The Malicious Maligning of Inspector Lestrade

Chapter Twenty-Four: All The Pretty Little Horses

A little before the appointed hour, the trusted steward of the Diogenes, Ellis, came to help me dress. Even with his assistance, the simplest task was beyond me. I was as weak as a kitten, wretchedly exhausted and a mass of aches and pains.

We decided, after wrestling futilely with the notion of my putting on a clean shirt, that the result was not worth the expense. So it was that I went to meet the Prime Minister still clad in night shirt and dressing gown. If nothing else, thanks to Ellis' ministrations, I was clean-shaven and groomed. I was not altogether unpresentable for a patient no one had expected to recover.

From Mycroft's mortified expression when we entered the Strangers' Room, however, I could tell that our efforts had been in vain. He began to make effusive apologies to his guest, an elderly man with grizzled whiskers and a thin tonsure of white hair, who had the air of an Oxbridge don. I had met him once before; he seemed more care-worn and shrivelled than ever, as though the pressures of high office were draining the life from him.

"You must forgive my brother's appearance," said Mycroft. "He has been indisposed."

"Indisposed, you say?" the Prime Minister remarked, his bushy brows rising half up his forehead. "That is a queer way of putting it, Holmes. I had heard he was dead. In which case, he looks much improved."

He stepped forward. I scarce had the energy to shake the hand he offered.

"A pleasure to meet you again, Mr Sherlock Holmes," said he. "I am gratified to hear that the news of your death was exaggerated. How do these rumours start, I wonder? Do sit down, sir, no need to stand on ceremony on my account."

Ellis helped me to an armchair with its back to the door by the fire before slipping away with his usual considered discretion.

"Now, Holmes," said the Prime Minister, easing himself into the seat opposite mine, "would you care to explain why you led the world to believe that this young man was dead? I take it that it has something to do with the reason you asked me here this evening."

Mycroft adopted a position directly between us, where he could command both our attention and the lion's share of the warmth from the fire.

"You may have heard, sir, that my unfortunate brother succumbed after misjudging a dose of laudanum," stated Mycroft. "That is not the case. It was no error."

The Prime Minister frowned. "Do you mean to say that he sought to take his own life?"

"Not at all. I say that it was nothing less than attempted murder."

"Normally," said our visitor, clearing his throat, "should a fellow make such a charge, I should accuse them of being melodramatic, of reading too much into what may have been a simple mistake by the apothecary. However," said he, studying Mycroft with care, "I know you to be a sensible man, Holmes, not given to flights of fancy. So when you say that someone tried to murder your brother, I tend to believe you. Do you have a suspect?"

"I do."

"Then name him, man! Hang your confounded reticence!"

Mycroft took a deep breath. "Colonel Ambrose Malpas."

There was a moment of pause before the distinguished statesman spoke again. "That is a serious accusation. I trust Malpas with my life."

"Yes, sir. I am aware of that. I would not say it if it were not true."

The Prime Minister's gaze turned to me. "What do you say, Mr Holmes?"

I gave him a brief account of what of had transpired in my rooms. The more I told him, the darker his expression became.

"I cannot believe it," said he at last. "What you suggest is monstrous. That Malpas would be capable of cold-blooded murder..."

"I doubt he sees it as such," said Mycroft. "He has a misplaced sense of duty."

"No!" The Prime Minister rose sharply to his feet. "I will not tolerate such calumny! You have overstepped the mark, Holmes. You have conspired with your brother to invent these falsehoods for your own profit!"

"What if it came from his own lips?" suggested Mycroft, taking out his pocket watch. "He is due to arrive at any minute."

"You are a clever man, but on this occasion you are wrong," said the Prime Minister, his eyes gleaming. "What the devil are you up to?"

"Nothing, sir, save that the truth should be known. I have served loyally. I have made many sacrifices for Queen and country. There is much I would do and more, but not at the cost of my brother's life. The price is too high, Prime Minister. We are orphans of the storm, after all."

The elder man's manner became conciliatory. "I understand that you have suffered much these last few days," said he. "First, the desertion of your fiancée, and then this misfortune with your brother. At such times, we try to make sense of these events. Rest assured, it is in the hands of a higher Providence, my son. I shall forgive your slander against Malpas. Let us say no more about it."

But for the return of Ellis, I was certain he should have left. Faced with my testimony and the prospect of hearing the truth from Malpas himself, the statesman was exercising a preference for turning the proverbial 'blind eye' rather than acknowledging the crimes being committed for his benefit. I understood now why Mycroft had felt the need to behave in such an underhand manner. It would take time for me to pardon his actions; when I did, it would be in the knowledge that he had not lied when he had explained he had had no choice in the matter.

Noble sacrifice, as Malpas had said. In years to come, it was a decision I would have to take on that fateful day overlooking the chasm of the Reichenbach Falls. I have never doubted that I was right. If I share nothing else with Mycroft and Malpas, it has been in the strength of our convictions.

On cue, the man in question followed Ellis into the room. Mycroft's small gesture had cautioned me to stay out of view. I heard the confident tap of his heels on the floor as he approached, finally tempered with just a little hesitation that caused him to stop before he could see me. I could not observe his expression, but even the meanest of intellects would have detected that trouble was afoot in the stern countenance of the Premier.

"Prime Minister, Mr Holmes," said he, his usual courtesies betraying an edge of apprehension. "I received your wire."

"Thank you for coming, Malpas," said Mycroft. "This is somewhat irregular, although I am sure you appreciate that I have had certain difficulties of late."

"My condolences on your loss. By all accounts, your brother was a gifted young man."

"Mr Holmes says you forced his brother to drink poison." The Prime Minister was never a man to mince his words. "Malpas, is this true?"

A startled laugh broke from the man. "Good heavens! What an extraordinary accusation!"

Mycroft nodded to me. With effort, I rose to my feet and turned to face my assassin.

The blood drained from Malpas' face. No sense of remorse took its place; rather, he regarded me with cold, hard fury.

"What does it take to kill you?" he uttered from between clenched teeth.

"Many have tried," I replied. "And yet, here I am."

"My God, Malpas," said the Prime Minister, appalled. "Is this true? Did you try to murder this young man?"

To his credit, faced with discovery, Malpas composed himself and adopted his usual sang froid. He took a seat, drew a cigarette from its case and carefully lit it. Only then did he deign to answer the question.

"I have murdered no one," said he, casually. "I offered Mr Holmes a full bottle of laudanum. The choice to drink it was his. I facilitated his decision, nothing more."

"Do not chop logic with me, sir!" For all his perceived frailty, the Prime Minister made a formidable opponent. "What have you done?"

"I did what needed to be done. What others would not do. I have been charged with protecting this government, and, by God, I had done my duty."

" Mr Sherlock Holmes is not our enemy. You would have killed an innocent man!"

"Innocent?!" A hard, maniac look came into Malpas' eye. "I have waded knee-deep in the disjecta membra of mankind. Gamblers, fornicators, inverts, drunkards, wastrels, misfits." The emphasis came with a glance at me. "I have had to smile and pander to these sops while better men died. While my son died, sir!"

"Malpas, I grieve for your loss–"

"The day he died, I was at your side, Prime Minister. Lord Attenbury's son had had a dalliance with a married woman who found herself inconvenienced while her husband was overseas. You asked me to extract the young man from what you called 'a scrape'. And before my boy was cold in his grave, you summoned me back. Lord Whaitely's younger brother was under threat of blackmail from those to whom he owed money on account of gambling debts."

He was unnaturally calm as he spoke, which made his words all the more compelling.

"Do not lecture me on the nature of innocence, sir," he continued. "For there is none in this god-forsaken world."

"There is blood on your hands, Malpas. How many have you killed?"

He drew on his cigarette and considered.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes would have been the thirteenth." He smiled ruefully. "Unlucky for some, as they say."

The Premier collapsed into his chair as Malpas began to reel off a list of the names of his victims.

"All worthless," he finished. "Who has missed them?"

"I hardly know what to say," said the Prime Minister, holding his head in his hands. "How have I been so blind?"

Mycroft, wisely, choose to say nothing, although I could tell from his expression that our thoughts were one and the same.

"You shall answer for their deaths, Malpas."

He smiled, unconcernedly. "I think not, Prime Minister. You will find that I have acted within my remit, to identify threats to the good governance of these isles and find solutions to resolve same." He chuckled. "Richelieu himself could not have put it better. 'It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of this letter has done what he has done.' Age quod agis, as we are taught."

"Regretfully, you are correct," said the statesman, wearily. "I cannot excuse myself from blame. You are guilty only of following those instructions to the letter. Go, Malpas, we shall speak of this another time."

I stared at Mycroft. His expression remained impassive.

Malpas stubbed out his cigarette, and rose elegantly to his feet. Making his farewells, he gave a nod to me.

"Goodbye, Mr Sherlock Holmes. I expect our paths shall cross again."

"I do not doubt it," I replied.

"These men are under my protection, Colonel," said the Prime Minister. "Mr Mycroft Holmes is our trusted advisor, and his brother has been of use to us in the past. We expect much of him in the future."

"As you wish, sir. Until I am told otherwise."

"Rest assured, that day will never come."

A smile pushed through Malpas' lips. "No one is indispensable. The graveyards are full of men who thought otherwise."

With that, he turned and left. The Prime Minister sighed, and his shoulders appeared more stooped than ever, as though he had once again shouldered the burdens of the world.

"For this infamy, I can do nothing," he admitted. "But I shall see to it that no more lives are lost. You have my apologies, gentlemen, and my gratitude."

I began to protest, but Mycroft interrupted me. "I am sure you know what is best, sir."

"Do I?" he grunted. "I begin to wonder. The flower of the country's manhood has been severed from under my very nose and I have stood by in ignorance. What am I to do? Malpas cannot be put on trial, and well the clever devil knows it! The scandal would bring down the government and leave us vulnerable to our enemies. For that reason, gentlemen, what has transpired here this evening must never leave this room."

"I know I can speak for my brother, Prime Minister, when I say that you may rest assured on that account," said Mycroft.

"Excellent. Malpas will be dealt with, have no fear. A foreign posting, I dare say, might be best suited to his talents."

"Out of sight, out of mind?" I suggested with ill-concealed bitterness.

The Prime Minister smiled sadly. "We are none us of perfect, Mr Holmes, save the Lord above. The rest of us must do the best we can. Now, as for you, I can appreciate that you may feel aggrieved."

"That is not the word I should have used, sir."

"Granted, but given your poor health of late, your error over the correct dosage of your laudanum was understandable. Who among us has not felt the torments of pain and wished to be rid of it? I am told," he went on, ignoring my simmering outrage, "that the warmth of foreign climes may do wonders for the constitution. These English winters are a trial, even to a healthy man. Don't you agree, Mr Holmes?"

He studied me under beetling brows, defying me to contradict him.

"I met that cousin of yours a few days ago," he said. "A charming fellow. What is his name? Ah, yes, Miles. He tells me he is going to Italy for several months. Why don't you join him, Mr Holmes? It would do you the world of good."

"Is that a suggestion or a command?"

Mycroft glared at me, but the old statesman smiled.

"You may take it as you wish, young man. You will not find us ungrateful. I understand a man may travel comfortably on five hundred pounds. I shall have my secretary send you the funds from petty cash. As for you, Holmes..."

He turned to my brother.

"I need your counsel, given the parlous state of relations with the Prussians at present. I cannot give you leave to go gadding about the Continent with your brother."

"I understand, sir," said Mycroft, feigning regret.

"As to your own recent misfortune, there are many pretty young ladies who would be glad to accept your proposal."

"My heart is too heavy to consider another, I fear. I would rather remain unwed than enter half-hearted into wedlock."

A knowing smile played upon the Premier's lips.

"I see. It is well a man knows his own disposition. Well, good day, gentleman, and godspeed, Mr Holmes, on your travels."

Leaning heavily on his cane, he took his leave. Ellis was waiting at the door to help him out, and with Mycroft's guests finally gone, we were left alone.

"Does this sit well with you, brother?" I challenged him. "A murderer, shuffled away abroad, while I am paid for my silence and sent on my way with an apple in my hand and a pat on the head!"

"Must you be so noisy, Sherlock?" said Mycroft wearily. He deserted his post and collapsed into the nearest chair. "It is the best we could hope for under the circumstances. Malpas knows too much. A public scandal would benefit no one. Besides, any manner of misfortune may befall a man on a long journey. Passengers are lost overboard. Strange ailments lurk around every corner. I am told that there are certain vipers than can strike a man dead simply by looking at him."

"Nonsense, Mycroft." When I glanced over at him, it was find that he was smiling. "I fail to see any humour in the situation."

"Oh, the situation is deplorable. I cannot argue with you there. No, brother, I was wondering about you. What exactly has caused this unaccustomed show of emotion? I have not seen you this animated since I cut the tail off your rocking horse."

"That was a long time ago. I had forgotten."

"And forgiven? I know your habit of holding grudges of old. It would not surprise me in the slightest if your current obstinacy stems from that misadventure. As for Malpas, you cannot be overly taken aback by the outcome. You have experience enough to know how these things work."

I perched on the arm of the chair and let the crackling fire fan warmth over my legs. I was aware Mycroft was watching me intently, and I could anticipate his thoughts.

"It is not what you imagine."

"Ah, then you are disgruntled about being bested. I had expected as much. I suppose I am to blame. When you were a child, it was easier to let you win than to endure your tantrums. You were a miserable wretch, Sherlock. Even the milkman said you had a face like a cloudy day."

I bridled. "What business was it of his?"

"He called all the children 'Sunshine', except in your case; he said he couldn't bring himself to do it. Always scowling at him, you were. Father said it was because you had the mind of an intellectual. Mother said it was wind."

I caught myself scowling again, and fought the urge to laugh.

"You cannot always have things your own way, my dear boy," Mycroft went on. "If you take nothing from this ordeal, let it be wisdom. It was Aristophanes who said that there is more worth in one's enemies than in friends. Enemies teach us to build our defences and arm against danger. This has been a valuable lesson for you, Sherlock. The next time, you will be prepared."

"Should we become arsenic-eaters then, Mycroft?" I said grudgingly. "I do not believe that the Prime Minister's warning will stay Malpas' hand should the opportunity arise."

Mycroft nodded, his chin finally coming to rest on his chest. "It is well that you are going away. Time enough, I dare say, for matters to settle down to their usual rhythm at Whitehall."

I stared at him. "I expected more opposition from you."

"Because of our lamentable cousin?" Mycroft pursed his lips. "It is a necessary evil. It will be an education for you, if nothing else. Never trust a fellow who knows the sins of the world by name, but has never encountered them for himself. Miles knows sins enough to enlighten any man." He hesitated and his gaze strayed to the dancing flames. "He wrote to me, you know, while you were ill. He said I had placed you in intolerable danger. Furthermore, he said I did not deserve you."

"He told me that you had lost control."

A grunt of laughter escaped him. "On the contrary, I was never more in control. But for your interference, we might have avoided your recent malaise. I have no regrets, Sherlock. I would not hesitate to do it again. 'By my order and for the good of my brother, I have done what I have done'," he mused. "Perhaps there is something in that, after all."

With effort, he rose to his feet. As he passed, he laid a hand on my shoulder. Physical displays of sentiment not being in Mycroft's nature, the gesture took me by surprise.

"Promise me one thing," said he. "Do not stay away too long."

"You may depend upon it, Mycroft."

That seemed to satisfy him and started towards the door.

"But when I do, it shall be on my terms," I remarked.

"I never doubted it." He turned back to me. "I would only ask that you turn your attention away from this 'Professor'. If you wish to follow this path of a detective, then let it be some quiet, profitable occupation that does not involve the threat of death by fire or at the end of a blade."

"I have no choice to be anything otherwise. My face and name has become known in certain circles."

"It seems to me," said Mycroft, "how that cannot be a bad thing."

"It may be that my search is at an end, in any case. Malpas, they call him a 'Puppet Master', do they not? To my knowledge, practitioners of the art of 'Punch and Judy' are called 'professors'."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head, in weary acknowledgement that his sage advice had fallen on deaf ears.

"Get some clothes on, Sherlock," said he as he left. "This is a respectable club, not a bordello."

Well, we know that Sherlock isn't right about Malpas, but good theory! And, we're almost at the end of the tale. Join me in the Epilogue where we'll be waving young Mr Holmes goodbye as he goes on his travels – and, because I know Oliver is concerned, we'll also be catching up with Cousin Miles.

Concluded in the Epilogue!