Trivia – the Hotel in which Holmes and Watson stay in this story is the same Hotel where the Mr Bean episode 'The Man in Room 426' was filmed. Sorry if you're not into Mr Bean….
Epilogue16th October 1882
The early afternoon found us back at Arthur's house, number ten Hampshire Terrace. Brandy and cigars were to hand, Mrs Evans had provided us with a remarkable luncheon, the autumn sun was shining and all was well with the world.
"Absolutely brilliant, Mr Holmes," enthused Doyle, and Holmes rose from his chair and took a bow, before sitting again with a broad smile. "But I am quite exhausted with all this adventure." He turned to me. "Is this how it always is with the two of you, Watson?"
I laughed. "Sometimes it can be worse than this, Doyle! But I must admit, this time round I really thought we had reached the end. Were it not for the fact that Holmes here had everything under control, evidently."
"Well, I think Mr Holmes should get an award!" Doyle continued.
I thought these matters of approbation were starting to get out of hand. "So," I said, changing the subject, "it was all a ruse, then."
"Indeed," replied Holmes. "You really must learn not to accept everything at face value. As soon as I interviewed you, Doctor Doyle, at Waterloo Bridge Station it was clear that the 'real' police were involved. I made that quite clear in my subsequent outline of the case as I saw it then. Now the fact is that although individuals within a force may be corrupted, the overall system works in checks and balances, and will reveal any such compromise quickly. As the case developed, there could clearly be no way that the Chief of Police here in Portsmouth would have been able to assemble a secret death squad – if you wish to call it such – to hunt down government agents. Of course, until we had evidence to the contrary I was not willing to completely ignore the possibility of such a hypothesis, but as soon as we started to have names, the whole thing slid into place like a well oiled piece of machinery. I shared with you the rest of the cogent points during our closing discussion with Miss Wilcox during our most exhilarating excursion this morning."
"Well, I still think you should get official recognition for your work," Doyle said.
"My work is its own reward," Holmes replied, although some colour was showing in his cheeks. "It is merely the organisation of clear facts, and most importantly keeping one's mind clear of anything that does not contribute to the solution. Try only those conjectures which fit the facts to hand, and discard them once it is clear they do not fit. By such means we quickly move to a situation whereby the only story that fits is the truth – however unlikely or unsettling. All that was necessary at the end – last night in fact, once I had read the telegrams waiting for me – was to send and advise Lestrade to attend us this morning and to watch for my signals. I had hoped of course that Miss Wilcox would have seen sense and abandoned her plans, in which case he would have been able to make the arrest without bloodshed. The new agents are somewhat trigger-happy, gentlemen – as you saw in action."
"Why Lestrade?" I asked, making the most of my friend's present openness to providing explanations.
"Simply that Franks had worked with him. Had Franks lived I had hoped that Lestrade would have some influence over him still. More so, perhaps, than I. Unfortunately subsequent events rather overtook that possibility of course."
"But the guns, Holmes," I continued. "Silent guns? How was that possible?"
"As my brother reminds me with regularity bordering on the annoying, Watson, there is much that goes on in the corridors of power which would surprise us all. Long before new mechanisms become openly available I think you will find that our Government is able to procure early prototypes, especially with respect to weapons. Sometimes they even commission their continued development. In such a way there has, no doubt, been manufactured a muffler or silencer attachment which works to deaden the sound of the shot. I have spent a little time researching such a development, as one does, so I am aware of the theory, and it is perfectly achievable. You will not see them commercially or openly available for another decade at least. But they exist, as we have seen."
"You make it sound so straightforward, Mr Holmes," replied Doyle. "But I still don't quite understand why they involved me."
"It was not in their original plan to do so," responded Holmes. "However, as soon as Emily Holloway crawled to your door by mistake, then your involvement was required. It was inevitable. Remember that since the police special agents used these new silent weapons, you were the only witness to what had happened. Your engagement of my services was of course unexpected to them – had you chosen not to do so, then I have, I am afraid, absolutely no doubt that Miss Wilcox would have captivated your heart into unknowingly bringing the plot to a successful conclusion."
"And doubtless rewarded my devotion to her by despatching me at the earliest opportunity thereafter."
"Yes," smiled Holmes. "I think that you would have been killed on the Olive in any event. All they needed you for was to help them to get close enough to the Dreadnought to detonate the explosive. Had Franks not been killed last evening they may even have despatched you earlier, just to use your house as an alternative base for their activities."
"I thought highly of that woman," said Doyle, regretfully. "She had me fooled."
"A little too obviously! Let that be a lesson, Doyle!" I laughed. "Take stock of what the expert says! Not that he of course as ever had his heart warmed by such feelings, I am sure."
"On the contrary, Watson!" exclaimed Holmes. "But that is not for discussion here." He stood up. "Doctor Doyle, I thank you for a most diverting few days. But Watson and I must be returning to the metropolis. I can feel it calling to me."
"And I," I continued, "have a journal to write up."
Holmes fixed me with an acid stare. "Ah, yes, your journals," he said quietly, "We never did quite finish our discussion did we?"
"Just think of what a tale could be told about our exploits here!" I exclaimed. "People would queue up to read about it."
Doyle was listening with interest. "What journals and tales are these, Watson?"
I quickly explained that I was keeping records of Holmes' exploits and methods, so that in time they could be published so that others could learn their trade from the master.
"The over-riding problem which my friend has not considered," said Holmes, "is that people may not be the least interested in our adventures, such as they are."
"It is easily resolved," I replied. "I would have to publish the accounts written in the same tone as you reveal the solutions of your cases, Holmes. I always seem to end up with a sense of amazement as you explain your intricate labyrinthine thought processes, so I would have no difficulty in conveying that same sense of wonder to my readers! Come, man, such accounts would be a great success. I would only need to wait a seemly time between the events and publication if the events of the case required."
"You really think anyone would be interested?" he asked.
"If I could get a series of accounts together, then yes I believe so," I replied. But then I halted. "But the practical problem is that I have absolutely no idea how to go about getting them published."
Doyle was enthusiastic. "Mr Holmes, I think this is a marvellous idea of Watson's. Undoubtedly people would queue up to read them. And I think I can help. I have experience of publishing – I have had some little success with my fictions at 'Chambers's Journal', Watson. So if you send some of your manuscripts to me, I will do the hard work of submitting them to publishing houses until one of them accepts them. It's the least I could do as a way of thanking you for taking me seriously at the outset of this little 'adventure' as Mr Holmes calls it. I'll do all the hard work, all the running around. I will submit them as though they were works of fiction, and even under my own name if you so wish. Anyway, whatever we agree, everyone gains. Your stories are published, Watson; the world learns of the great prowess of the amazing Mr Sherlock Holmes; and you - and I if you let me join you in this - get a bit of meagre income to supplement the day job." He smiled appealingly at Holmes. "Although of course if the great Mr Holmes objects…."
Holmes took a deep breath, smiled at us both, and then grabbed up his bag. "I give up!" he said. "Come, Watson, to the Metropolis! And, perhaps, fame…."
THE END