Author's Note by John H. Watson: The following events take place approximately 3 months after April 20, 1889, the date of the documented sinking of the luxury steamer Campania, built by the Blue Star Line. Additionally, I have taken a look at 'Carmilla', a novel published in 1872 by Sheridan Le Fanu, which plays a certain role in the present case and with which I aim to make my report more credible or at least more detailed.
Over the past years, I have repeatedly witnessed the diversity of Holmes' clients. While he was initially confronted with more down-to-earth, everyday problems at the beginning of his career, the size of the assignments and the social status of his clients increased with his growing fame and recognition. It was not uncommon for the nobility to approach my friend for help with a somewhat delicate theft or a missing person case. Even the Crown itself quickly recognized the value of the detective and increasingly entrusted him with sensitive government matters, whether it was the recovery of stolen secret papers or the tracking down of enemy agents within the country.
I had always been content to be a passive companion and chronicler of the great master detective. I made little distinction regarding the size of our joint cases, as I tried to capture them in every detail in my stories. After completing my work at the practice and shedding my doctor's coat, I slipped into my street clothes, which my wife had kindly cleaned and laid out for me beforehand.
I had not seen Holmes for a week and wondered if he had taken on new cases or had succumbed to the boredom that brought out his negative sides. I fervently hoped that he was occupying his mind with something that did not involve harmful influences. Even his stubborn violin playing would have been acceptable, even if it had ruined my peaceful evening.
I entered our shared quarters but first went to my room to put down my heavy doctor's bag. Since my medical expertise was often required in our joint cases, I had decided to keep it within easy reach.
After inquiring with our housekeeper, my fears seemed to be confirmed. Holmes had indeed not taken on any new cases for a week, nor had he barely left his office or laboratory since then. With the idea of wanting to cheer him up a bit, I knocked on his door and entered shortly afterward.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that my friend had not injected himself with anything but was attentively studying the daily newspaper.
"I am immensely pleased that you have not yet succumbed to idleness," I greeted my friend.
However, he only looked at me disdainfully.
"You know, I think, that this would never occur to me. As so often, you seem to confuse idleness with stimulation."
I had serious reservations about agreeing with him on such statements but did not want to insist unnecessarily.
So, I sat down on my usual chair and picked up some newspapers that Holmes had seemingly already set aside.
"Anything exciting, Holmes?" I asked casually as I opened one of them.
The detective, however, shook his head slightly.
"Otherwise, I would probably no longer be sitting here. Not a single crime that would pose even a remote challenge for me." he complained.
I sighed but then paused at the first page.
"Oh, have you already read this article? It seems that the Blue Star Line has published a report on the unfortunate steamer that sank near Southampton a few months ago."
At least with this, I expected to spark at least some interest in Holmes. However, this interest was minimal.
"Mh, you are referring to the luxury steamer Campania. I admit, the article was quite interesting at first, but even if the sinking was caused by sabotage, the perpetrator perished along with the ship. This makes a criminal investigation obsolete. Unless, of course, one wants to try to evaluate the motive of the perpetrator, but I no longer see any higher purpose in that."
I thought Holmes was making it too easy for himself, especially since about two dozen people had lost their lives in the disaster. On the other hand, one had been well-prepared, so most of the passengers were placed in lifeboats and survived.
My friend put his newspaper aside, and a slight, barely noticeable smile flitted across his cheeks. At first, thinking he had found an interesting article, I scrutinized the daily paper. Then, however, the detective stood up and stared out the window. With a much broader smile, he sat down again and pointed to the chair by the wall, usually provided for clients and other guests.
"Watson, would you be so kind? We are about to receive a new client, for whom the probability of a profitable case is quite high."
I wanted to ask Holmes whom he had spotted outside, but I already heard the bell at our door and got up to prepare the chair.
Hardly had Mrs. Hudson let the guest in when he was already stomping up to us with quick steps.
Before he could even knock, Holmes had already spoken.
"Don't keep us waiting, Lestrade. Come right in; we have time for you."
Not only my face showed surprise, but the inspector, who entered the next moment, also looked perplexed.
"What? But how did you... Oh, I see, the sound of my steps." he said hastily.
I pointed to the chair I had just moved into place.
"This and Holmes must have seen you outside on the street just now." I said to the man from Scotland Yard and indicated the chair.
He took a few steps towards me but then hesitated indecisively.
"No, thank you. I prefer to stand. You see, I am in a hurry." he revealed.
Holmes leaned back in his armchair.
"Yes, I can see that, Inspector. You have received a difficult case just before the end of your shift, which must be quite annoying. And on your wedding anniversary, no less. You wanted to take your wife out for a nice dinner and shower her with gifts."
The astonishment returned to the inspector's face.
Before he could ask, Holmes raised a hand.
"Your suit, Lestrade. It is not the worn, khaki suit you usually wear. It is for festive occasions and has been freshly cleaned. You have something planned for today. Moreover, I recognize from the receipt partially sticking out of your lapel that you plan to visit a tailor today. The Sterling & Ash chain specializes in ladies' clothing. If we rule out that you have a new hobby of wearing ladies' clothing, or the possibility of an affair—which I would never accuse you of—then you must be planning to buy your wife a new dress. About five years ago, you mentioned to me that you had been married for 5 years. Therefore, you and your wife are celebrating your tenth wedding anniversary today. This also explains why your ring is shifted and not in its usual position. You probably played with it in a fit of nostalgia and therefore shifted it slightly on your finger."
Lestrade took a deep breath and decided to sit down after all.
"As always, nothing can be hidden from you, Mister Holmes. You are quite right; I should be home in two hours, but a body was found in the East End just now. Of course, they have assigned the case to me again, who else."
I gave the inspector a sympathetic smile.
"But does this case have priority? There are always violent crimes in the East End. It will surely keep until tomorrow."
Lestrade's expression told us that was not the case.
"I'm afraid not, Doctor. The Chief Inspector insists on a quick resolution. The deceased is not just some vagabond or crook. His attire and his gold pocket watch indicate that he is a gentleman."
I wanted to interject that gentlemen often frequent the East End, whether to visit prostitutes or to procure certain substances. But Holmes immediately followed up.
"Good, so it is not a robbery-murder. You speak of a gentleman; do you not know his identity?"
The inspector shook his head.
"He had no papers on him. Also... I did not examine the body closely."
Holmes raised an eyebrow.
"Why is that? It is your case, is it not?"
Lestrade now swallowed hard.
"Listen, Holmes... this body is not like others. The man was brutally mutilated in a way I have never seen in my entire career."
Holmes did not react, not least because Lestrade often tended to exaggerate.
"What are we talking about?" I asked. "Beatings? Stab wounds?"
Lestrade seemed to have difficulty deciding.
"Neither! The perpetrator raged in a way that can only be described as inhuman. I have not seen anything like this since the Ripper murders."
Holmes sighed audibly.
"Lestrade, please. You are not going to give us another Ripper theory now, are you?"
But that did not seem to be what the inspector was getting at.
"No, it... is worse. Please accompany me immediately and examine the body yourself. Do me this favor. It is a heinous crime. And my personal domestic peace, while we are at it."
I knew that Holmes would never take on a case for such a trivial reason. On the other hand, I was also aware that the detective was currently craving an exciting case. Therefore, it did not surprise me in the least that he agreed to accompany the inspector the next moment.
"By the way, you do not mind if the good doctor accompanies us, I presume." he said, referring to me.
Lestrade immediately disagreed.
"No, on the contrary. The doctor's expertise would be highly desirable in this case."
I promised to do my best, and so, barely 5 minutes later, we were sitting in the police carriage that had been waiting on the street. During the ride, Holmes asked for more information, but Lestrade did not seem able to provide him with more details. He kept insisting that Holmes had to see the body for himself.
The journey to the East End did not take long, and as we disembarked, it was clear that we were at a crime scene. There was a bustle of activity, and the constables were struggling to keep onlookers at bay. At any other location, the fine society of London would have simply marched past, but this one attracted all sorts of characters.
We were immediately allowed through, whether it was due to the inspector or because Holmes and I had become regulars at various crime scenes. We were led into a warehouse that appeared largely empty. A man, whom I had seen at such scenes before, approached Lestrade.
"Inspector, can we finally remove the body now?" the pathologist asked.
Lestrade raised his hands defensively.
"Only after Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson have taken a look. Would you be so kind?" he asked politely.
The pathologist sighed and led us to the location of the body. It had not been covered, which was understandable given the secluded nature of the place. In the next moment, however, I wished it had been.
I held a hand over my mouth while Holmes examined the body from all sides. I had to admit that Lestrade had not exaggerated. Although my readers know that I am not one to sensationalize, I ask them not to misinterpret my following descriptions.
What lay before us had definitely once been a human being. The skin was bluish, but this was not due to the degree of decomposition. The skin was swollen in many places, indicating numerous internal hemorrhages. The corpse was covered in wounds that had been treated in an absurd manner.
"Do you understand now what I meant, Doctor?" Lestrade asked.
I nodded, although I still did not fully comprehend what I was seeing.
"Watson, these are not ordinary scars, am I right?" Holmes asked me.
I confirmed it.
"Yes, the entire corpse is covered in surgical scars. There must be dozens of them. These were then semi-competently sutured. However, all these operations must have occurred simultaneously. There is no doctor who would put their patient through such an ordeal."
The pathologist joined us again.
"We couldn't make sense of it at first either. Initially, we approached the body with caution, fearing that someone might have set a trap."
The detective wanted to ask what the doctor meant, but I could provide an explanation.
"I've seen something like this from time to time in Afghanistan. Often, explosives are hidden in the bodies of fallen soldiers. When their comrades try to retrieve them, the explosives detonate, causing further casualties."
We had been instructed to look for specific characteristics in our fallen comrades to avoid the same fate.
Holmes nodded in understanding and then knelt down.
"But you found no explosives, right?" he inquired.
Lestrade shook his head.
"No, we opened some of the sutures, but there were no dangerous objects."
He looked helplessly at the pathologist, who continued.
"What we found can only be described as disturbing. We removed some organs from the body that were definitely too large for the man. Therefore, we assume they were transplanted into him."
This nearly took my breath away.
"Transplanted? Are you saying someone transplanted another person's organs into him?"
We all felt uneasy, although I detected a hint of euphoria in my friend's expression.
"In this case, we are indeed dealing with an interesting adversary," he murmured.
Lestrade merely grumbled.
"You can't be serious, Holmes. Clearly, we are dealing with Satanists here. What other reason would someone have for transplanting foreign organs into the poor man?"
Holmes did not want to commit.
"You suspect Satanists? I see no religious symbols here, Lestrade." he countered.
The inspector dismissed the idea.
"Then occultists, or whatever. In any case, we are dealing with a mentally deranged perpetrator." he insisted.
I was inclined to agree with him. There was hardly a need to draw elaborate conclusions in this regard.
Holmes, however, did not make it so easy for himself. He asked the pathologist a few more questions and then examined the deceased's clothing.
"Well, what do we have here? Do you see this embroidery on the deceased's jacket? Langley & Gable, if I am not mistaken, is this clothing store located on Knightsbridge Street."
Holmes had previously demonstrated how much insight a person's clothing could provide. Lestrade asked if he should send someone there, but the detective declined.
"For now, we only have a possible clue to the identity of the deceased. Watson and I will inquire there to see if anyone recognizes the man. Take the body to the morgue now and remove the foreign organs. These should prove that we are dealing with at least one more body."
I leaned towards my friend.
"But how many perpetrators are we dealing with?" I asked.
As usual, my friend refused to make premature speculations.
"Lestrade, go home now and have dinner with your wife. We will update you on the status of our investigation tomorrow."
Lestrade looked visibly relieved. However, he requested that we use the police carriage for our trip, which was not a problem.
During the next 20 minutes, I repeatedly tried to engage Holmes in conversation. I felt a need to discuss the case, not only because of the newly resurfaced memories from wartime but also because of the fate that had befallen the poor man. Holmes, however, was too deep in thought to respond. It was only when the carriage came to a stop that he turned to me.
"Watson, it is safe to say that the deceased was not alive during the operations, right?"
The question surprised me, given the possible atrocity. However, I could reassure my friend.
"No, the incisions were all made post-mortem. The organs were transplanted when he was undoubtedly already dead."
Holmes grumbled.
"So, it was not the perpetrator's intention to save the man's life."
I shook my head vehemently.
"Even if the man had been suffering from an illness, transplanting foreign organs into him would have achieved nothing. You saw the body; no medic would be capable of such a thing."
The detective nodded slightly and then signaled for us to get out.
The carriage had kindly dropped us off right in front of the Langley & Gable clothing store. To our relief, it was still open. We entered, and a young employee greeted us immediately. Holmes made it clear that we were not there for personal reasons and insisted on speaking with the manager. The woman nodded and led us to the back of the store.
There, we saw an extremely well-dressed man taking measurements of another. He was of considerable height and kept stretching his neck, which was adorned with a blond full beard. Standing still seemed to be difficult for him. We waited patiently as the employee whispered something to her superior. The manager apologized to the customer but seemed to have finished his work anyway. As the woman led the customer to the exit, we approached the well-dressed man.
"Good day, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my colleague, Doctor Watson. We would like to ask you about a suit you sold."
The owner of Langley & Gable hesitated for a moment before responding.
"Of course, Mister Holmes, I have indeed heard of you. Am I correct in assuming that you are here on a criminal matter?"
The detective confirmed it.
"Yes, a man has unfortunately died. However, we found your store's logo on his jacket. Therefore, we are now seeking your help."
The manager nodded and offered us a seat.
"I will help if I can. To be honest, I prefer talking to you rather than the gentlemen from the Yard. I don't want to give the wrong impression. After all, my business has nothing to do with the circumstances of the man's death, right?"
Holmes maintained his stoic expression, so I had to assure him that this was unlikely. We had only come to obtain information about the man's identity.
Holmes then described the man's clothing in every detail. He could even provide a fairly accurate estimate of the measurements, which always impressed me.
The manager stood up for a moment to retrieve his notebook. After flipping through it for a while, his expression brightened.
"Yes, I believe I have the person you are looking for. It must be Harold Bellhurst."
Holmes' expression showed satisfaction.
"Can you provide any information about him?" he asked.
The manager thought for a moment.
"I can tell you that Mister Bellhurst and his wife are regular customers of my store. However, we never discussed personal matters, so I cannot tell you what he did for a living or what his interests were."
Holmes, however, seemed anything but disappointed. We had learned a great deal from our visit. After inquiring if Mister Bellhurst had left an address, we were also able to obtain this information. He and his wife had their clothes delivered regularly, so we were given the street name and a precise description of the location.
We thanked him profusely and made our way to the Bellhurst residence. The distance was easily walkable, and we found ourselves on the street where the estate was located barely 10 minutes later.
"What do you think, Holmes? Could his wife be involved in the crime?" I wondered aloud.
My companion, however, merely rolled his eyes.
"That, Watson, or you will have to deliver the unfortunate news of her husband's death to the lady."
I wanted to protest but gave up. Holmes knew that I could not refuse if it meant contributing to our cases.
Upon arriving at the estate, I recognized the nameplate with the inscription "Bellhurst." The gate was slightly ajar. I was about to enter when Holmes grabbed my shoulder.
"Wait, Watson. We are not the first to attempt a visit to Misses Bellhurst." he said, pointing to the gravel.
Only upon closer inspection did I notice muddy shoe prints. There seemed to be several.
"Perhaps Lestrade found out who the deceased was before us and sent some of his officers to her." I suggested.
I had to admit that I did not really believe this possibility, especially since the good inspector had long since gone home.
"Watson, do you have your Webley with you?" Holmes then asked quietly.
I confirmed, although I had not expected to encounter a conflict today.
"I want you to enter the estate through a window. I will make myself known at the front door to distract the intruders." he instructed.
I still felt uncertain.
"But how can we be sure they are intruders, Holmes? Couldn't Misses Bellhurst simply have guests?" I asked.
The detective immediately dismissed the idea.
"Fine gentlemen who do not have their shoes cleaned before entering? Nonsense. Play your part." he insisted.
I noticed that Holmes was more nervous than usual, which made me anxious as well.
Nevertheless, I wanted to do my best and approached the right side of the estate. While Holmes knocked loudly on the front door several times, I searched for an open window to enter through.
I was successful and squeezed myself inside. I found myself in what appeared to be the piano room. I walked towards the hallway and tried to orient myself. Fortunately, I soon heard voices that guided me. On tiptoe, I crept closer and cautiously peeked around the corner. I saw several men gesturing wildly as they spoke. The unexpected visitor had likely startled them. There were three of them, and one suggested ignoring the visitor. Another thought this would be too suspicious, while the third went to the other side of the room. Now I saw a woman, bound and crouching in a corner. The man, seemingly the leader, asked her if she was expecting visitors and told her not to scream.
I realized that Holmes could not distract them forever. I had to act, but my opponents were three in number. I could not tell if they were armed. I considered myself a good shot, but even with the element of surprise, my chances seemed mediocre.
But before I could decide, it happened. Something hard hit me on the back of the head, and I fell to the ground. Dazed, I managed to utter a curse before crashing to the floor. Another person had emerged from the room behind me and now entered the room with the hostage. As I assumed it was another accomplice, the appearance of the fourth person also surprised the other three. I could not see exactly what happened, but I heard that a fight had broken out. Wild screams echoed, but they soon fell silent. I summoned all my strength to stand up. I held my head as I staggered into the room. On the floor lay the three men, with knives scattered around them. They had not been able to use them but had been taken down. None seemed to have survived. My sympathy was limited. I rushed to Misses Bellhurst and asked her what had happened to the other man. She pointed in a direction, and I followed it.
I pushed open a door and found myself on the street behind the estate. I just managed to catch a glimpse of the man who had also entered next to me. He gave me a brief look as he climbed into a carriage, which then drove off. Following it would have been futile.
A familiar face appeared around the corner a short while later, and I recognized my friend. I quickly gave him a report, and then we returned to the inside of the estate. Holmes freed Misses Bellhurst from her bonds and left it to me to examine her condition.
Fortunately, the intruders had not physically harmed her; the shock was the worst part. Luckily, the men had already told her about her husband's death, sparing me that task. While I examined her, Holmes found a constable to inform his superiors.
An hour later, we were still sitting in the estate, but with a somewhat calmer Misses Bellhurst. I had prescribed her a mild sedative and had some tea prepared. Nevertheless, the shock of the intruders and the violent death of her husband ran deep.
Holmes was speaking with a man who had just entered through the door.
"Bradstreet, nice to see you." the detective greeted him.
The inspector shook his hand.
"Yes, this is actually Lestrade's case, but I unfortunately have the late shift. The poor fellow is celebrating his anniversary today anyway, so..."
Holmes interrupted him and assured him that he was well aware of the circumstances.
He quickly briefed the inspector on what had happened.
"And you didn't take out any of those guys?" Bradstreet asked me.
I had to admit that I had not. Although I was prepared, I had been taken by surprise.
Holmes asked me to describe the attacker, but I could only do so vaguely. I had only seen his face briefly. It was a man with thinning hair and an athletic build. I described his gaze as cold and calculating. Bradstreet wanted to issue an alert for the carriage but did not hold out much hope.
It was only when Misses Bellhurst was somewhat calmed that Holmes and the inspector turned their questions to her.
"So, you have no idea who these men were?" Bradstreet asked.
Misses Bellhurst shook her head but seemed somewhat guilty. She likely would have wanted to help solve her husband's murder. Harold Bellhurst, in my opinion, had no enemies or anyone who might have held even the slightest grudge against him.
While Holmes took another look at the deceased, the inspector asked the poor woman more questions.
It was only when it grew dark that we prepared to leave. Bradstreet placed Misses Bellhurst under police protection, a necessary measure until we knew the intruders' true objective.
Outside, Holmes straightened his coat; a cool breeze had picked up.
"Holmes, do you think they are still after the woman?" I asked.
The detective seemed reluctant to commit.
"I have examined the deceased; they are undoubtedly henchmen. The needle marks on their arms indicate that they would do anything for money. No, these men certainly did not perform the operations, or whatever that was." he concluded.
I nodded in understanding.
"But our adversary must have considerable resources if he can send such people into the widow's house." I pointed out.
At least in this regard, my friend agreed with me.
Since there was nothing more we could do that day, we returned to Baker Street and enjoyed the dinner Mrs. Hudson had prepared for us. She was shocked when I told her about the incident and made me promise not to dismiss my injury lightly. In fact, I applied a salve before going to bed and then lay down on my pillow.
The next morning, I found Holmes in his office, once again studying the Times. He inquired about my condition, but fortunately, I had avoided a headache.
"Oh yes, I received a telegram from Lestrade. He wanted to stop by today and consult with us," he informed me.
I nodded casually.
"I'm sorry I couldn't stop the man. We could have learned a lot from him that would have helped us understand this confusing case."
Holmes folded his newspaper.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, old friend. You did your best. They are currently searching for him and his carriage. There's not much more we can do for now," he reassured me.
I nodded and rubbed the back of my head.
"If that damned carriage with that strange coat of arms hadn't disappeared so quickly, I might have caught him," I insisted.
Holmes now looked at me sternly.
"A coat of arms? You haven't mentioned a coat of arms before, neither to me nor to Bradstreet."
I paused for a moment, realizing my mistake.
"Damn it! That must have been because of my daze."
I knew Holmes would never blame me verbally for this. Nevertheless, valuable time had likely been lost.
My friend now focused entirely on me.
"Watson, please think carefully now. What exactly did this coat of arms look like?"
I pulled myself together and forced my brain to recall the correct images.
Then I finally had it in front of my eyes.
"It looked like a shield. A silver shield with eagle heads on the left and right. With white wings sprouting from the shield."
Holmes had stood up and walked to his cabinet. He pulled something out and then returned to his desk. He opened his Who's Who and flipped to the section where the coats of arms of the lords and ladies of England were printed.
A smacking sound told me he had found it. He turned the book around and pushed it towards me.
"Was this the coat of arms you saw?" he asked expectantly.
I didn't have to think long and confirmed it. Then I read the title under the coat of arms.
"Coat of arms of the Phantomhive family. Holmes, what is this ominous name?"
The detective took the book back and studied it.
"I can't tell you that either; this name is also unfamiliar to me. According to the entry, it is a rather old noble family. If you have never heard of them, they must live quite secluded."
I still couldn't make sense of it, but then another memory from the previous day returned.
"Holmes, now that you mention it... I am now sure that the man who attacked me was wearing a butler's uniform."
The detective lowered his head.
"Excellent. Any other important details you might remember?"
I hated it when he reacted with sarcasm, but in this case, it seemed justified.
"Be that as it may, nothing can be changed now. Get dressed, we will have to keep Lestrade waiting. First, I need to check something."
I stood up and looked at my friend expectantly.
"Do you want to speak with this Phantomhive family?" I asked.
But Holmes waved it off.
"What? No... at least not right away. I want to follow another lead first."
The detective didn't give me time to ask more questions, and soon we were sitting in a carriage. Only there did he deign to answer me.
"I mentioned the puncture marks on the men to you yesterday, right?"
I nodded; I remembered that detail.
"Based on the size and shape of the puncture marks, I could trace them back to a specific opium den."
My forehead furrowed.
"Are you serious, Holmes? You're telling me you can trace puncture marks back to a specific opium den?"
My friend seemed to make little fuss about it.
"But of course, my friend. After all, I have studied this field myself in the form of various self-medications. Different needles and instruments leave different puncture marks."
I was about to criticize Holmes again when the carriage stopped and let us out. As announced, we were in front of an opium den, which Holmes approached without hesitation. I remembered the old, dark days when I had to retrieve Holmes from such a dive, like the one described in the case of the man with the twisted lip. All the more glad I was that my friend now mainly indulged in the somewhat less dangerous cocaine, although this was still a point of contention between us.
Inside, a rough and cold atmosphere awaited us. A young Chinese woman asked about our business, and Holmes requested to see her master, a certain Lau.
Soon we were led into an office and chairs were pushed towards us. From behind a curtain, a Chinese man with a broad grin emerged, extending his hand to us.
"Mister Holmes! It has truly been a long time! It pained my heart when I realized my opium no longer suited you."
Holmes put on a smile.
"Not at all. I have merely considered alternatives. Besides, I have much more work now than before."
Lau nodded understandingly.
"Undoubtedly, you are a man in demand. And I assume the man beside you is Doctor John Watson. I have read much about him. And especially from him."
I tried to smile as well, although I didn't feel much like it in a place like this.
When the Chinese man asked his employee to bring something for us, I wanted to decline at first. Fortunately, it turned out to be just tobacco.
Holmes, his pipe almost always with him, gladly accepted Lau's tobacco. I trusted the Chinese man less, but Holmes seemed to get along well with him.
"So, how can I help you, gentlemen?" the proprietor wanted to know.
Holmes began to tell him about our problem but left out important details. Primarily, he was interested in his customers, the three men who had taken Misses Bellhurst hostage the day before.
Lau thought for a while.
"Yes, but I have an idea who you mean. I don't know the names of the other two, but the third was clearly Barnabus Fairchild. He was a regular customer; it's a shame to lose him. After everything he went through, he desperately needed my services."
Holmes fixed him with his gaze, which was enough to make the Chinese man continue.
"He lost his wife and children to an infectious disease. I think it was tuberculosis. After that, he was just a shadow of his former self. He put all his wealth into my opium. But as long as it made him happy, who would judge him for it?"
I would have liked to say a few honest words to the Chinese man but didn't want to disrupt Holmes's investigation.
"A terrible fate. Can you tell us where this Mister Fairchild lived?"
The Chinese man could indeed tell us this. Fairchild lived not far from the opium den, and we wouldn't take long to get there.
As we set off, Holmes said goodbye to his old acquaintance, who suggested he stop by privately again sometime. I didn't respond to that.
Outside, I could openly express my discomfort. But the detective assured me that those days were numbered and that he no longer had any interest in opium. We left it at that and sought out Barnabus Fairchild's apartment. It was, as we had expected, in a rundown area.
"And now, Holmes? Mister Fairchild is, as we know, no longer to be found."
But my friend had already taken precautions. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another tool he always carried with him: his lock pick, which had often been to his advantage.
After picking the lock, we entered the apartment. It smelled unpleasant and was messy. I even had to hold my nose. We entered the living area, and I doubted that even in this chaos, much could be deduced. Nevertheless, he took sufficient time for each part of the room. While I stepped into the remains of food, he studied a coat hanging on a stand.
"Interesting," he mused, and I saw him remove what appeared to be a cufflink from it.
I stepped closer and took a look at it. It was golden, with a bird depicted on it.
"Holmes, this is not the eagle I saw on the carriage," I reported.
Apparently, my remark was unnecessary.
"No, this bird is likely a phoenix. But I only have marginal knowledge of the background of this mythical creature. I will have to read up on it more closely."
I was amazed.
"To what end? Do you think this cufflink will bring us closer to solving the case?"
My friend, however, did not want to commit to an answer at this time. He looked around once more before signaling me to leave Fairchild's apartment. I admitted that at that moment, there was nothing I would rather have done.
As soon as we were outside, I greedily breathed in the fresh air. We had walked a few steps when Holmes stretched out his arm and held me back.
"Well, look at that. Watson, do you see that? The two gentlemen on the other side of the street. Weren't they already there when we arrived?"
I was a bit perplexed but followed Holmes's gaze. However, I couldn't give him an answer, as I didn't observe my surroundings as meticulously as Holmes always liked. Now he started moving and walked towards the two men. They initially didn't react and were unsure how to behave. I stumbled after Holmes, my hand on the spot on my coat where my revolver was.
Holmes bowed slightly when he stopped in front of the two men.
"Good day, gentlemen? Is there something to see here? Perhaps whether someone enters the apartment of the late Mister Fairchild?"
But the men just shrugged.
"Sorry, sir, no idea what you want from us."
Holmes now put on a smile.
"Never mind, your task here is done anyway. Please tell my brother that Fairchild's accomplices will not return to this place. This trail is cold. If he wants to know which direction I am taking instead, please have him contact me personally. That's all, gentlemen."
He left the two men bewildered and pulled me with him.
"Excuse me? Your brother, Holmes?"
The detective confirmed it to me again.
"Of course. These two reeked of Whitehall. I admit, not a common method of my deduction, but I'm quite practiced at recognizing Mycroft's henchmen by now."
I had to let the news sink in.
"The government is watching Barnabus Fairchild's apartment? One of the thugs who attacked Misses Bellhurst, the widow of our murder victim who was so badly disfigured. What am I not seeing here, Holmes? Does it have to do with the Phantomhive family?"
My friend nodded.
"You can count on that, old friend. As little as we know about this noble family, you can be sure that Mycroft can tell us everything there is to know about this name. In other words, we are currently on the defensive, which we must change at all costs."
I swallowed.
"And will you also tell me how we are going to do that?"
This time, the detective revealed it to me without hesitation.
"We will go to the place where they can answer our questions, of course. I am referring to Phantomhive Manor."
Phantomhive Manor was located a short distance outside of London. It was a stately country estate surrounded by a magnificent garden. It was evident that the servants took great care of the place. An impressive fountain stood in front of the manor, and a staircase led to the entrance of the estate.
I had expressed my reservations since we had arrived without prior announcement. Holmes, however, did not seem concerned that we might not be admitted to see the Lord. At the entrance, we only had to knock once before the door was opened. A young housemaid stood before us, and Holmes bowed slightly.
"Good day, pardon our intrusion. I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my colleague Dr. Watson. We have come unannounced, but I am sure the Lord knows our names and is willing to speak with us."
The maid seemed momentarily overwhelmed but then agreed.
"Of course, gentlemen. Pardon me, I will quickly inform the butler, and he will let you in." She closed the door in front of us.
"Interesting," Holmes murmured.
I asked what he was referring to.
"She said she had to ask the butler first, not the Lord himself. This tells us that the butler holds a superior position among the servants."
We didn't have much time to ponder this, as the door opened again, and a man in a tailcoat greeted us. His attire was impeccable, with nothing that a gentleman could find fault with. I, however, recognized him immediately. He was the man who had knocked me unconscious at the Bellhurst estate.
"Mister Sherlock Holmes? Doctor John Watson? My name is Sebastian, I will now lead you to the young Lord. He is very eager to see you, I assure you."
He led us inside and closed the door behind us. His demeanor seemed subservient, but as a former soldier, I recognized his vigilance. He was someone who could make a decision in seconds and act on it.
The butler led us to the salon, where someone was already waiting. A young man, almost still a boy, sat at a richly set table, drinking from a cup.
"Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he greeted us.
Holmes stepped closer, while I remained in my position.
"Lord Ciel Phantomhive, I presume? I had hoped you could answer some questions for me."
The young Lord now turned his gaze to his butler. The butler reacted immediately and provided two chairs. After some hesitation, we sat down at the table with him. I hadn't eaten anything yet today but didn't want to help myself without being invited. Fresh pastries and fruit were laid out. Fortunately, it was the Lord himself who invited us to help ourselves. I did as I was told, while Holmes still showed restraint.
He and Lord Phantomhive eyed each other as if trying to see through one another. Then, finally, it was Holmes who began.
"I would like to discuss a Harold Bellhurst with you. I assume this name means something to you."
The young Lord finished his tea before giving my friend his attention. An unnecessary display of his status, I thought.
"I assume you are referring to the deceased who was recently found by Scotland Yard in the East End."
Holmes nodded seriously.
"Indeed. Is that why you were at his estate? It was your butler who rushed to the aid of poor Misses Bellhurst, wasn't it?"
Lord Phantomhive glanced at his butler Sebastian, who now stepped closer.
"Indeed. I apologize, I only recognize you now, dear Doctor. I must admit, I misjudged the situation and mistook you for an accomplice of the criminals. I ask for your sincere apology." He bowed humbly before me.
Given the circumstances, I essentially had no choice. It had been a confusing situation, and the man had only been trying to free a hostage. Finally, I accepted his apology, but Holmes had more objections.
"A misinterpretation of the situation? Really? Why didn't your butler kill the good doctor as well, like the others? One might almost think that rendering him unconscious was to prevent the doctor from witnessing the butler's actions."
Neither the butler nor the young Lord showed any reaction.
"Do you think so, Mister Holmes? Is that how detectives work? By guessing and making wild speculations?"
My friend did not respond to that.
"How did it happen that you were on the scene? You must have known that Barnabus Fairchild and his accomplices were targeting the widow. Who hired them?"
Lord Phantomhive set down his cup and folded his hands.
"Mister Holmes, I am sure you are someone I can count on for discretion. Have you ever heard of the 'Aurora Society'?"
Holmes did not answer immediately, probably searching his memory. Finally, he seemed to give up.
"No. While I know the term in the context of the aurora, a society in this context is unknown to me."
The Lord's gaze now held a touch of melancholy.
"It is a group of occultists. Some may consider them harmless, but I assure you, they are not. Their ideology is to bring the dead back to life."
I shuddered at this description.
"That would explain the condition of Harold Bellhurst. Foreign organs were found in his corpse." I spoke up now as well.
The Lord nodded slightly.
"One of their methods by which they believe they can cheat death."
I remembered Lestrade's words, who had first suspected occultists. I wouldn't have expected him to be right with that assessment at the time.
"Alright, let's assume this 'Aurora Society' is behind it. Where do you come into play?" Holmes demanded to know.
But this did not seem to be a major concern for the Lord.
"We were able to obtain a list. Potential victims of this society. Unfortunately, help came too late for Mister Bellhurst. But rest assured, the other targets are now under protection."
Holmes' expression did not reveal whether he believed the Lord's story.
"Under whose protection, if I may ask?"
It was the butler Sebastian who answered for his master.
"By competent employees of the government. Please do not worry about them in this regard."
Holmes nodded and rummaged in his coat pocket. He pulled out something that I only recognized on second glance as the cufflink we had taken from Barnabus Fairchild's apartment.
"You wouldn't happen to have any idea what this is about?" the detective held out the clue to the Lord.
But he only shrugged slightly.
"I must decline, Mr. Holmes. And now I must bid you farewell, urgent business awaits me."
He instructed his butler to show us out. Holmes thanked the Lord for his time and signaled to me. We left the young man alone while Sebastian led us outside. There, he apologized once more for his master's behavior and then closed the door.
I looked at Holmes.
"Holmes, what do you make of all this? Do you find this Lord trustworthy?"
My friend did not answer immediately but first asked me to leave the property via the stony path.
"I am still forming an opinion. What I do know is that the Phantomhive family has some connection to the government. But I don't know what form this takes. Besides, what do you think of the butler Sebastian?"
I didn't have to think about that for long.
"Well, when I look at him, it sends shivers down my spine. He may present himself as a butler, but his posture, his expressions, and everything else suggest more of a soldier. He must have received some form of military training."
Holmes agreed.
"He took out Fairchild and his cronies without much difficulty. At first, I thought he might be one of Mycroft's agents placed in Phantomhive Manor. But didn't you notice his behavior? The servants seem to be devoted to him, and he even apologizes for his master's behavior. It's as if an aura surrounds him that I can't quite describe yet. But one thing is certain. This butler is extremely dangerous."
I swallowed hard. He had attacked me at the Bellhurst estate but hadn't killed me. Probably because he saw no need to. Having such a skilled man as an enemy... no, that was not desirable at all.
Back in Baker Street, we had to resolve a small conflict with Mrs. Hudson. She was already preparing the ingredients for dinner when she heard that we had eaten out.
But there was no helping it, so there would be an extra-large lunch the next day.
In the end, she informed us that a telegram had arrived for Holmes, and we made ourselves comfortable in his office. I had already taken a seat while Holmes slowly opened it. He pulled it out of the envelope and began to read. Groaning, he tossed it onto the desk.
Since he was not willing to tell me what the message contained, I allowed myself to reach for it and read it myself. However, I couldn't discern much content.
"Sherlock. At my place. Today. No excuses."
I had known Sherlock Holmes long enough to deduce the sender from this.
"What do you think, Holmes? Could this telegram be related to our visit to Phantomhive Manor?"
The detective furrowed his brow.
"You might as well ask me if the name of our esteemed Queen is Victoria."
In the next moment, he had stood up and grabbed his coat and deerstalker hat. As before that day, he pulled out the golden cufflink.
"Ah, Doctor, one question. Do you still visit that medical club?"
Holmes was referring to the place I frequented to stay in touch with old colleagues. I confirmed it to him, and he handed me the cufflink.
"While I visit another club, I would like to ask you to go there and inquire among your colleagues if they have ever seen the symbol on the cufflink before."
I understood.
"Holmes, do you suspect a medical connection with this symbol?"
My friend nodded slightly, though not convincingly.
"It's just an idea, but I would be grateful if you could check it out."
I agreed immediately, especially with the possibility of making progress in this case.
Thus, our paths separated for the day, and we arranged to meet again the next morning.
I did as I was told and found myself in my medical club. I had neglected the meetings with my colleagues; much had changed in my life, such as my collaboration with Holmes and my marriage to my wife Mary. I enjoyed chatting with old friends and almost forgot the actual purpose of my visit. Eventually, I asked some of my colleagues about the symbol on the cufflink. I didn't expect much, but one of my former colleagues from St. Bartholomew's was actually able to help me.
The next morning, I started the day with a good breakfast, insisting on having it with Holmes. He ate reluctantly, and I wondered what the previous day's conversation with his brother had yielded. When he didn't start talking on his own, I began to probe gently.
"Could your brother tell you anything about the Lord?"
The detective nodded several times.
"Oh, he certainly could, Doctor. He certainly could."
"And... would you care to share what exactly?" I tried my luck.
Holmes leaned back in his chair.
"I had to assure him of absolute secrecy, as usual, but I think it's quite reasonable to take you into my confidence. The Phantomhive family is an old noble lineage that has always performed special tasks for the Crown."
I spread butter on another roll while my friend continued.
"Whenever the Crown faces a problem that is too delicate even for the government, it turns to that family. And they solve absolutely every problem, which has earned them the title 'Watchdogs of the Queen.'"
Admittedly, this description still sounded a bit cryptic to me, but I was beginning to understand.
"So... problems that the government and, primarily, the Crown do not want to get their hands dirty with. A special kind of problem solver."
Holmes confirmed my perspective.
"Be that as it may, a few years ago, the family suffered a severe loss. Lord Vincent Phantomhive and his wife Rachel were killed in a burglary."
I agreed with Holmes; such crimes were becoming more common these days. The dark side reflected by the wealth of the lords and ladies.
"So the son was the only survivor? I had already wondered why he was the lord of Phantomhive Manor despite his young age."
Holmes nodded.
"That should advance the case significantly. The Crown tasks its watchdog to take steps to eliminate an occult circle, the so-called Aurora Society. Lord Phantomhive obtains a list on which Harold Bellhurst is also named. But unfortunately, help comes too late for him. Presumably, his wife is also on the list, which is why Barnabus Fairchild and his henchmen are sent. However, this is prevented by Lord Phantomhive's butler, Sebastian. The others on the list should also have been brought to safety by now."
I could only agree with my friend's report, but with one caveat.
"Holmes, what's to stop these occult nuts from simply creating a new list?"
But the detective seemed to have already thought of that.
"Very good, Dr. Watson. Indeed, there shouldn't be much stopping them. That's why we must dismantle the society before it can cause even more damage."
Now it was my turn to share what I had found out at the club. One of my colleagues had indeed recognized the symbol as the coat of arms of a former private clinic, the so-called Karnstein Hospital. As soon as I mentioned this name, Holmes jumped up and rushed to his archive. I helped myself to another roll to give the detective time to search through his files.
When he returned to his desk, I continued.
"The clinic is said to have closed years ago, but the phoenix on the cufflink was the same as the one on the clinic's coat of arms. My colleague didn't remember much, only the director of the clinic, a certain Rian Stoker."
Holmes scrutinized me for a moment.
"Rian Stoker? Are you sure he mentioned that name?" he asked again.
I assured him that I was, after all, the name had been mentioned several times. In fact, Stoker was long considered an icon in the field of organ transplantation. But Holmes had put down his files and was instead rummaging through the newspaper from two days ago.
I didn't interrupt him as he read intently. Then he handed it to me.
"Watson, be so kind as to look at the list on this page."
I did him the favor without much argument and scanned the listed names. I swallowed hard when my eyes rested on the name 'Rian Stoker.'
"Holmes, is this a coincidence? This list is..."
But my friend confirmed it to me again, even though I had read the title of the article before.
"Yes, this is a list of the people who were on board the steamship Campania but died in the unfortunate sinking. Stoker was one of them. And now I'm going to do something that I, my dear friend, have always held against you. And that is to speculate. I assume that the other victims, or at least a large part of them, were, like Stoker, members of the Aurora Society."
This truly took my breath away.
"Holmes! You're not suggesting that the disaster was caused by Lord Phantomhive, are you?"
The detective organized the files of his archive.
"That's just a theory, dear Doctor. But remember what I said. This is exactly the kind of problem-solving a watchdog of the Queen would undertake."
I understood and thought of the butler Sebastian. The more I thought about it, the more I believed this man capable of such an act. In Afghanistan, I had seen dozens of soldiers carrying out their superiors' orders without question.
"How do we proceed, Holmes? Do we confront Lord Phantomhive?"
An immediate shake of the head was the answer.
"No, I had to promise Mycroft that I would stay far away from the Lord and Phantomhive Manor in the future. Otherwise, he would throw me into the deepest dungeon of the Tower of London."
I raised an eyebrow.
"But... he must have meant that in jest." I interjected.
Holmes' expression did not change.
"Watson, in all the years you have known my brother, have you ever seen him joke?"
I actually had to think for a moment, but then I had to deny it.
"Lord Phantomhive receives his instructions directly from the Crown, in other words, from someone above my brother. And this does not happen very often. I may have explained to you from time to time that Mycroft sometimes represents the government itself, but England is still a monarchy, and that will not change anytime soon. But we don't need him right now. You mentioned the Karnstein Hospital. Would it perhaps be possible for you to find out more about this clinic?"
The request surprised me for a moment, but I was immediately ready to help Holmes. Apparently, he was primarily interested in the clinic's staff.
"Medical personnel don't just disappear. They possess a useful skill and are always needed. We basically just need to find some of them, and we already have a lead to this clinic. Because this Karnstein Hospital is essentially the Aurora Society. Think about it, a specialist in organ transplantation, presumably with occult tendencies. But there must be someone above him, someone with wealth who finances the whole project. Someone with charisma who can even convince a Barnabus Fairchild that he can bring his family back, in one way or another."
I knew what he was getting at.
"So we just need to follow the money trail." I concluded.
This seemed to be exactly what my friend had wanted to say.
For the next two days, there was little communication between Holmes and me. We were both engrossed in our own investigations. While he tapped into his underworld contacts to trace Fairchild to his employer, I tried to find someone from the former staff of the Karnstein Clinic.
It was only on the third day that I could present my friend with results. I was so excited about my findings that even I skipped Misses Hudson's dinner that evening. I knocked on Holmes' door and waited to be let in.
As soon as I sat down, I began to report.
"Holmes, first of all, I must admit that I didn't find many former employees. Many seem to have emigrated abroad, and others didn't want to talk to me at all. It seemed as if they had to sign a non-disclosure agreement at the time."
Holmes, however, did not seem surprised by this.
"I can imagine that the bizarre experiments of the society had their origins there. Personnel is always a great risk when you have something to hide. Even though it is necessary on the other hand. Afterward, it is necessary to disperse this personnel as much as possible to prevent too much information from getting out."
I agreed with my friend but had more to report.
"That may be so, but I still believe I have made a breakthrough in our case. Namely, I was able to find out that about a dozen of the nurses and orderlies had started a new employment relationship. This became known because it was considered unusual that these employees had all previously held the same position. But you will never guess where they took up this position."
My euphoria was, as so often, dampened when Holmes shared his insights with me.
"At Heathfield Manor. Isn't that so?"
My expression fell, as did my pride, which for a moment deceived me into thinking I might be one step ahead of Holmes.
"I have since found out that the Karnstein Hospital was financed by Christopher Heathfield, owner of Heathfield Manor and member of Parliament."
I asked Holmes to wait a moment.
"Did you say a member of Parliament? And someone like that is involved in an occult cult?"
Holmes, who had by now fetched a pipe and lit the tobacco in it, did not seem to see this as a contradiction.
"It is often the rich who try to escape their hamster wheel and adorn themselves with special interests. No, I am sure that Christopher Heathfield is behind the Aurora Society."
I admitted that everything Holmes reported made sense, but I saw a problem with it.
"But how exactly do we prove that? We need something substantial if we are to accuse a member of Parliament of being part of an occult society that kills people and transplants foreign organs into them."
To my surprise, Holmes did not seem to have given this much thought yet.
"I have various ideas, but nothing concrete. That's why we will visit him tomorrow and see if there is a way to expose him."
I thought my friend was making it a bit too easy for himself. Nevertheless, I decided to stand bravely by his side.
Heathfield Manor was located in one of the most picturesque regions of England. It was situated about 200 miles north of London, in North Yorkshire, and had been built on a hill. According to reports, Christopher Heathfield employed around 35 staff, of whom surely a dozen must have been the medical personnel from the former Karnstein Clinic.
This time, we had announced our visit, as Holmes believed it made no difference whether we surprised Heathfield or not. After all, he wouldn't have the necessary evidence lying around openly.
Finally, we knocked on the heavy wooden door and waited for it to be opened. A maid answered and introduced herself as Annie. She assured us that Mister Heathfield was quite willing to speak with us. However, it had happened that other guests had suddenly announced their visit and wished to see him.
I wondered who it might be and immediately recognized a smirk on my friend's face.
"Ah, Annie, could it be that you were employed as a nurse before you started working here as a maid?" he suddenly asked.
She seemed not to fully understand.
"Ah, I just noticed your hurried pace, as well as the way you tie your work uniform."
Annie tried to smile.
"Yes... you are right. But... the lord of Heathfield Manor has instructed us not to chat too much about this fact."
Holmes promised not to mention it further, and we were led into a sort of anteroom where Annie asked us to take a seat. But as soon as she left, the detective signaled to me. We stood up and strolled to the door behind which voices could already be heard. My friend knocked briefly once and then opened it.
I felt uncertain, as we were crossing a boundary by simply entering. Holmes, however, proceeded with his usual elan and closed the door behind us.
Before us, I recognized three people. I probably shouldn't have been surprised when I recognized Lord Phantomhive, who was sitting at the table with the host. Behind him stood his butler Sebastian; our gazes crossed. I felt irritated as I looked more closely at the host, Christopher Heathfield.
I turned to Holmes and whispered in his ear.
"Holmes, this is the gentleman we encountered at Langley & Gable. The customer before us."
But the detective seemed to have already realized this. Of course, he must have already obtained a photograph of Heathfield and identified him from it.
"Ah, Mister Heathfield! And the esteemed Lord is also present. You don't mind if we join you?"
Both seemed uncertain of how to proceed due to our sudden entrance. Nevertheless, the innate politeness of an English gentleman quickly returned. It was Heathfield who stood up and approached us. He shook our hands alternately and welcomed us to his domain.
"Sherlock Holmes! Indeed, it is an honor to welcome you to Heathfield Manor. But please, do have a seat with us."
He wanted to call a staff member, but it was Lord Phantomhive who instructed his butler to bring chairs for us.
Soon we were all seated together, and Mister Heathfield pointed to the young Lord in front of him.
"You both know each other already, I assume? Imagine, Mister Holmes! An English lord has actually accused me of murder today. We live in absurd times, don't we?"
I couldn't fathom Holmes' thoughts at that moment, but in any case, he didn't let on. He placed his hands on the table in front of him and then looked alternately from the Lord to Mister Heathfield.
"Well, I can't tell you whether the Lord accused you of directly committing the murders. I can only confirm that you instructed various henchmen to abduct persons on a certain list, kill them, and then transplant the organs of others into them. All this began at the time with the so-called Karnstein Clinic. Karnstein refers to a fictional noble family from the novella 'Carmilla,' which was created in 1872. The main character of the novella is a female vampire who disguises herself as a young woman to gain trust before luring her victims into a deadly trance. She has aristocratic roots and is part of the noble family Karnstein, which lives in a fictional Austrian region. The Karnsteins are associated with a dark, cursed past. Their name is inextricably linked with vampirism. Isn't that also the case with your cult? The so-called Aurora Society?"
Christopher Heathfield took a deep breath and then leaned back in his chair.
"And I thought the day couldn't get any more absurd. Do you know who I am, gentlemen? I am an important parliamentarian with extensive connections. Are you not aware that you are harming your careers with such accusations?"
Now the Lord wanted to say something, but Holmes raised a hand.
"Forgive me for putting myself in the spotlight here. The matter is as follows: Lord Phantomhive seems to have received a direct order from the Crown to put an end to your activities. You can probably imagine the methods he would be willing to employ. However, I have come to make you an offer."
Now a hearty laugh came from Heathfield.
"And what does that look like? A prison sentence? Don't be ridiculous."
Lord Phantomhive kept glancing at his butler from the corner of his eye while Holmes continued.
"No, my offer is quite serious. I guarantee you a fair trial with a decent court. Before that, I have even gathered evidence. You know, it irritated me from the beginning that Barnabus Fairchild and his cronies showed up at the Bellhurst estate right after our visit to Langley & Gable. The timing just didn't make sense to me. But now that I know the clothing store is a location of the Aurora Society, everything fits together."
I had held back until now, but had to intervene at this sudden revelation.
"Holmes! Are you serious? Admittedly, we encountered Mister Heathfield there, but..."
But the detective cut me off and looked again at the Lord and his butler.
"You must have also had the business in your sights, right? Mister Heathfield, of course, recognized us immediately and had to assume that we would set off for the Bellhurst estate. So he contacted Fairchild and instructed him to ensure that we did not obtain any information from Misses Bellhurst."
Heathfield clapped his hands demonstratively twice.
"And what could she have told you, in your opinion?"
Holmes waited a moment.
"Nothing. But there was at least the danger that her husband might have told her something. Harold Bellhurst was ill, incurably so. Through the manager of Langley & Gable, who of course also belongs to the Aurora Society, he was sent to you and your estate. He was completely naive and had no idea that you were only looking for willing victims."
Heathfield's friendliness had now completely vanished.
"And how do you intend to prove all this?"
A question that I had also asked Holmes the day before.
"Well, I imagine that quite simple. At this moment, the manager is being arrested by Inspector Lestrade. Since he faces the gallows, he will certainly testify against you. But he won't be the only one when you consider that you have several employees in your manor who previously worked in the medical field. Even if some of them are loyal to you, there are simply too many. Someone always talks, I am not concerned about having enough witnesses for your crimes."
Heathfield's face now literally fell. His game had been exposed, he now realized. He now stood up and slowly walked to a desk not far from the dining table.
"You are right, Mister Holmes. I took a risk by moving the base of my operation here to Heathfield Manor. But what was I to do, without Stoker everything has simply become too difficult."
In the next moment, I recognized how he opened a drawer and took something out. I took too long to realize that it was a revolver. I tried to reach for my weapon but knew I would take too long.
But my help was not needed in this situation. The butler Sebastian stormed forward and disarmed Christopher Heathfield instantly. He twisted his arm so that he screamed in pain.
"Young master?" the butler turned to the Lord.
He exchanged another glance with Holmes before giving his instruction.
"Arrest him." were his words.
Sebastian obeyed, and together we locked him in an empty room.
Holmes had informed Lestrade and Bradstreet in advance. They were only waiting for a signal to raid Heathfield Manor.
Less than an hour later, the place was swarming with officers from Scotland Yard. Indeed, the basement of the manor turned out to be a large source of evidence that would additionally incriminate Christopher Heathfield. He was taken away and handed over to a judge.
Lestrade not only had additional questions for us but also for Lord Phantomhive. However, he only had to present a document that authorized him to be left unbothered by Scotland Yard. Nevertheless, outside the manor, he and his butler deigned to bid us a formal farewell.
"Mister Holmes, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future."
He and the detective shook hands.
"Likewise, especially since you represent a puzzle for me that I have not yet been able to decipher. Although this case is closed, I have more open questions than in any other before."
The butler Sebastian now cleared his throat.
"Well... regarding that... I fear it is not quite as closed as some would like it to be. Heathfield's superior, the true head behind the Aurora Society, is still at large."
I almost thought I had misheard.
"Are you serious? Someone else exists above Heathfield?"
Sebastian nodded.
"But yes. And the young master has been after him for quite some time."
Lord Phantomhive scolded his butler with an irate look.
"Sebastian! Enough! That is not information that Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson need." seemed to be his stance.
Holmes, however, seemed satisfied, as if at least one of the open questions he still had had been answered.
While Sebastian bowed slightly, the Lord strode unimpressed towards the carriage that was already waiting for him. His butler followed, and soon they had disappeared inside. We watched the vehicle for a while, and I wondered what impression Holmes must have formed of the young Lord.
Finally, I spoke to him as we waited for our own cab.
"Holmes, what do you think? Should we investigate further in this matter? If this butler is telling the truth and there is indeed someone above Heathfield, then the Aurora Society is still active."
But Holmes did not seem to share my concerns.
"Watson, we cannot solve the problems of the whole world. I am sure the rest can also be handled by other, quite competent hands. After all... I am just a small detective with a loyal companion like you."