Prompt from cjnwriter: The Adventure of the Combustible Fruitcake


The Adventure of the Combustible Fruitcake

"Holmes?"

"Watson! You're alive!"

"I cannot see, Holmes! I've been struck blind!"

"No, no, Watson. There are simply no lights."

"Where are we? I cannot remember. How did we get here?"

"I am afraid we are in the sub-cellar of Professor Hackberry. Do you recall that?"

"Hackberry? No, I don't… Wait. Yes, Holmes. We came looking for the missing Bank of England note plates. Hackberry was going to flood the country with worthless pound notes!"

"That's right, Watson. And Hackberry returned while we were down here searching."

"Yes. Of course. But why are there no lights? What became of Hackberry?"

"It seems he was prepared for interlopers. He threw a lever and detonated an explosive device. Along with the printing press, it destroyed the lighting and the staircase, and disabled the cargo lift."

"We're thirty feet below ground, Holmes. What can we do?"

"I used up my matches searching the room, Watson."

"And?"

"Aside from a large, well stocked toolbox, I'm afraid all I found was a crate full of inexpensive, prepackaged fruitcakes and a dozen bottles of very bad vodka."

"Oh. I suppose we will not starve for a few days, at least."

"Watson, it's fruitcake."

"Yes. You're right. Not sure what I was thinking. Must be the lump on my head."

"Do not worry, old friend. I will think of something."

"You have my full confidence, Holmes, but in the meantime, Professor Hackberry is escaping."

"Doubtful. He surely thinks we are dead or at least out of the way. I dare say he will not risk drawing attention to himself by departing immediately after you and I disappear."

"Could we somehow repair the stairs, Holmes?"

"Quite impossible. There are no pieces of sufficient size to build anything."

"What about the lift?"

"I do not think it is badly damaged. I may be able to scavenge parts from what is left of the printing press. I need light to work, though."

"I still have my matches Holmes. We could build a fire with pieces of the staircase."

"No, Watson. We would suffocate on the smoke before ever I got the repair completed."

"There has got to be some answer, Holmes."

"Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Have you your clasp knife?"

"I do."

"Pass it to me, will you?"

"Here. Got it?"

"Yes. Strike a match."

"What are you thinking?"

"The fruitcake, Watson."

"Good God, man! You aren't that desperate, yet!"

"Watson! Strike the match."

Watson drew his matchbox from his waistcoat pocket and duly struck one match. It's meager flame was enough to show Holmes digging through a crate. Just before the match burned Watson's fingers, Holmes tore open one of the packages of fruitcake.

"Do you need me to strike another match, Holmes?"

"Not yet. I can do this part by feel."

"Perhaps you could tell me what you are planning."

"It occurred to me, Watson, that some recipes for fruitcake call for soaking it in spirits and setting it alight before serving."

"Holmes, we can last as much as seven days without food. Perhaps someone will find us before then. No need for drastic measures."

"Do not worry. I have no intention of eating this vile block of gooey, resinous dessert substitute."

"Then what?"

"Come closer and strike another match."

Again, Watson obeyed his friend. This time the light revealed Holmes crouched over a slice of the so called cake with a bottle of vodka in his hand. Immediately he began to pour a steady trickle of the clear alcohol onto the slice. Just when the match was about to burn Watson's fingers Holmes grabbed his hand and forced the flame to the now sodden slice of cake. A vivid blue flame flared up and burned steadily.

"What do you think, now, Watson?"

"Impressive. The cake is acting like a wick. Is it enough light to work by?"

"It will be. And no fear of choking on smoke."

"Can you fix the lift, Holmes?"

"I believe so, Watson. We will know in a very few minutes."

"And when we get out of here, we will teach Professor Hackberry to never imprison Englishmen with combustible fruitcake again!"