Holmes' POV

I arrived deliberately early at the university, after a brief few hours' sleep in Baker Street. A bleary-eyed porter directed me to Ashdown's laboratory, through the silent and deserted corridors of the chemistry department. As I had hoped, the laboratory was almost empty, its only occupant being a young student washing glassware in a corner.

Ready to welcome any distraction, he barely glanced at the letter of introduction Lady Ashdown had provided me with before bestowing a look of awe on me.

"Is it true you studied chemistry too, Mr Holmes? I read it in the Strand."

"Occasionally," I said, which seemed to please him no end. He grinned to himself as he led me to the scene of the accident.

The area, frustratingly but predictably, had long since been cleaned. All that remained was a medium-sized burn-mark in the centre of the wooden workbench, mingling with the stains and scrapes that already adorned it. Someone had laid out a set of glass pipettes in preparation for the day's work and to one side, used glassware soaked in an acid bath.

"Was this where Dr Ellis always worked?" I asked.

The young man nodded, his grin suddenly disappearing and his face taking on a solemn, mournful expression.

"And Sir Nigel?"

"Well, he didn't often come to the work-benches, of course. Rather unfortunate for him that he was there just when the accident happened, really."

While I listened to him babble about Sir Nigel and Dr Ellis and carefully stored the scraps of useful information I gleaned, I was looking around the laboratory, noting working practice, the position of the storage cupboards, the distance from Dr Ellis' bench to the door and so on.

I interrupted the student, making him jump. "I shall need to see Dr Ellis' laboratory notebook."

He hesitated. I saw his gaze flicker to the pocket in which I had replaced Lady Ashdown's letter, then to the door which led to his superior s office, then to the clock on the wall, before returning to rest on me. His thought process was facile to follow and I knew what he would say before he opened his mouth.

"I suppose it's all right..."

In the corner of the room was a set of shelves filled with card-bound notebooks, their covers spotted and stained. I opened Dr Ellis' and found the entry he had been making on the day he died. I quickly copied out the details of chemicals, masses and temperatures, before taking Ashdown's notebook from the shelf. I turned to the final pages, but there was no entry for the day of the accident. What, then, had he been doing in the laboratory? Before returning the books to their place, I momentarily redirected the student's attention and tore off a stained corner from the final page of Ellis' notes.

I spent the rest of the morning working in Baker Street. After an exhaustive analysis of the samples I had brought down from Yorkshire, I turned to the scrap of paper torn from Ellis' laboratory book. It burnt with a satisfyingly red colour. Following that, I had a few hours to spend looking through my archives before the long train journey back to Yorkshire that evening.

.. ..

It was unsociably late when I arrived, but I had been loath to miss another night at the house, with all the fascinatingly uncanny events which were liable to occur there during the hours of darkness. I sent the carriage back to the station and stepped into the hallway, eager to see Watson and compare notes.

Only a young footman awaited me, however, his professional calm entirely absent.

"Thank goodness you are here, Mr Holmes!" The fellow looked practically ready to throw himself around my neck. "Lady Ashdown has vanished and Dr Watson has been burnt to ashes."

For a split-second I felt my heart clench. Then rationality returned.

"What the devil do you mean by that?"

"Oh, it's horrible! They neither of them have been seen since last night. And in the doctor's room, there's a little pile of ash, and his hat "

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I refuse to believe that."

The footman quivered on the spot. "It's true, I tell you. Everyone knows it. There are hardly any servants left in the house but me, and..."

Coming to the end of my patience, I cut him off. "I am going to examine the doctor's room. Follow me, I may want you later."

"Yes sir," the poor devil said meekly.

I took the stairs two at a time and burst into Watson's room. My gaze was drawn immediately to the scorched rug and the pile of ash. Watson's bowler lay beside it, burnt and distorted.

After a rapid search of the room turned up nothing else of interest, I turned to the door. The footman was hovering uncertainly outside.

"Where is Sir Nigel?"

"In the library, I think, sir."

"Excellent. Show me to Lady Ashdown's room."

He complied readily, his sense of propriety completely overcome in the face of his fear. He refused to enter the room, however, perhaps fearing that he might vanish as well, or burst into flames. I began my search, hoping not to have to delve too deeply into Lady Ashdown's clothing. I was fortunate; under a pile of handkerchiefs in the first drawer I opened lay a bundle of sheets of notepaper, each one folded over and marked iBeatrice/i. I was delighted and intrigued to find them to be notes signed by Dr Ellis, dated in the month following his death. I scanned quickly through them, noting the warm, almost overtly intimate tone. A most forward man, this ghost.

Of course, the notes said nothing about the relationship which had existed between Dr Ellis and Lady Ashdown. They said a great deal, however, about what someone had perceived that relationship to be. I was beginning to understand why someone had replaced the soda ash Ellis had believed himself to be using by lithium alanate and provoked the accident which killed him. I was about to remark as such to Watson, but of course he was not there, only the trembling footman.

I stood with the notes in my hand, thinking furiously. Watson had now been missing for almost twenty-four hours. I knew he had left in a hurry, forgetting his hat. Had Lady Ashdown had time to don a hat and cloak or not? With the typical profusion of lady's garments in the room, it was impossible to say.

My eye fell again on the most recent note. It was dated three days previously. It seemed reasonable to suppose that there had been another note since, perhaps prompting or explaining her disappearance.

"Take me to Sir Nigel's room," I commanded.

The footman almost collapsed on the spot. "Oh no, we can't possibly - "

"You told me he was in the library."

"I don't know for certain and anyway - "

I resisted the urge to grasp him by the lapels and shout into his face. I merely said forcefully, "Your mistress and my friend are in very real danger. If you find yourself with their blood on your hands you will have me to deal with and I assure you, you will find that ten times more terrifying than Ashdown."

He gulped, and beckoned me to follow him.

Five minutes later, I was picking the lock on the door of Sir Nigel's room while the footman stood by, too mentally exhausted by the night's doings to make any sort of objection. The lock was new, in contrast with the rest of the building, and the urgency of the situation weighed on my nerves, but I have never yet let such a thing trouble my work and the lock soon yielded.

Here at last was the pile of papers whose absence I had noted in the library! I took the time to glance through them, confirming my suspicions about the true nature of Ashdown's work in the library, before searching the waste-paper basket for blotting paper. I soon found what I sought, and in exultation I read the smudged and blurry mirror image of the ghostly Dr Ellis' most recent note to Lady Ashdown.

"Where is there a bridge in the neighbourhood? Not in a village, but somewhere secluded."

The footman frowned for an agonisingly long time in thought. "There's one out on the moors, towards Barden Fell. It crosses a stream that comes down from the mountains - about a mile away from here."

"Excellent! Get your coat and some boots for me. You are going to take me there."

He blanched instantly. "I can't - "

"Why on earth not?"

"I can't leave my post," he mumbled, not meeting my eye.

"Lady Ashdown is not here to call for you and I assure you, Sir Nigel is otherwise occupied at the moment. Now step to it, man!"

He shuffled his feet. "It's dark out."

I had been perfectly well aware from the start of true root of his reluctance.

"Don't be a fool," I said shortly. "There is nothing evil on this estate apart from Sir Nigel's twisted mind. I assure you, there is a human hand behind all of this, and it is his. He has killed his colleague and lured his wife away from the house for some nefarious purpose, and my friend with her."

He shook his head, refusing to meet my eye. "The devil is in this house, everyone knows it."

"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not? I have discovered time and again in my career that this world is big enough to hold all the evil in it, without invoking another."

He hesitated still.

"Besides, I have an electric pocket lantern," I added, producing it.

He gave a sudden weak grin, looking ashamed of himself. "All right, sir."

I quickly examined Ashdown's room before we left, finding several jars of chemicals which contributed to the picture I was already building of his plans. A damp patch in the corner showed where a large container of some sort had been sitting. I sniffed it, smelt petrol, and frowned grimly.

As we passed, I glanced into the library. It was no surprise to me to find it empty.

The footman's courage endured out of the house and across the kitchen garden, though he kept very close beside me. As we passed a group of outbuildings, I noticed a light burning in one of them. I came to a stop and the footman bumped into me.

"I believe you said almost everyone else had left the premises?"

"Except the cook and some of the maids. And the boot boy."

"But of the outdoor staff?"

"No one is left, I thought." He glanced uneasily at the light.

"Follow me. Quietly!"

I crept not to the building from whose window light shone, but to its neighbour. It was a small barn, almost empty now that much of the winter's hay had been used. It connected to another building which served a similar purpose, but in this one, I could see a dark bundle of clothes in the corner. I opened the door with caution, not letting the hinges creak, and crept in. The bundle began to struggle, and moonlight from the open door fell on Watson's face. Relief flooded through me.

He was gagged with a scarf and trussed up tightly, dozens of ropes wound around him. I pulled out my pocketknife to cut the scarf and was rewarded with a weak grin.

"What day is it, Holmes?" he demanded as I worked at the rest of his bonds.

"You've been missing for an entire day," I murmured. "I've just returned from London. And keep your voice down."

"Oh, my head aches..." Suddenly he tried to sit up, almost causing me to cut him instead of his bonds.

"Watson!" I hissed.

He ignored this. "Lady Ashdown! I was following her across the moors when... I believe someone hit me over the head. If that was a day ago - "

"I have reason to believe she is still alive. Ashdown is preparing a spectacle with her as the star attraction. She may be just next door, in fact. We're in some outbuildings, not far from the house."

Watson frowned, still blurry. "Ashdown? What do you mean?"

I helped him to his feet. "He intends to burn her alive, creating the impression that she was struck by the same malediction as the stable boy. Except that she will not survive the ordeal."

Watson made a strangled noise, remembering just in time not to exclaim aloud in horror. "Holmes, you can't mean that."

"What's more, you were presumably next on the list. As far as the servants are concerned, you have already been burnt to ashes. Now come along."

I led him and the footman through into the room from which light had shone. It was in darkness now. The footman held up his lamp, revealing a cavernous space, half-filled with bales of hay. Lady Ashdown was sitting on the floor in one corner, her head lolling forward onto her chest, her clothes and hair drenched in liquid. The smell of petrol was overpowering.

Several paper packets lay on the ground around her. I knew they had been filled with chemical powders from the jars in Sir Nigel's room, which would give different colours to the flames. It was likely one of them had also contained the compound used to drug her.

She stirred at the sound of our entry and I realised that Sir Nigel must just be waiting for her to come round enough to be able to walk. But where was he?

Watson picked up Lady Ashdown and carried her out, while I crouched to examine the paper packets, the footman hovering nervously beside me and lighting me with his lamp.

I was gathering them together for subsequent analysis and identification when I heard a sound from the door which led further into the building, and sprang to my feet, turning. Sir Nigel Ashdown was standing in the doorway.

I looked into the face of the man who had killed a colleague and held a household in thrall to fear for weeks, not to mention everything Watson had suffered. Indeed I stared, unable to tear my gaze away from the savage light that now blazed in eyes that before had dissembled lassitude and misery. I wondered how such great intelligence could have become so warped.

He lunged at me, pulling a knife from his pocket as he sprang. The footman panicked and hurled his lamp across the room at the oncoming madman. It missed him, and smashed to the floor. Flames sprang up from the petrol-soaked straw and we were forced to fall back towards the door in haste.

Outside in the cold night air, Watson was kneeling over Lady Ashdown. He looked up, and his eyes widened on seeing the flames which were already spreading rapidly through the outhouses.

"Where's Ashdown?"

I ignored this and spun around, taking in the extent of the fire and the servants already coming running from the main house. I was gauging the rate of spread of the flames when I saw Watson dodge past me and towards the burning buildings.

"Watson!" I cried. "Stop it, you fool. Come back here at once. You're covered in petrol!"

He certainly could not hear me over the sound of the flames and falling timber, but he must have thought of the matter himself, for he stopped to strip off his overcoat, giving me time to catch up with him.

"Watson, stop!"

He twisted out of my grasp and plunged into the building. I followed without a moment's hesitation, my sleeve over my mouth.

At first I was pushed back by the blast of heat from the flames. Sir Nigel was lying at the other side of the room, by the door through which he had first appeared. The flames raged around him but he seemed to be unconscious, overcome by the smoke. Watson was stooping over him, trying to drag him towards the outer door with one arm while covering his nose and mouth with the other. His handkerchief was tied over Sir Nigel's mouth and I cursed him for a selfless fool.

Nevertheless I ran to help him, and a superhuman effort on our part got us out of the building seconds before the roof came crashing down behind us.

The cool night air was beautifully refreshing. Between coughs, I sent the footman for the police, while Watson tended to the Ashdowns and directed their removal from the grounds to the house. After he had done all he could for them, and tended to our burns too, I directed a guard to be placed over the unconscious Sir Nigel until the police arrived. Finally, we found ourselves alone in the hallway.

Watson turned to look at the spot where I had found him lying, several nights before.

"So it was Ashdown who twisted me into that horrible tableau. To think I felt sorry for him!"

"He was never traumatised in the slightest," I said. "Why, the only thing that bothered him about Dr Ellis' death was the fact that he didn't leave the laboratory quickly enough, and was injured."

"Because he was jealous of the friendship between his colleague and his wife?"

I nodded. "His jealous nature caused him to misjudge the situation and his arrogance convinced him of his right to act. After that first murder he decided to take advantage of his injury and amuse himself at the same time, playing on the gullibility of his entourage by creating the illusion of a curse on the entire household, culminating in the death by supposedly supernatural means of his wife. Given his warped view of her, it was no sacrifice at all for him to not speak to her for a month. A month, I might add, which he spent developing a theory of chemical corpuscularity and writing his memoirs."

"And composing notes from Dr Ellis to his wife," Watson added. "The poor woman, she mustn't have known what to think. No wonder she reacted so nervously when you mentioned Ellis to her."

The police arrived at that point and put a stop to any further conversation. I had not had an opportunity to confront him about his behaviour that night in saving Sir Nigel, though indeed I was not sure whether I wished to.

.. .. .. ..

It was not yet evening when we left for the station the following day, but the sky was overcast and its glowering grey hue cast the moors around us in shades of dark green and black. I saw Watson shiver again, and then smile when he saw that I had noticed.

"I am not ashamed of being human, Holmes. I admit I was very scared indeed at certain times over the past few days."

I raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you will sleep better tonight if I explain some of Ashdown's effects to you?"

"I'm sure I shall sleep very well indeed, thank you!" He paused. "However, I am a little curious about some of the finer points..."

I sat back, taking a moment to put my thoughts in order before beginning an enjoyable exposition. "Sir Nigel put a great deal of thought into his work, I must admit, although the gullible nature of his entourage was no end of help to him. He had but to create the ambience, with occasional spectacular effects, and human imagination was more than happy to supply the rest." I paused, unable to suppress a frown. "I am forced to avow that the technique worked even on me, when I saw you lying on the hall floor. And yet afterwards, I am pleased to say, I found traces of rust and cornstarch in your moustache."

I saw his hand go to his face, thinking of the spectacle he had been turned into. After a moment he shook himself and said, "He had some accomplices among the servants too, I suppose?"

"Notably the stable boy who burnt so spectacularly and the footman who was standing by with a blanket. The boy's clothes burned, while he was covered in a thick layer of petroleum jelly, which was mostly rubbed off in the blanket he was rolled up in. The blanket disappeared afterwards, naturally. He was only alight for a few second, in the end. Of course he was well paid for the risk, hence his sudden departure from the household afterwards, along with the footman who held the blanket."

"He could easily have suffered some very serious burns," Watson exclaimed, looking horrified. "Why, he could have been killed!"

"I have no doubt he did suffer somewhat, despite the witnesses' willingness to believe that he was completely unscathed by this unnatural fire. And yet he still thought it worthwhile. I'm sorry to say that it shows how poorly servants are paid."

After a long moment of silence, his brow creased in a deep frown, Watson glanced up at me again.

"And that is how you burnt your hand, I take it? The injury is over a day old."

I glanced down at my hand, silently congratulating him for his observation. "Yes, I misjudged somewhat when testing the protection afforded by a thick gel."

"And the light and noises in my room?"

"I believe you said there was a jug of water on your washstand?"

He nodded.

"Did you actually drink any water that night?"

"I don't believe I did, no."

"You would certainly have discovered it to be Indian tonic water."

His eyes widened.

"It contains a compound which glows blue when chemical rays, as they are called, are shone upon it. I saw a fascinating demonstration at the Royal Society of Chemistry last year. One of Sir Nigel's accomplices among the servants must have been hidden in the next room, next to the hole I found in the wall this morning. I also found the apparatus, but I am sorry to say that the police claimed it as evidence."

I sat back, ruing the loss and wondering how I could get hold of something similar. I had not had nearly enough time to examine the apparatus that morning and I shuddered to think of clumsy country policemen cracking the delicate glass components. Perhaps one of Sir Nigel's former colleagues would have the manufacturer s address?

After some time I noticed that Watson was staring at me, his expression serious. I raised an eyebrow.

He spoke up slowly, almost hesitantly, "I admit to having been quite frightened at times this week, as I said, but you know, Holmes, foolish scares such as I experienced here will never be what truly disturbs me in life. What terrifies me, in fact, is to look upon the bleakness of a cold and empty soul."

I felt my eyes narrow as all thoughts of chemical apparatus were driven from my mind. I kept my silence, waiting for him to continue.

He gave me his most deceptively mild look. "Sometimes I wonder whether you care about anything you cannot pin down under your magnifying glass."

I could not help but frown. "If that is supposed to be a metaphor for anything that can be observed, analysed and categorised, then you are perfectly correct. What I observe and deduce is enough to explain everything I encounter. I see no reason to concern myself with anything beyond that."

"Indeed? Can you, for instance, explain why a perfectly sane and rational man would risk his life to save a known murderer?" He looked up at me suddenly. "Or indeed, why you would follow me?"

In other circumstances I am ashamed to say that I should have summarily dismissed the remark, but the fact that it came from Watson gave me pause. I voiced the first defence that came to mind. "It's simply that I must widen the parameters of my explanation."

Watson's mouth quirked in amusement, but there was something serious in his eyes. "Semantics!"

I sat back, thoughts whirling around my mind, while Watson pulled his hat over his eyes and attempted to compensate for the previous night's lost sleep.

I spent the rest of the journey deep in thought, my gaze turned to the bleak and desolate hills which were rolling by. I should not be forgetting this place in a hurry; there were certain things I saw in a different light ever afterwards. Though I never admitted as much to Watson, I believe he knew it all the same.

.. .. .. .. ..

Fin

.. .. .. .. ..

Really long author's notes (including some geeky notes for the curious):

One line was directly from 'Hound of the Baskervilles': "The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?" Also shades of 'The Devil's Root', of course.

What Holmes refers to as 'chemical rays' is in fact ultraviolet light (the part of the spectrum that is just a bit higher in energy than visible light). Tonic water contains quinine and really will glow blue if you shine UV light on it. However, I think I've given Sir Nigel a bit more technology than he would have had at the turn of the century.

Lithium alanate is more often known as lithium aluminium hydride, which reacts explosively with water to produce plenty of hydrogen gas, which generally self-ignites. It's a rather common source of laboratory accidents. Poor Dr Ellis thought he was using sodium carbonate, which is also a white solid, but which is really pretty innocuous (think washing soda). Lithium ions burn red, by the way.

Holmes wants iodine to test for cornstarch, which could have been used to, for example, thicken a cauldron of fake blood ;)

Could the stable boy really have escaped almost unscathed? I think so, theoretically, with enough layers to protect him and a short enough exposure time. Unlike Holmes, though, I didn't feel like experimenting on myself to find out for certain...