents, were the characters: 'J. McFain'. There was no doubt as to whom this watch had belonged.

"What a terrible tragedy. It seems he's not to be found alive then. Have you told the Countess of this recent finding?"

He did not reply, for just as I returned the item to it's locator, Sherlock Holmes burst through the sitting room door. Without a word to his astonished guest or myself, he went directly to his room, slamming the door behind.

We exchanged bewildered glances and I made an attempt at an explanation, but before I finished, Holmes returned.

"I hope I did not seem to terribly discourteous, but having been out all night, I was rather anxious to acquire some dry clothing."

"Out all night Mr. Holmes? Whatever were you doing?"

"Oh this and that...now tell me all that has transpired in the twenty-eight hours since out last meeting?", Holmes replied as he took his chair near the fire.

Cummings proceeded to recount all he had told me previously. When he finished, my friend responded with a slight smile.

"It is all just as I expected. Thank you Mr. Cummings, you have confirmed my earlier suspicions."

"You mean you thought all along it was a suicide, Holmes?"

"Then why the running through the house, Mr. Holmes? And why the appointment with me? It is all still so confusing to my thinking."

"It would seem to be one of two possibilities. In the event that it was a suicide, Mr. McFain wished for someone to take the blame for his death. In which case, the running through your landladys' parlor was obviously to give the impression that he was being pursued by the said scapegoat. Or, it was in fact, murder. Perhaps he truly was being pursued and was soon caught. Of course, we must take into consideration the fact that after he hid from the maid by standing on the outside window frame, he crept back inside the house and up to your rooms where the remains of the clothes he was last seen in were found in your fire grate last night. Tell me Mr. Cummings, have you any proof of your whereabouts Tuesday afternoon?"

Cummings leapt from his chair, knocking it over in his haste.

"Surely you don't suspect me, Mr. Holmes!? Why I didn't even know the man! It's positively absurd! What motive could I possibly have?"

"What motive?", Holmes said, rising to meet him. "What more motive could you ask? To receive free reign with the Countess' money! You said yourself she gave you absolute 'Carte Blanc' did you not? In searching your flat last evening, I found none of the equipment which you claimed to purchase."

"I left it all with the Countess, as it was technically her own property!"

"You did no such thing, I asked her. She'd seen nothing of it since her money passed into your hands. No, there was no equipment, but the money was all there in your safe. Two cheques made out to Randall Cummings by Countess McFain. I'm sure it was quite simple. Having no male relative to question your credibility, no one to protect the Countess in her naivety. It was really extraordinarily easy, was it not?"

Cummings was visibly petrified, for he shouted like a madman.

"You're mad! Why, I never heard of such a thing! I come to you for help and you have the audacity to accuse me?! I will not stand here and be threatened!"

Making good his word, the man made a beeline for the door. Before he so much as touched the handle, Holmes was there, barring the way. Cummings stared at him like a caged animal.

"I withdraw my accusation Mr. Cummings. Or rather I alter it. You did not kill John McFain. It would have been impossible for you to have done so, because you are McFain!"

Holmes reached out and grabbed at the mans' face. When Cummings jerked away, part of his nose remained on Holmes' fingers.

"I commend you Mr. McFain on your expert face contortion. But of course, you must admit that Watson and I having never before see you, and your mothers' exceedingly near-sightedness was to your immense advantage was it not?"

Scarely did Holmes complete his sentence before Cummings..er...McFain threw himself at him with a vicious scream of rage. In their struggle I saw the flash of a knife just before the poker in my hand connected with McFains' skull.

He ceased to fight as the weapon slipped from his grasp. Holmes pushed him off, went to the window and signaled to someone in the street. Within moments Inspector Lestrade and two of his sturdiest constables were carrying McFain away. He awoke struggling half way down the stairs and made the rest of the trip on his backside, swearing vengence all the way.

Once we had seen our visitors out, I turned to my friend.

"Holmes, why did you accuse McFain of murdering himself? What was the point of making him think that you thought him to be the perpertrator of a crime that had not been committed?"

He returned to his armchair and lit his cherrywood before answering.

"I'm afraid it was for an absurdly simple reason. I only wished to see his reaction. I knew his true identity, and was curious to see what he would do when confronted with the guilt of an impossible crime. It was apparent that in his elaborate plans that little possibility did not occur to him. Of course, if he had been the detective he claimed to be, he would have disclosed the gaping fallacy in my little murder theory. It was impossible for John McFain to have been chased down so busy a thoroughfare as Queen Street and yet not be seen by someone. Yet each street vender was questioned thoroughly and nothing was seen."

"Then his motive all along was to steal from his mother?"

"In my inquiries I discovered all that he told us about himself was true. No doubt, he could not find any decent woman to wed him, considering his gambling ways. Thus he resorted to deceit and trickery to come by his heritance. A sad waste of his talents, surely."

"But why involve you? Certainly that was tempting discovery."

"I could not answer that Watson. Perhaps he thought that in the event the Countess balked at further spending, my name would serve as a goad. Or perhaps it was a test of his genius. If I could not uncover his treachery, he could consider himself immune to exposure. It was a fairly well constructed plan. He rushed through the house as McFain, adding credibility to his claims through the maid. A story by two is certainly more believed than by one. I found that he had been actually living in Queen Street as Randall Cummings, private detective, for nearly four months now, and did, in fact, receive several clients. Thus his investigation into his own disappearance appeared quite legitimate. A pity, had he not put his abilities to such ill uses he might have proved a worthy rival."

"He certainly had made a fair study of your methods. The cigarette ash was quite ingenious in my thinking. Such evidence is usually overlooked by the official force."

We sat in silence a moment, each lost in our own contemplation. Suddenly another thought occurred to me.

"But Holmes," I said. " Whatever caused you to question his stories' validity in the first place?"

Holmes laughed silently and blew out a thin stream of smoke as he replied.

"My dear Watson, there are an infinite amount of strange coincidences in life. But never, never will one walk along and find only two cigarette stubs on a street."