The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime
Chapter 21
As a doctor, I was certain that Holmes must have fainted by now. The pain, in addition to little sleep and equally little food must take its toll, not considering the fact that the rope was so tight that it complicated the task of breathing.
As a friend, I did hope that he was conscious, and thinking of a plan to get us out. "Holmes?"
"Yes." His answer was curt and harsh, probably to guard himself against the pain.
"Are you able to reach your knife?"
"No. Can you?"
My hand was pressed against the pillar by the rope, the other cramped behind my back. "No." I tried to struggle against the bonds, and actually felt something give, but I could not continue, for Holmes, quite out of character, gave a distinct wince. "Stop. Watson, stop this instant!" His voice had risen to the same unnatural pitch I had encountered in our golden prison, and it occurred to me that instant that it had to be a sign of pain – never before had I heard Holmes cry out in pain. For our line of work, injuries were common, and we had every luck one could ask for, and it was more often than not that we avoided injuries.
"Holmes? Holmes, are you all right? My dear fellow..."
"Stop moving."
"I have."
"I noticed." To my relief, a small smile was reflected in his voice.
"I believe something gave."
"Yes. I'm sure you could free yourself. Just continue trying." To my horror, his voice almost broke upon those last words, and he took a moment to regain the familiar iron control over his body. After all, to him, it was a mere addition to the mind, a tool the mind could control. "If it saves both our lives, Watson, I can manage."
Reluctantly, I began to squirm again, loosening the bindings around my chest, and twisting my hands. It was possible to loosen them; whether it would suffice, I could not tell. But maybe it would give one of us the room needed to reach the knife in Holmes's pocket. After some time, however, the task had quite exhausted me, and my stiff shoulder throbbed painfully. I ceased the activity and enquired after Holmes's well-being. At first, there was no answer but his laboured breathing, then he swallowed audibly. "Just a little dizzy, Watson."
"I should stop."
"If you do, we shall both die in an hour. I shall not allow you to risk that, not even out of concern for my well-being. I would help you, but I fear my condition does not allow it. Catch your breath, and continue."
And so I did, but it became soon evident that I had but tightened the knots and thus gained a few inches, but nothing more. "It is of no use. Holmes? Did you hear me?"
"Perfectly."
"I don't blame you, Holmes. I don't mind dying, and I am grateful that we shall be together, but I would prefer it to be over a pipe of tobacco."
"Watson!" His cry was filled with relief, much to my surprise.
"What did I say?"
"I have some matches I can reach. One moment, Watson, and we shall be free." I heard him strike a match, although it took him three awkward attempts, and then I smelt the burning of fabric – the rope, apparently. Then, the light flickered out, and I heard Holmes move, and suddenly the ropes grew slack and Holmes was in front of me and offered me his left hand to pull me to my feet.
"Quick now, Watson, we must work fast. I still have my tools, and I will attempt to stop this explosion. Get that light. I wager the explosives are hidden in the cellar of the building, where the supportive structure is."
Soon enough, we were once again standing in the bright and vacant hall of New Scotland Yard, but Holmes did not for a moment hesitate. He hurried on towards another staircase which spiralled down past the holding cells and further into the cellar.
When we reached said door, Holmes stopped. "Watson. I will not force you to stay."
"But I shall, as you well know."
"I do." He flashed me a quicksilver smile, and rushed into the room. I could not help wondering where he found his energy. I, while not being as fit as in my military days, was clearly in better health at the moment, but I found my breath getting short and my muscles weary, whereas Holmes, who had been ill, beaten, bound several times, gagged, poisoned and tortured, seemed to feel no ill effects at the moment. He squatted down beside the bundle of explosives, moving rapidly and with accustomed ease. His right arm was held rather stiffly, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. "How much time, Watson?"
I dug out my watch. "But five minutes!"
"So little."
Even now, as our demise was so clearly upon us, I found myself incapable of believing that it would just end. After the horrors of Reichenbach, and the numerous other occasions where we came in close contact with death and still survived I had come to believe that neither of us could die in the line of duty, as it was phrased in the official force. My reason told me, of course, that it was utter nonsense, but when Holmes ceased working with a cry of satisfaction, his shoulders quivering in exhaustion, my hopes where, to my relief, fulfilled. Once again, a tragedy was averted, and our lives saved.
I was at Holmes's side the instant his strained muscles grew slack and he sank in a heap to the floor, his injured arm pressed tightly against his chest and supported by his protective left hand. Understandably, his energy was all but spent, but he still shoved me away, his whole frame quivering. "We cut it rather fine, Watson, but it is not over yet. Mile will go to the harbour – I remember now. The investigation of Mile's state of mind was no doubt conducted by Miller, and was asked for by a certain Captain Madeleine of his own ship, the Victoire. He owns it, Watson, and Mile will no doubt use it for his flight. I need you to find Lestrade, and quickly, and get to the harbour. Stop him, Watson, don't fail me."
"I won't. What about you?"
"You shall find me at Baker Street. Go, now!"
The urgency and eagerness in Holmes's voice was enough to spur me into action. Outside, I instantly hailed a cab, and promised the driver a sovereign if he took me to the Tower as quickly as possible. To my relief, we passed Lestrade on our way there, and I stopped my ride and startled several passers-by as I called across the street.
During Holmes's hiatus, my relationship with Lestrade had deepened further, and he did not think to question my words. Thus, my request was quickly conveyed, and the inspector ordered several constables to follow us to the harbour and climbed in with me.
"Now look here, Doctor. What is this?"
I found myself at a lack of breath and energy for lengthy explanations, and I am afraid I was rather tried by Lestrade's questioning look. I wondered whether this was what Holmes was feeling all the time when the inspector gaped at him open-mouthed. My thoughts kept returning back to my friend, who I feared had fainted away on the cold stone floor of the cellar where I had left him. But how could I allow the criminals to escape after we had suffered so much to prevent them from reaching their goal?
I rubbed my forehead wearily, and told Lestrade in a low, hurried voice of Holmes's leap of deduction, how we had rushed to the vault, where we had found the criminals already waiting. How we had been overpowered by them, how we escaped and stopped the explosion. "Mile has escaped with the papers, Inspector, and with his history, they are likely to be the most valuable ones Scotland Yard had to offer. We have to stop him now, or we will watch him rise to a master criminal who has the funds and manpower to commit every crime that his deranged mind demands. As a blackmailer, he could gather an army of associates around him."
Suddenly, I understood well why even Holmes had found it difficult to hide his disgust for blackmailers. If such a man would gain power in the criminal world of London, both his colleagues and the decent citizens of our city had to prepare for an era of terror that not even Holmes could easily end. Another Moriarty, indeed, only Miller was ruled by his madness, whereas Moriarty had worked with cold reason. Reasons could be divined by others, madness could not.
Lestrade had blanched as I had told him of the green safe, and now was cocking his revolver. "You had better be armed, Doctor. If we do not stop this man, he will start a war. Only yesterday the Superintendent locked a state document of the greatest value away in that safe – Mile is certain to have taken it. If not for my communication with Mycroft Holmes, I wouldn't even know."
"Good heavens!"
"Indeed!"
The cab jerked to an abrupt halt as we reached the large area of London's dockyards. If Holmes was correct, the Victoire was a small vessel, but not too small to cross the Atlantic. We could only hope we would find her in time.
Lestrade sent his constables into all directions, with the explicit instructions to take care and shoot to kill, if necessary.
That done, he turned to me. "Come, Watson, to the authorities! I hope we will discover this ship in time..."
At midday, the work in the harbour was slack, most sailors drowsed in the shadows, and the authorities were only spurred into action when Lestrade threatened the officials to arrest them if they did not act quickly.
When we finally knew where the ship was anchored, a constable came already running towards us. "Inspector!"
"What is it, Thomson?" asked Lestrade, almost running along the pathway.
Truth be told, I was having difficulties keeping up with his speed. The old wound in my leg was throbbing painfully, but I could not possibly let Holmes down.
"We have found the ship, sir – there are three men there, preparing to depart."
"You should have stopped them, you fool!" Lestrade sped ahead, fortifying my opinion of him being a man of action rather than thought. I was grateful of having him as an ally in this situation.
As soon as the vessel with the bold Victoire on her starboard side came in sight, Lestrade raised his voice to a volume I wouldn't have thought him capable of. "Don't move! Hands up in the air!"
The three men froze for a moment. Dr Miller nearly let go off Madeleine, whom he was helping climb on board after he had loosened the ropes that held the ship.
Mile recovered the quickest, and fired several badly aimed shots in our direction. "Get on with it, you fools!"
Lestrade had pulled me behind a fisher's boat that lay on dry ground for repairs. "Surrender, Mile!"
"Never!"
"Inspector!" Thomson had glanced around our hiding place, and judging from his horrified expression, the ship was leaving harbour.
"Oh, curse it all!"
Lestrade and I were on our feet in the same moment, and both our shots caused Miller and Madeleine to drop everything and surrender, hands up in the air.
Mile, however, was not so easily frightened. Even from my position, I believed to see the fire of madness sparkle in his eyes, and his voice dripped venom. "Fools!" Then, in a rapid movement that none of us really followed, he hurled himself into the water.
I fully expected him to disappear into the uncertain depth of the Thames. Diving, he would escape us, but at least there were hopes that the papers where still on the Victoire.
It was only as Lestrade sent Thomson and some of his colleagues on board to arrest Miller and Madelein and search the cabins, that we heard the shot from further up the river. As we were examining the chest that contained several papers, hopefully all that had been taken, a constable arrived to tell us that Mile had been shot as he tried to leave the water, where he had been welcomed by several of Lestrade's men. Mile's revolver had been rendered useless by the water, but he had tried to break through with sheer brutality, and had been shot in self-defence.
I was only glad that it was over, and eager to return to Baker Street to look after my dear friend, and to rest. I certainly hoped that Holmes had made it home, and was not lying collapsed on the streets of London. I'm not sure I would have had the energy to search for him.
Lestrade gave orders to take the papers back into the vault, as well as bringing the corpse of Mile to the morgue, and send a group of constables to our waiting carriage with the two arrested men and the orders to dispose of the explosive.
I watched as Mile was carried away, and even convinced myself that he was really dead. There was no doubt about it – he was a man I would not see resurrect, and had no desire to. Even though I have always maintained that any life is precious, I could not bring myself to really care. Mile had caused too many injuries to both myself and my dear friend, and had, after all murdered not only constable Smith, but also many other policemen. As for Holmes, I am sure he felt that justice was done.
Inspector Lestrade, apparently as concerned for my well-being as he was eager to hear the whole story, accompanied me as far as to our doorstep, whereupon I had related the details of our adventure. He would, several days later, visit to learn the particulars from Holmes, but as of now, I could not allow it. I was sure that Holmes's constitution had broken down completely, and it seemed wise to spare him any further violation of his pride by revealing his condition to Lestrade, even though he had come to tolerate and even respect the inspector, although calling him 'friend' would go too far.
Mrs Hudson welcomed the news that it was finally over with relief, informing me that Holmes had indeed arrived and had immediately collapsed on the sofa. She had brought up tea and stirred the fire, but apparently the detective had been unresponsive.
I hurried up the stairs as fast as my tired bones would allow, bursting into the sitting room rather unceremoniously. The room was darkened, obscuring the thin figure on the sofa from any view but his who knew what to look for.
"Holmes?" I sat by his feet and touched his thigh, where I knew him to be uninjured.
My touch brought him to life and he uncurled and rolled to his back to face me. "Watson. You're back. All is well, I assume?"
"Yes, indeed. We have recovered the papers. Both Madeleine and Miller are in custody, Mile was shot and killed in flight."
"It is just as well. He would have hanged anyhow. Now I must rest. Would you mind?" He had held out his arm to me, and I was only to glad to do my medical duty to him. After I had administered a mild pain relief, Holmes soon had fallen asleep, and I hoped dearly that his exhaustion would soon wane and he would be undisturbed by further nightmares.
This memoir, however, would not be complete without the explanation Holmes offered me some days after.
We were lounging leisurely in our armchairs by the fire. Holmes was for once without his pipe, for his bandaged arm would not allow him to stuff or light it, and he would not accept my help; therefore I had endeavoured to entertain him with conversation. He remained very sensitive about his recent experience, and the mere mention of our imprisonment would shake him to the core, but it was his own choice to provide me with a complete explanation of the events.
"You see, Watson, Mile's goal was from the start to gain access to these papers. His first attempt failed because of the presence of policemen in the building, even at night. Thus, it had to be his goal to clear the way. Also, since I had been partly responsible for his arrest, he tried to incapacitate me. He was lucky to have the aid of two people who hoped to share his future fortune from the start. A doctor, Miller, who effectively helped him avoid a lengthy prison sentence by diverting him into a madhouse, and Madeleine, who secured their transfer to the United States. There, they plotted and planned, until Mile was released and returned to England. I do not know how long he has been here, but the King's visit to the Tower provided him with the perfect opportunity. He knew that a threat to the King's life would effectively get the attention of the Yard.
"As for the methods he applied to me, the madness was clear in it from the first, and maybe he was also driven by some idea of revenge. As I have already remarked, the murder of constable Smith should have alerted me, for it was done in the exact manner as his earlier deeds. But I had not had the opportunity to see the crime scene, and thus this vital clue escaped me.
"I suspected the threats to be a diversion from the first, but I had not enough data to be certain. In fact, it was only until I realised who Emile truly was that I could assume what the true goal might be. The name directed my attention to the old case, but I was unable to grasp the meaning of it at first – I think in the face of the positive outcome and our situation, such a blunder may be forgiven. When I was finally able to consult the file, it all became clear and we acted upon it.
"It may not have been the most successful case to apply my methods, Watson, but it was certainly unique in the hubris of the criminal and the ambition of the plot."
THE END
A/N: You guessed it: this was the last chapter. Thank you all for reading, and remember to leave a final review! Cookies for all who do!
Since this is part I of a trilogy, there will be a continuation, called The Curious Case of the Riders of Apocalypse. Watch out for that!