The Fantastic Horror of the Disembodied Gun

Chapter Seven

A little before the appointed hour, our cab pulled up outside the Blackfriars Public House and refused to go any further.

"You're on foot from here, governor," the cabman called down. "I wouldn't hang about here if I was you, not if you want to see another Christmas. Unless of course you know what you're looking for," he added with a chuckle. "You'll find it all right down by the river. Just watch out for them sailors. They're none too choosy this time of year."

"Wait for us," I said, ignoring his salacious remarks. "We won't be long."

"What, me hang around here? You think I was born yesterday?"

So saying, he clicked his tongue and whipped up the horse.

"I should take his number," Lestrade said as the cab rattled away in the fog. "Insolent devil. Mind you, he's right about one thing. This area isn't good for the health. And that's aside from this damned fog." He tucked his scarf into his collar and shivered. "What's the time?"

"Ten to twelve. We're early."

"Better than being late. That a new watch, is it, Doctor?"

In the absence of my usual timepiece, I had had to rifle through my box to find the old watch of my younger years. It had been silvered at one time, but long use and the carelessness of a young man had left shiny areas of the brass base metal showing through. It wore its battle scars with pride: the chip to the enamelled dial where I had dropped it in the bath in haste to get to the first of many medical examinations; the love-token scratched in the back by a girl who had promised to wait for me while I was at war, now but a distant memory, and the dent to the cover where a dying man had struck out in his agony of delirium on a foreign field of battle and had knocked it from my pocket. We were old campaigners both, and the return to harness suited us well.

"No, Lestrade, an old one," I explained. "My other was stolen."

"The one your brother left you." His eyes twinkled in the dull light when I glanced at him. "We've all read The Sign of Four. I think there can't be a man in London who wouldn't know about your watch. Did you report it?"

Considering the circumstances of the theft, I had resigned myself to its loss. Doubtless rumours were already beginning to spread about a certain Dr Watson making merry in Southwark and I did not wish to stoke the fire further.

"I'll tell the lads in uniform to keep an eye out for it in any case," said Lestrade, blowing his nose into a copious handkerchief. "You are armed, aren't you, Doctor?"

"I thought Scotland Yard frowned on private citizens walking the streets of London with guns on their person?"

"Normally, yes, we do. But I don't fancy taking a walk down by the riverside with nothing but my wits for protection. If I'd known it was going to get lively, I'd have come prepared."

"Then, yes, I am. Aren't you?"

He sniffed. "Not tonight. The wife thought my old revolver looked dirty, so she gave it wash in the sink with the dishes. She was that pleased with herself that I didn't like to tell her she'd near ruined it. I'll have to have it seen to after Christmas. Couldn't shoot a hole in a rice pudding with it at the moment. Looks like I'll have to rely on this."

He drew a penknife from his pocket and turned it over several times in his hand.

"See that. It's got an attachment for removing stones from horses' hooves. You could do a bit of damage with that."

"Then let's pray we don't need it," I said.

We descended into a God-forsaken vision of wretchedness in the gaping arches of the bridge. A drunk staggered towards us, waving his gin bottle and singing an obscene version of 'The Holly and The Ivy'. He appeared not to see us and wandered on his way, leaving a stench of cheap liquor. In his wake followed a thin dog that sniffed hopefully at our hands. When he discovered we had nothing to offer, he wandered on his way again. Huddled in the shadows, bundles of rags marked the sleeping places of the destitute. Here and there, a head bobbed up to take notice of our approach, whilst others slept on, uninterested or too dulled by the cold to care. As long as we did not interfere with them, then we were of no concern. If we had come looking for trouble, however, then they would make sure we had found it.

The longer we lingered, however, the more attention we earned ourselves. A group gathered around a meagre fire at the furthermost end of the arch began to stare and I heard drunken mumblings amidst the chorus of coughs and moans. I caught myself feeling for my weapon and I was glad I had had the foresight to bring it. Then, behind us, I heard the sound of footsteps and was suddenly aware of a presence. We turned to find a small whippet of a man with his hat pulled down and a scarf wrapped about his lower face.

"That must be him," whispered Lestrade. "Go on. Let's get this over with."

"I have what you want," I spoke up. "The envelope Professor Croxley gave me."

The figure did not move.

"Where is Mr Holmes?"

In reply, the man held out his hand.

"You may have it when we have Mr Holmes."

He twitched his fingers in a gesture that suggested I should be the first to comply.

It was not the way I should have conducted the business. The advantage lay on their side, not ours. What concerned me most of all was what would happen if they chanced to study what I was about give them. On Lestrade's suggestion, I had created a jumble of abstract numbers and letters to give the impression of a formula written in code. At the time, I had thought it appeared quite convincing. Now I was less sure.

"Not until I know he's safe."

There would be no negotiation on that point, or so I thought. Then the man drew a gun from his pocket and levelled it at our stomachs.

"You'd better give it to him, Doctor," Lestrade advised.

"I will have an assurance of Holmes's safety first," I said firmly.

"You'll get yourself shot behaving like that. Have you any idea how hard it is to find a doctor who'll come out on Christmas Eve?" He plucked the envelope from my hand. "Here, take your blasted letter," he called out to the man. "Just you remember, my lad, that you harm so much as one hair on Mr Holmes's head, you'll have the full force of Scotland Yard to deal with."

He approached warily, snatched the envelope from Lestrade and darted away.

"Right, after him!" exclaimed Lestrade. "We'll follow him back to his hideout and find out where he's holding Mr Holmes."

I caught at his arm. "I'll go. You aren't armed. He is."

"And let you go on your own? Come on, Doctor, he'll have got clean away by the time we've argued it out between ourselves."

We ran through the fog blindly in the direction the man had gone. The river lapped and gurgled unseen behind us we skirted the old church of St Benet's, following the sound of running footsteps up ahead, and along Queen Victoria Street. Finally, choked and wheezing, we staggered to a halt beside the iron railings of the ancient College of Arms.

"Lost him," muttered Lestrade. "Curse this fog! Well, there's nothing for it, Dr Watson. We'll have to split up. You carry on, I'll head up towards St Paul's."

"It's a warren around there," I replied. "He's probably gone to ground."

"I dare say he has," said the detective, pulling himself up to his full height. "But I'll not have those City of London boys say a Scotland Yard man lost his quarry on their patch. Keeping looking, Doctor, we'll find him."

We parted and I continued my journey up Peter's Hill. A few hundred yards along the road, I could hear nothing and see even less. In retrospect, it seemed foolish to have left Lestrade and concern drew me back. As I reached the corner where the gas lamp on the corner by the College of Arms daubed yellow patches on the swirling mists, the stillness was suddenly split by the sound of a gunshot.

My heart leapt and I was running before I knew what I was doing. The sound had been muffled and could have come from either direction, yet natural inclination took me along Knightrider Street and into the jumble of alleyways beyond. I called Lestrade's name and was met with silence. I ran again and finally came upon a figure making his way wearily along the pavement towards me.

"Lestrade, thank the high heavens," said I, when I saw that it was indeed he. "What happened? Did you find him?"

"Oh, I found him all right," said he indignantly. "I got him cornered and he goes and looses off a shot at me, blast his eyes. Look at that," said he, showing me a hole in the brim of his hat. "I don't know what the wife's going to say. That was a present from her mother."

I laughed in spite of myself, pleased that he had emerged from the experience unscathed.

"What now?" he said. "Will that paper you gave him stand up to close inspection?"

I shook my head. "Not if they give it to any scientist worth his salt."

"Then why the devil—?"

"I was hoping that Holmes would have been present at the exchange. I didn't expect… this."

"Well, we've got it, whatever it is." Lestrade sighed. "What an evening! One day we'll look back and all have a good laugh about it."

I wanted to say that I hoped that day would come, but I found that I could not muster any enthusiasm. At that moment, lost amidst the maze of buildings that rose in the manner of grey and red canyon walls about us, it seemed as though all hope had fled from the world and, like the sun, was a distant and forlorn memory.

"There's nothing we can do standing around here," said Lestrade, sniffing back a dewdrop that had appeared on the end of his red nose. "I propose we return to Baker Street. I don't see what else we can do now but wait for news. Mr Holmes is sure to turn up, one way or another."

One way – the best way, as far as we were concerned – was that Holmes had beaten us back to Marylebone and would be waiting for us on our return. I allowed myself to indulge in hope, that most precious of commodities, when I saw the light in the familiar window. I flew up the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me and flung open the door to the sitting room. The room was empty, the fire burned low and the lamp as I had left it, unextinguished in the haste of my departure.

I returned downstairs to inform Lestrade and then engaged in the usual tussle of consciences where he would insist that he should remain and I would have it that he was sent home to the bosom of his family without another moment's delay. I had kept him long enough, I said. His assistance had been appreciated, but now it was time for him to go, along with his damaged hat. He was clearly unhappy with the prospect, although he saw that nothing was to be gained by us both keeping vigil.

"I'll leave word down at the local nick," said he. "They'll let me know if there's any developments." He chose his words with care. "Not that I'm expecting any, mind," he added hurriedly. "In the meantime, if he turns up here…"

"You'll be the first to know."

"Good. And don't you worry about disturbing my Christmas lunch either. Frankly, it'll be a welcome change. What with Cousin Arthur who can't eat greens and the sister-in-law who wouldn't eat meat, it's always a trial getting them all around the table this time of year. Then there's Aunt Muriel. You ask me, that woman hasn't been right in the head since she came back from Cheltenham. I don't know what they did to her up there, but she hasn't stopped crying since. Well, good night, Dr Watson. Don't be a stranger."

"Nor you, Lestrade. And thank you, once again."

"My pleasure." He paused. "You know, Mr Holmes might be the bane of my professional life, but things would be a good deal duller around here without him. It seems as though you can't live with him, and you can't live without him none either." He forced a chuckled. "Well, when he does put in an appearance, you tell him from me that he spoilt a darned good whisky and he owes me a hat."

As he drove away in the cab, I began to wish that I had not been so insistent that he leave. All through the long night, I waited. Dawn came and still there was no word. My imagination had been able to conjure demons enough to torment a phalanx of saints, so that by morning I was feeling thoroughly wretched. I could not stomach the breakfast that Mrs Hudson brought and when she returned to find my plate untouched, she clicked her tongue in matronly fashion and reprimanded me.

"Now, Dr Watson, don't you go brooding about Mr Holmes. If he chooses to miss his Christmas lunch because of his silly insistence on goose, then so be it. We'll pay him no mind."

I had not the heart to tell her the real reason behind his absence.

"Now, I've got the bird on and a fine specimen it is too," she went on blithely. "I'm planning on lunch at one o'clock. Is that all right with you, Dr Watson?"

I said it was, although my mind was far from thoughts of turkey and the trimmings. Then, amidst the clatter of the breakfast things, came the sudden jangling of the bell. I was up and out of my chair and running for the door before it stopped. Lestrade was outside, his hand still raised to the bell, his face grim.

"You have news?" I asked.

He looked uncomfortable. "May I step inside a moment?"

I stood aside just as Mrs Hudson started down the stairs with a fully-laden tray. "Well, if it isn't that nice Mr Lestrade," said she, beaming rosily. "I hope you aren't neglecting that wife of yours."

"No, Mrs H, she's well, thanks for asking," said he, removing his hat.

"Will you be staying, Inspector?"

"No. I just wanted a word with Dr Watson." When she disappeared back into her kitchen, Lestrade lowered his voice. "I've had word, Doctor, from the Thames Division, over at Wapping. A body was pulled from the river about an hour ago. The Inspector in charge over there says… that is to say, he has reason to think it is Mr Holmes."

Surely not! Has it all gone horribly wrong?

Find out in Chapter Eight!