Chapter 21

Watson

My bath, as much needed as it was, was rather rudely interrupted by a ferocious banging at our front door.

I was quite surprised, for Holmes had taken a key with him, and had no reason whatsoever to knock. Hastily, I donned my dressing gown and hurried to open the door. The rain had lessened somewhat, and nigh on two hours since Holmes's departure had passed. I would have expected him to be punctual to the minute at any rate – he usually was, if he had left instructions what should be done in case he should be delayed. At other times, he was quite capable of turning two hours into two days during which I received no word of him.

The unexpected visitor was a much dishevelled Inspector O'Neil, who hastily stepped out of the icy downpour into our hallway, where he shook himself like a dog, sending the spray into every direction. "I'm terribly sorry to burst in like this, Doctor, but I need to talk to Mr Holmes immediately."

"Mr Holmes has gone for a walk, but he should be back shortly. Here, let me take your coat, Inspector. You are most welcome to wait for him."

"A walk! In this gale?" The inspector shrugged out of his coat and dumped it on the floor beside the hatstand. "There is really no time for this. The constable I have sent to watch the vicar's cottage has had occasion to enter the dwelling. Both Mrs Stewart and her son are dead."

"Good heavens!" Holmes had not anticipated any move before nightfall, but as I cast my eyes out of the windows, I found that the horrendous weather had quite served to darken the day considerably, up to the point where the trees across the lawn were barely distinguishable.

"I need any information Mr Holmes may have for me if we want to catch those murderers before they are out of the country!"

I picked up the telegram and the note Holmes had left for me and glanced at my watch. He still had five minutes to return in time. I would not disobey his command in order to comfort a nervous and somewhat impatient inspector. Usually, I would have offered the man a seat and tried to engage him in conversation until Holmes was back and ready to see him. Since the inspector was dripping wet, it seemed like an unwise course of action. Instead, I poured us both a drink and handed one to O'Neil, leaning back against the backrest of the sofa myself.

My leg was starting to cramp up again, already radiating the tension I had tried to lessen with the hot bath. As a matter of fact, I had no wish to hear the particulars of the murder, for there was no doubt whatsoever that it was as gruesome as the previous ones. Poisonous gas could produce the ugliest of corpses. Still, I felt compelled to ask: "How was it done, Inspector?"

"Gas, apparently. Carbon monoxide, it seems. You see, my constable is somewhat of a motorcar enthusiast. He identified the signs. We also found the remainders of the device that was used to generate the gas. However, any clues to the identity of the murderer has been obliterated."

"What became of Mr McCraine? He was visiting the household as Holmes and I were there this afternoon."

"Indeed? Well, he seems to have disappeared, then." The inspector drank his brandy in one gulp, and wiped his mouth with a small hiccup. "I assume he is our man."

"Holmes thought so. But he argues that we are facing a clan of four brothers, the initials of their Christian names being R, A and twice O."

O'Neil frowned, apparently somewhat calmed by now. At least, he had straightened both his shoulders and his shirt, and sat down his glass with the due carefulness. "I see. Well, then it should not be too difficult to start a search for them. I might have to contact my colleagues in the area."

"Inspector, I understand your anxiety to get to work quickly; however, I believe we should wait for Holmes's return. He received this telegram, and gave instructions not to open it ere he returned." That was not the literal truth, but I felt disquieted by the fact that it was past the time Holmes had promised to return. "He should be here any minute now."

"Very well, Doctor. You won't mind if I pour myself a second glass of brandy?"

"No, of course not." Seemingly casually, I strolled to the window, even though my leg protested, and peered out. There was no sign of Holmes anywhere on the path leading up to the cottage, nor in the area beside it. An uncomfortable feeling settled down in my stomach and tightened my throat, as if I had swallowed something that was too big for it. As it is with memories, they often come unasked for, and with a ferocity we seldom expect. I had no cause to be reminded of the Reichenbach Falls, but the image would not be banned from my mind. Therefore, I turned around and unfolded the note Holmes had left for me.

Even though he had scribbled it quickly, and with one foot out of the door, so to speak, his writing was as immaculate as ever. There was no sign of anxiety in the swirls of his letters, and in the elegant drawing of his signature, not like the note he had left for me to find at the Falls. Still, I found that my hand shook as I started to read.

My dear Watson,

I hope you will never have occasion to read these words, as it means that I have not managed to return to the cottage in time. I departed with the knowledge that this was a possibility, and I assure you, no blame lies with you. Now, I hope that the final murder has not yet been committed, but it is just possible that my actions have, in turn, hastened theirs. Whatever the circumstances, I ask you to open the telegram now.

With fingers that suddenly felt cold and stiff, I tore open the telegram. Inspector O'Neil must have noticed my expression – I suddenly felt so very cold, and I was sure that all blood must have drained from my face – for he joined my by the window and tried to read over my shoulder.

The telegram was short and to the point, as those things usually are.

Arthur, Ralph, Owen and Oisín McCraine imprisoned for theft in the manor house of a certain James Stewart. Sentenced to manual labour, released this month. Claimed at trial theft had been planned in presence of the owner to enact insurance swindle. Stewart and lodgers Justin and Oakshot called police, no doubts raised as to their innocence. Signed, Wilkins, Edinburgh.

With some trepidation, I handed the telegram to the inspector and picked up Holmes's letter for the second time.

You will find, my dear Watson, that all of our men, criminals and victims, were involved in a common crime at some time during their past in Scotland. Somehow, the three victims managed to escape the law. The McCraines, on the other hand, have only recently been released from prison, and are in the progress of taking their revenge. I assume a large sum of money has been the issue, for it supplies us with the reason why the wives should know about it. It is for that knowledge that they are included amongst the victims. This telegram, which confirms their names, should be enough for Inspector O'Neil to warrant a search for the McCraines. Wilkins of the Edinburgh Yard will supply him with their images, should the need arise.

Now, Watson, I fear I have to address a subject which is painful to both of us, but most of all, I fear, to you. I have previously said that, since you are reading these lines, I have been detained. This, however, is only concealing the reality. With the deepest regret I must inform you that, should I not return, I have most likely been waylaid and overcome by all or some of the McCraines, and have, by the time you read these lines, in all probability met my untimely end. As we have had occasion to discuss this matter before, I assure you that this is no hoax on my part, nor have I enacted my demise for whatever purpose. I know this will give great pain to you, my dear friend, and I wish with all my heart I could have spared you that pain. I am sorry, my dear fellow.

Please, give my fondest regards to Mrs Hudson, and to my brother. The newest draft of my will remains, as usually, in his hands.

Believe me to be, very sincerely yours,

Sherlock Holmes

I believe that, upon finishing to read, I must have fainted for the second time in my life, for when my vision cleared, I found myself on the ground, my shirt collar partly undone. Inspector O'Neil knelt by my side, apparently reading the note. Even as I felt the heat springing to my face, I jumped to my feet, took the note from him and headed for my room to get properly dressed.

The inspector called after me with some surprise, but I had not the time to spare to bother to answer. I could not, would not allow myself to be too late, yet again. Not even in face of the fact that I had absolutely no idea where to look.