Sherlock Holmes - The Dark Image in the Mirror

by kentasaiba

After Sherlock Holmes investigates an apparent suicide, he discovers a list of names. According to an informant, all the people on the list are marked for death. The striking detail, however, is that the list was compiled by Professor Moriarty himself!

Author John H. Watson's Note: The following events take place in the spring of 1904. In many of my stories, I describe Holmes' extraordinary ability to easily decipher codes with the necessary tools, as described in my report "The Valley of Fear." But even hidden clues within seemingly innocuous texts or drawings, as mentioned in "A Study in Basilisks," posed no significant obstacle for the detective.

Two years had already passed since I opened my new practice in Queen Anne Street. I felt very comfortable there and hoped my patients did too. It was larger and more spacious than my old one, allowing me to treat more patients in less time. The additional income allowed me a more comfortable lifestyle. Much had changed since I moved out of our shared apartment in Baker Street. Yet, despite everything, Holmes and I continued to meet regularly, although the number of our joint adventures had decreased. For example, the case of the blinded soldier, a matter I was very interested in but was completely left out by Holmes.

Of course, it was too much to ask my friend to completely adjust to me and my new situation. Our friendship had not changed over the years, even though we sometimes went our separate ways. This would also expand if Holmes finally carried out his plan to move from London to the tranquil county of Sussex. I was initially surprised that the detective, despite his relatively young age, was already thinking about retirement. On the other hand, the numerous dangerous cases from which we had barely escaped with our lives came to mind.

The only person I had no worries about was our loyal housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson. Although I still had the key to the premises, she rushed to the front door and let me in. Inside, I took off my coat and hat, and Mrs. Hudson promised to make tea.

This told me that Holmes was not currently receiving any clients in his office and would surely have time for me. So, I hurried up the stairs and knocked briefly on the heavy wooden door.

After a quick "Come in," I opened the door and found myself in complete chaos. Newspapers and various documents were scattered everywhere; order looked very different.

"Holmes, am I disturbing you?"

The detective noticed my presence but did not look at me, seeming very focused on his sorting.

"Nonsense, you never do, Watson. Well, let's say rarely. I'm trying to figure out how to pack my belongings most economically."

I made my way to Holmes' desk, careful not to step on anything. Then I sat down and watched Holmes' activities.

"Holmes, you don't want to take your entire archive to Sussex, do you?"

The detective looked at me as if I had said something ridiculous.

"Of course, I plan to. How else would I have quick access to it? Although I will keep my office in Baker Street—if only to spare Mrs. Hudson a new tenant—it would be too inconvenient to come here every time."

I shrugged.

"If you say so, Holmes. I had the impression that you were no longer interested in actively taking on cases."

The detective threw a stack of newspapers onto his desk.

"Cases perhaps, but you always equate them with an exciting puzzle. And those I do not plan to give up. Just as you will never stop reading professional literature when you've had enough of your doctoring."

I wanted to defend myself against this term, but Mrs. Hudson had already entered the room and served us tea.

Holmes sank into his comfortable armchair.

"Thank you, my dear, but I only see two cups here. Would you be so kind as to bring us another?"

She reacted in surprise.

"You didn't tell me you were expecting another guest today, Mr. Holmes."

He made a dismissive gesture.

"Well, that makes two of us. However, a quick glance out the window told me that we will be sitting here having tea with a third person in the next moment."

The landlady nodded and immediately set off. I wanted to ask Holmes who he had seen outside, but I could already guess.

Downstairs, the bell rang, and the guest was let in. As often as Holmes had admonished me to listen to the steps of our visitors, the better I could now apply this skill.

"Ah, I have an idea who might want to visit us at this time of day."

Holmes rolled his eyes.

"After over 20 years of our acquaintance, anything else would be no feat."

There was a knock at the door, and shortly afterward, our guest appeared: Inspector Lestrade.

He seemed about to greet us but nearly tripped over the chaos on the floor.

"What... Mr. Holmes, please tell me you haven't already planned your move for today!" There was almost a pleading tone in his voice.

My friend shook his head slightly.

"No, I'm just sorting some things out. So, I would be grateful if you could be careful where you step."

The man from Scotland Yard apologized and stepped closer. I offered him a chair, and when Mrs. Hudson brought the third cup, we enjoyed our tea together.

After a few sips, Lestrade began with his concern.

"Forgive my intrusion, but there is a case where I could really use your help, Holmes."

Holmes and I exchanged furtive glances.

"Lestrade, what will you do when I am no longer available to you as a criminological consultant?"

To my surprise, the man did not seem to have expected the question.

"What? I mean... You will surely have a telephone connection there in Sussex, won't you?"

Holmes put down his cup.

"No, I can assure you that I will under no circumstances have such a thing installed. But I surely won't explain the meaning of the word 'privacy' to an inspector from the Yard."

Lestrade now cleared his throat audibly.

"Yes, of course, you are right. I will somehow manage without you. However, I ask you to help me at least this one more time. I am convinced that this case will otherwise remain unsolved."

Due to the distress clearly audible in the inspector's voice, Holmes finally agreed and allowed our guest to tell his story.

Lestrade took another sip, then began.

"This morning, a certain Jeremy Hawkins fell from the window of a multi-story building. It was first thought to be an accident, then suicide. The fact that he jumped through a closed window makes my colleagues tend toward the latter. But I tell you, Mr. Holmes, it's murder! I've come across too many crime scenes by now."

Holmes or I would never have dared to question the inspector's intuition or experience.

"Alright, let's address the points that make you think it wasn't an accident or suicide." Holmes picked up the thread.

Lestrade seemed relieved that his concern was being taken seriously.

"As already mentioned, the window was closed. A suicide would surely open the window before jumping. Moreover, it was too high, making an accident nearly impossible. Besides, Hawkins would only have had to go up a short staircase to reach the roof. So, if he had wanted to jump to his death, why so complicated?"

A glance at Holmes told me that the inspector had succeeded in hooking him.

"Alright, you have some valid points, Lestrade. Please tell me a bit more about this Jeremy Hawkins."

The policeman was happy to fulfill this request.

"Well, his apartment is on the floor from which he jumped. He is a mid-level employee at the Ministry of Trade. His apartment is rather small but in a good area. This is probably also the reason why my supervisor wants to bring this case to a quick conclusion. However, I cannot reconcile this with my conscience, you understand?"

I did, and Holmes seemed to as well.

"Alright. You're in luck, Lestrade, I need a break anyway. And this chaos will still be here when I return."

An obvious remark, but I could understand that he didn't want to deal with it at the moment. Lestrade reported that the body had already been removed, but the crime scene and the apartment were largely untouched.

So, after finishing our tea, we headed for the door.

"Oh, there's one more thing I forgot to mention, gentlemen. The deceased was still wearing his shoes when he was found below. That's surely another clue, isn't it?"

Holmes lowered his head slightly.

"Now you're trying to get too much honey out of the hive, Lestrade. A suicide doesn't care whether he's wearing his shoes when he jumps. Please don't try to replace my absence by reading crime novels."

Somewhat disappointed, the inspector apologized, and we put on our coats before stepping outside.

A free cab was quickly found, and at the Yard's expense, we drove to the area where the body had been discovered. Finally, we arrived in Kipling Street and let Lestrade lead us. He guided us through an alley that led directly into a courtyard. I recognized two constables who had probably been left behind to guard the crime scene.

Their superior inquired about any incidents, but they denied any. Then they stepped aside so Holmes could examine the spot where Jeremy Hawkins had landed. The blood was still on the stone floor, and the detective craned his neck upward. Although it was surely five stories high, I recognized the broken window from which the man had jumped. Or been pushed? I would have liked to ask Holmes about it but didn't want to disturb his concentration.

I looked around the courtyard for a while, then Holmes asked to enter the building. Lestrade had the keys given to him by his men, and together we entered.

I groaned slightly as we climbed the stairs. In such situations, my knee often reminded me of old times. Upstairs, the detective approached the broken window and examined it.

Lestrade tried to get his attention.

"So, Mr. Holmes? Can you already give a first assessment?"

Holmes gave him a sharp look but could fulfill his request.

"I can already assure you that there was no assistance here. Jeremy Hawkins jumped through the window of his own accord."

Not only the inspector but also I reacted with surprise.

"Holmes, are you sure? It is extremely unusual for a suicide to..." I began before the detective interrupted me.

"I didn't say he did it because he intended to jump to his death. And that is because he broke the window before jumping. There are simply too many bloody fragments of glass present. If he had been pushed, his body would definitely have hit the ground before the fragments. But since these must have lain under the body, he must have landed on them. Therefore, he jumped of his own accord. And not with the intention to die."

It was clear that Lestrade found it difficult to accept this.

"I beg you, Holmes! We are on the fifth floor. He must have been aware that he could never survive such a jump."

But the detective was not deterred.

"Oh, he certainly was. But that doesn't change the facts. Look at the windowsill here. Fragments are only visible on the left and right sides. This means he had previously cleared the windowsill. This suggests the intention to try to climb down."

I now took a step closer and looked down.

"I'm sorry, Holmes, but even for me, that's hard to imagine. There's hardly anything here that could have given him a hold."

However, I myself had no alternative explanation.

"That may be so, but Jeremy Hawkins saw no other option in his actions. I will explain to you why in a moment. But come and be so kind as to unlock the victim's apartment for us."

Lestrade nodded, and shortly afterward, we were inside.

Jeremy Hawkins' apartment was the exact opposite of Holmes'. Everything looked clean and orderly. No books or newspapers on the table or bed. Holmes now pointed to some shoe prints on the wooden floor.

"From these prints, it is easy to see what happened. There were two men here. Mr. Hawkins' traces are hardly visible, which is surely because he was an orderly and clean person. He must have had his shoes cleaned on the way home. Besides, the size of the spare shoes over there in the corner doesn't match these prints here."

I examined the dirt on the floor and had to agree with my friend.

"Then... was Mr. Hawkins attacked in his apartment?"

Holmes confirmed it to me.

"There is no doubt about that. His visitor, who shortly afterward became his attacker, was armed. However, not with a firearm. But threatening enough, if I judge by the attacker's size from the prints."

Lestrade now seemed to be able to follow him.

"Alright, let's say he was attacked here and tried to flee. Why didn't he take the stairs to the roof?"

For Holmes, the answer seemed obvious.

"Simple, Inspector. The attacker had previously cut off all of Mr. Hawkins' escape routes. He must have locked the door to the roof. And either a accomplice was waiting on the stairs down, or he used another blockade. In any case, he was sure that Hawkins had no escape route left. But he refused to give up so quickly and tried the impossible feat of climbing down. This made it easy for his murderer, who only had to disrupt his attempt and ensure that he lost his grip. Actually, a useful circumstance, considering that the weapon brought along was not used and one would probably rather conclude an accident or suicide."

Holmes' conclusion sounded logical, even Lestrade had to admit that.

"Fine, let's assume that. What motive could there be to kill the poor man? He was only a small employee and not particularly wealthy."

But the detective only made a dismissive gesture.

"Lestrade, you can just as easily figure out for yourself that this is not a robbery murder. Everything is orderly here; the apartment has not been searched in any way."

I could only agree with him. Apart from the shoe prints, there were no signs of an attacker. Nevertheless, Holmes did not miss the opportunity to take a closer look around the employee's apartment. At first, it did not seem like his search was fruitful, but then he stopped in front of the large dining table. He picked something up, and only on second glance did I recognize that it was a folded piece of paper.

He unfolded it and seemed to read the content.

"What does it say, Holmes?" I asked immediately.

Instead of simply telling me, he handed me the note, and I recognized a simple sentence.

"Man is not really one, but truly two." I read aloud.

I looked at Holmes but saw in his face that he couldn't make sense of it either.

"That doesn't sound like a farewell letter." Lestrade murmured.

An obvious statement that Holmes, fortunately, did not hold against him.

"The more important question than what this sentence means is who left the note here. It is folded differently than the stationery you can see over there on Hawkins' desk. No one who works for a municipal authority folded this note."

That made perfect sense, but I had a thought.

"But... then only the murderer remains who could have left the note."

My friend did not want to commit to that.

"I'm not so sure. The fall ensured that his presence in this building could be concealed more easily. So why take the risk and leave a clue or even a message?"

I could not counter this argument.

"Be that as it may, we will find out what this sentence means. Watson, please put the note away and keep it safe."

However, it was Inspector Lestrade who then protested.

"Gentlemen, that really won't do. This is probably a piece of evidence."

An eye-roll from Holmes.

"Alright, then note the sentence in your notebook, Watson."

Lestrade could agree with that. After looking around the apartment a bit more, we stepped back outside.

"That's all I can do for you at the moment, Lestrade. I'll let you know if I have any new insights for you."

It was clear that the inspector was somewhat dissatisfied with the outcome. On the other hand, his expectations had been fulfilled. The file would not be closed and would be classified as murder. We took a cab directly back to Baker Street. I suggested having a hearty lunch first, but my friend wanted nothing to do with it. He seemed more interested in deciphering the message left in the deceased's apartment.

Upon returning to his office, another prediction had come true. The disorder had not cleared itself. Although Mrs. Hudson offered to help, Holmes did not want her near his documents. To prevent any bitterness on her part, I thanked her once again for her long-standing help and asked her to prepare some sandwiches for us. She was happy to do so, even though Holmes probably wouldn't care for them. Before she left the office, she turned around once more.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, before I forget. While you were away, a telegram arrived for you. It's there on your desk."

Holmes wanted to push it aside, but I suggested he take care of it right away before it got lost in the clutter. So, he fished his letter opener out of the drawer and opened it. He sat down and froze for a moment.

I dared to take a look but couldn't see any sender on the cover.

"Hah..." was all Holmes said as he studied the content.

Not very telling, I thought.

"Who is it from, Holmes? You certainly didn't expect it."

My friend now smiled and handed it over to me.

"I certainly did not, old chap. In any case, my day has just become much more interesting."

I took the paper and studied it carefully. However, I was unsure what I was looking at. The message contained five lines, consisting solely of sequences of numbers. Some were three, two, or even one-digit.

After I couldn't make sense of it, I handed the paper back to Holmes.

"Would you mind telling me what this is about?"

The detective pursed his lips.

"This message is a code. That should be obvious."

I found this circumstance anything but obvious but didn't want to look bad. Holmes had dealt with enough coded messages in his career and thus had plenty of experience in this area. I was reminded of our adventure with the dancing men, a code that I would never have deciphered on my own.

However, even from my friend's facial expression, it was clear that this code puzzled him.

"Do you have any idea what it might say? Should we perhaps convert the numbers into letters?" I suggested.

Holmes first gave me a look as if I had made a joke.

"Nonsense, you could have figured that out on your own. We have three, two, and one-digit numbers here. Doesn't that sound familiar?"

He looked at me expectantly, but unfortunately, I had to disappoint him.

The detective looked into the envelope again, but nothing else seemed to be inside.

"The code clearly refers to the pages of a book. The text of this book is the actual message to us. The problem is that we have no idea which book..."

He paused and then snapped his fingers.

"Watson! What was the sentence I asked you to write down?"

I reacted immediately and pulled out my notebook. "Man is not really one, but truly two."

I had to read it to him twice, then he folded his hands and became completely absorbed. I didn't dare interrupt his concentration. However, the detective didn't seem to have reached any conclusion.

"No, nothing rings a bell for me. What about you, Doctor?"

He looked at the sentence again but had to disagree.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson entered the office and provided us with a snack.

"Man is not really one, but truly two. It could be a philosophical work. Perhaps a religious one. Although I would rather exclude the Bible."

Holmes himself had already thought that far. To both our surprise, it was finally Mrs. Hudson who contributed.

"I beg your pardon, good doctor. That shows you've never read anything by Robert Louis Stevenson."

Both Holmes and I gave her a puzzled look.

She needed a moment to realize that an answer was expected from her.

"Well, 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.' I admit, I only read it because it was on my cousin's shelf. But it is quite exciting and..."

It was Holmes who abruptly cut her off.

"Mrs. Hudson. Are you absolutely sure that this quote is a sentence from that author's book?"

However, our housekeeper nodded confidently.

"But yes, Mr. Holmes, no doubt. It is one of his most famous books; it surprises me that you, as a great detective, did not come to this conclusion yourself."

I knew that Holmes rarely devoted himself to a novel unless it had a direct connection to an ongoing investigation.

"Mrs. Hudson! Please go to your cousin immediately and get..." he began, but then paused. Instead, he rummaged in his pocket and handed the good woman some coins.

"No, ask one of my Irregulars to buy a copy of this book and bring it to us as quickly as possible."

I urged Holmes not to rush our landlady so much, but as usual, he didn't listen to me.

She reacted somewhat perplexed.

"Yes... but which one?" she seemed overwhelmed.

Holmes, however, seemed indifferent to this detail.

"Irrelevant. The first one you find. And please hurry!" he urged.

Mrs. Hudson, somewhat miffed, finally followed my friend's request and set off.

Indeed, there was nothing to complain about regarding the efficiency of Holmes' Irregulars, his Baker Street Special Unit. Barely 20 minutes later, young Wiggins himself appeared and surprised us with the work "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Holmes immediately dove into it and compared the pages with the numbers of the code he had received. Satisfied, he finally leaned back. As always, I waited patiently for him to confide in me.

"You know what the code says, don't you?" It was more of a statement.

The detective nodded.

"Yes, the message itself is quite simple. Today at 11 PM, at the docks, berth 7A."

I grumbled softly.

It was a meeting point. But who wanted to meet with the detective there? I asked Holmes this question, but he just smiled.

"You still haven't figured it out, old friend? Well, that's alright. It's just important that you and your Webley keep me company tonight. Fortunately, there are enough hiding places at the docks so that your interlocutor won't see you."

I didn't like the direction this was taking.

"Holmes, it almost sounds like you suspect a trap."

But the investigator dismissed it.

"No, I consider that rather unlikely. Nevertheless, I don't want to go into this meeting without backup. I can count on you, old friend?"

It was more of a given. Of course, I would support Holmes in his endeavor, whatever it might look like.

We arrived at the designated spot at the docks a good hour before 11 PM. Holmes had been concerned that the sender of the code might scout the area beforehand and might reconsider showing up if they saw an escort. Finally, I found a suitable hiding place behind several crates located very close to my friend. The view wasn't the best, but I could quickly rush out from behind them if Holmes was in danger. I hadn't needed my revolver since last winter when we were solving the murder of a famous author in Carlyle. It had always served me well. It would have been a disgrace if it failed me today.

Time passed, but both Holmes and I remained calm in our respective positions. Then, finally, a man approached from the east. I could barely see him, but he finally stopped in front of Holmes. He looked gaunt, and his hat was pulled low over his face.

"Mr. Holmes, you came. I am pleased to finally meet you in person."

The detective nodded in agreement.

"Likewise. And you are Fred Porlock, I presume. I hadn't expected a personal meeting to ever take place."

In my mind, I tried to place the name. It meant something; it must have had to do with a case we worked on together. However, I would find out the context soon enough.

"You were the one who sent the telegram and left the note in Mr. Hawkins' apartment."

Porlock seemed nervous and looked around in all directions.

"But I was not the one who killed the poor man. You must believe me!"

I had my doubts about this statement, but Holmes did not seem to consider the speaker a threat.

"I am well aware of that. The size of your shoes rules you out as a possible perpetrator. You entered the crime scene after the fact and left the key with which I could decipher your code."

Porlock agreed.

"That's correct. I was only there to warn Mr. Hawkins but arrived too late. Since there was a high probability that you would be involved in the case, I left the quote from Stevenson and sent a telegram shortly afterward."

Now it slowly dawned on me. That's what Holmes had meant earlier when he spoke of a familiar situation. About fifteen years ago, Fred Porlock had sent a similar code. At that time, he wanted to warn of the impending assassination of a certain Douglas. But what prompted him to use the same approach today?

"Let's get to the part where you found out that Mr. Hawkins was to be killed. And why you became active."

Porlock now visibly struggled with himself. His nervousness increased, and he looked around in all directions again.

"In my circles, you hear certain things, you understand? Especially when I heard that the death of a certain Jeremy Hawkins had been ordered. I remembered having heard that name before."

However, Holmes pressed for more detailed answers.

"In what context? Hawkins was just a small clerk. Who would have it out for him?"

Porlock now took a step closer.

"I think you know very well by now, Mr. Holmes. There was a list back then. A list of people who were to be eliminated. And Jeremy Hawkins was one of the names on that list. He created it shortly before Scotland Yard obtained an arrest warrant against him and important members of his organization."

I shuddered as I realized whom Porlock was referring to.

To my surprise, Holmes remained calm.

"By 'him,' you mean the Professor, don't you? Professor James Moriarty."

However, this only made Porlock even more nervous.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes! Shortly before his disappearance, he issued a list. Four men who were to be eliminated immediately. One of the names was Jeremy Hawkins. Another was Stillwell. I only became active again because I recently read in the newspaper that this Stillwell was also dead."

Despite my position, I was fortunately able to hear everything clearly.

"Stillwell and who else? What did he have to do with Hawkins? And who are the other two people?"

Porlock pulled his hat even lower over his face.

"I forgot the first name. As well as the other two names. It's just been too long. But one thing is certain, Mr. Holmes. Someone is working through this list; the order is still being carried out."

Skepticism rose in my friend's face.

"After 13 years? I beg you; by now, it should have gotten around that the good Professor is no longer among the living. What reason would someone have to carry out this order after all this time?"

Porlock seemed unable to provide an answer. Or at least he didn't want to.

"Be on your guard, Mr. Holmes. Recently, some of the old resources of the organization have been reactivated. And that can only mean two things: Either the esteemed Professor has risen from the dead, or someone who knows his work well is planning something here in London. Something big, I assure you."

Holmes had more questions, but Porlock suddenly turned around and began to walk away quickly. I looked over at Holmes, but he gave me no signal to intervene. After the informant disappeared, he came to me.

"Good thing you didn't need your old army revolver, Watson. The situation went smoothly."

Fortunately, I could only agree, but on the other hand, this meeting had left many questions unanswered. Holmes, however, put me off until tomorrow; after all, it had gotten quite late by now.

The next day, I set off for Baker Street early in the morning. My practice didn't open until the afternoon on Thursdays, but I was quite willing to ask a colleague to fill in for me if my friend needed me all day.

When I entered his office, I found that he had at least brought some order to his chaos. The boxes with his files were lined up next to the door, and one could move around the room again. Holmes was sitting at his desk, sipping a still hot cup of coffee.

I wished my friend a good morning and asked if there was any coffee left.

"Indeed, old friend. However, you won't have the opportunity to try it anymore. I am meeting Lestrade at the Yard in an hour and would like you to accompany me."

I sat down with him and agreed.

"Of course, Holmes. Should I take a closer look at this Hawkins' body?"

However, the detective dismissed it.

"No, not necessary. The pathologist has long since finished his work. Moreover, the crime scene has already revealed everything worth knowing about the victim. No, we should support Lestrade in the interrogation of a possible witness."

I asked if he had already told the inspector about our meeting with Mr. Porlock.

"Don't worry, Lestrade is fully informed. In fact, the case could become so complicated that we might need his permanent and quick help."

I crossed my arms thoughtfully.

"Holmes, I still don't know what to make of this matter. A list with four names, allegedly compiled by Moriarty himself. I would have understood if these men had been eliminated before our trip to Switzerland, but now? What reason would someone have to carry out this order after 13 years? Do you really think we can trust this Porlock?"

However, Holmes just shrugged.

"Behind the name Fred Porlock is actually Sir Dudley Sarchet, a former major of the British Army in India. Believe me when I say that he is anything but a benefactor or even a saint. Now that old elements of Moriarty's organization are becoming active again, he fears that his life might also be in danger. His statements are therefore only to be seen in the context of his own opportunism."

This, of course, did not increase my trust in this Porlock.

"But you agree with me that the fellow knew far more than he revealed, don't you?"

Holmes did not want to commit himself immediately.

"Indeed, Doctor. However, I would not overestimate him either. He was always just a small cog in the machine. Therefore, it will be necessary to speak to someone who was probably present when that list was created."

My forehead furrowed.

"But... is there such a person? Moriarty's people are either dead or in prison. Besides, I doubt that the Professor would simply..."

I paused as I realized what Holmes had been getting at. Immediately, I slapped my flat hand on the table.

"I beg you, that can't be serious! Please don't stoop to that level!" I said emphatically.

But my friend seemed to have already made this decision.

"I see no other option in this regard, Watson. He practically knew everything the Professor knew. Remember the matter with Ethan Thompson. In this regard, he was also able to prevent worse."

I gave up my resistance; Holmes seemed to have thought this through extensively. So it happened that we soon boarded a cab to take us to Scotland Yard. In the entrance area, a constable was already waiting for us, instructed by Lestrade to bring us to him. I imagined that my walk through these halls was heavier than usual this time.

Soon we reached the interrogation rooms where Holmes had exposed more than one criminal with his false claims. These criminals then either took the path through Old Bailey to prison or to the gallows.

The prisoner whom Lestrade had specially brought to the Yard for this interrogation had escaped this fate by providing important information that had saved the lives of important dignitaries.

Colonel Sebastian Moran was barely recognizable. It probably makes a difference when you see someone every day and follow the process of aging in this way. However, both Holmes and I had not seen the Colonel for a good 10 years. He had completely lost his hair and age spots adorned his face. He had become gaunt, especially in the face. His cheeks looked sunken, and I wondered if he might be ill. I didn't want to speculate and held back. Moran wore handcuffs but was otherwise not chained. A sign that even Lestrade no longer saw the old man as a great threat.

Nevertheless, I saw a flash in his eyes when he saw us. We had barely entered the room when he reared up and took the stance of a soldier.

Lestrade approached us.

"Gentlemen, are you sure this is a good idea? Was there no other way to get information?"

A question I had already asked Holmes. He thanked the inspector and asked him to wait outside. A request that he only reluctantly fulfilled. Only when Holmes assured him that he could easily handle the Colonel if he tried something did he leave the room and close the door.

Holmes said nothing but first engaged in a staring contest with the prisoner. I also did not dare to intervene with my friend. Finally, the detective stepped forward and sat down on the free chair.

Moran, however, did not look at him but at me.

"Doctor Watson! It has truly been an eternity. How have you been since then? I heard you got married again? Congratulations! I am truly happy for you that you have found happiness again at your age. I only hope you do not suffer another terrible loss like you did with your dear Mary."

With quick steps, I rushed forward before Holmes held me back.

"Watson! Please do not be provoked. That would not help anyone here."

I had doubts whether this also applied to the Colonel, but I quickly calmed down again. Now Moran turned his attention to the detective.

"Of course, I am happy to speak with you, Mr. Holmes. After all, I owe you my life. Although this life has become... well, let's say a bit monotonous."

I growled audibly.

"A man like you deserves to stare at the wall of his cell every day and wait for death!" I threw at him.

Only another look from Holmes silenced me.

Moran folded his hands and leaned back.

"You are right, I have done terrible things. But don't you think I have done enough penance by now?"

I could not believe what he was saying.

"Hardly! You killed Ronald Adair in a cowardly manner and countless others that we could not prove. You even tried to murder Sherlock Holmes twice."

Moran now looked to the side as if these remarks were uncomfortable for him.

"You are right, gentlemen. I am responsible for all my deeds. But would you really want to deny an old man the chance to repent before he stands before his Creator?"

Holmes actually seemed to go along with the act.

"So you want to do good, yes? Well, let's start right away. Mr. Jeremy Hawkins. Does the name mean anything to you?"

The Colonel now thought for a moment but then denied it.

In my opinion, he was lying, but it should not be overlooked that the man was already advanced in age and much time had passed.

"His name is said to be on a list along with three others that your former boss had marked for elimination. Another name on the list is said to be 'Stillwell'."

Again, Moran seemed to be thinking hard but without result.

"You know... the good old days are so long ago, Mr. Holmes. The Professor did not entrust me with every little task, so I probably can't help you in this matter. However, I can imagine that these gentlemen have something in common that became a problem for the 'Napoleon of Crime'. Didn't you used to call the Professor that?"

The detective remained in his position.

"The good old days? That sounds less like you are truly admitting your mistakes. But yes, I may have used such terms in the past, but today I find them too dramatic, if not childish. Because the fact is: your former superior was just a criminal among many. Neither his actions nor his death had any consequences."

Moran fell into a brief laugh.

"A criminal like any other? Now you are deceiving yourself, Mr. Holmes. No one else could ever match your intellect. Baron Adelbert Gruner? Farley Straker? I ask you, no one but the Professor could evoke such passion in you. Am I not right?"

I had to admit how little it surprised me that the scoundrel had kept himself informed about Holmes' further cases. How he had managed this in prison was not clear to me, but there was probably a lot of talk there as well. I recognized how Holmes took a deep breath and then exhaled. Then he stood up.

"Come, Watson, we are done here."

I hesitated slightly, after all, Moran had not really helped us. However, I was just as uncomfortable as Holmes about staying in the company of this murderer any longer. So I followed him outside.

Moran called after us.

"In your mirror, Mr. Holmes! When you sit in front of the mirror in the evening and despair over one of your cases! Who do you see there? Who do you see there, Holmes?"

Outside, the detective closed the door and instructed Lestrade to have the Colonel taken back to his cell. Then we set off to leave Scotland Yard.

Outside in the fresh spring air, I finally spoke to him.

"Why exactly did we put ourselves through this, Holmes? It was clear from the start that Moran would not talk. His sentence has already been commuted to life imprisonment; there is nothing we could offer him."

The smile from my friend unsettled me then.

"I wouldn't say that, Doctor. It's true, he 'didn't want' to talk, but he did in the end."

Surprised, I looked at him.

"Did he? He didn't tell us with a single word who is behind the murder of Jeremy Hawkins and presumably the three others."

The detective nodded to me.

"Maybe. I am convinced that he knows, but we will not get this information out of him. However, he pointed us to the commonalities of the four names. So think. What commonalities must Hawkins and the other three men have to end up together on a list compiled by Moriarty himself?"

With this question, he caught me off guard. I still couldn't make sense of it. But fortunately, my friend did not expect an immediate answer. He explained that he had to do some investigations alone and wanted to see me the next morning in Baker Street. A wish I was happy to fulfill.

The day before, I had bought some folders and files that I wanted to give to Holmes. I was sure he would find a use for them. With these under my arm, I set off early for Baker Street. This time I really needed the help of our good Mrs. Hudson, as I did not want to put down my purchases to look for my key.

The landlady opened the door but seemed a bit tense. I asked if everything was alright, but it did not seem to be.

"There is a man in Mr. Holmes' office. He insisted on waiting for him there. Since then, he has become increasingly impatient and keeps shouting about when he will finally show up."

I understood and promised to take care of the problem. As so often, I rushed up the stairs and opened the door without knocking.

Mrs. Hudson had been right; the detective himself seemed to be on-site. In his place, I found a burly man in a suit who was just checking his pocket watch. He looked at me in surprise, and I was immediately struck by the impression of a snob. He had thick curls and a mustache that could only be described as exaggerated.

"Are you this Holmes? You have some nerve, my friend." he barked at me rudely.

I put my things aside and tried to be as polite as possible.

"No, I am Doctor John Watson, I am a friend of Mr. Holmes. If you have an appointment with him here, I kindly ask you to take a seat and wait for his arrival."

Instead of complying, the man burst into laughter.

"An appointment? With this impertinent figure? It won't come to that. A William Dumbarton does not wait; at most, he is waited for. Can you even remember that, you little lackey?"

But now I had had enough. I stepped towards the man and grabbed him by the collar.

"Now listen! It's one thing if you are offensive towards me, but I cannot tolerate it towards poor Mrs. Hudson!"

The expression on my counterpart's face changed abruptly. Then he grabbed his beard with one hand and tore it off with a jerk.

"You are right, Watson. I will have to apologize to her for involving her in this little act."

Perplexed, I let go of him and stepped back.

"Holmes! Damn it, this time it was almost impossible to recognize you!" I justified myself.

The detective put the beard back on and adjusted it.

"That was my intention, Doctor. If it is impossible for you to see through my disguise, then it should be impossible for old employees of the Professor to recognize the detective Sherlock Holmes in it."

I could only agree with him on that.

"Sure. But what is all this for? What do you intend to do in this getup?"

Holmes first looked at himself in the mirror for a while, then he took me into his confidence.

"I am starting my first day of work today, what do you think?"

I couldn't help but smile.

"And where, pray tell? As the headmaster of a boys' school? You won't get much more sympathy with this role."

But my friend's behavior seemed to be fully intentional.

"No worries, the dubious character of William Dumbarton is part of the act. This way, he will stand out at his new position at the Ministry of Trade."

I paused briefly.

"The Ministry of Trade? Wasn't that also the workplace of our poor Mr. Hawkins?" I asked to be sure.

Holmes confirmed it to me immediately.

"That is correct. And also that of Mr. Edward Stillwell, Mr. Robert Norton, and Mr. Reginald Cross."

Immediately, I understood what Holmes was getting at.

"The other names on the list! You want to say that they were all employed at the Ministry of Trade?"

The detective affirmed.

"Yes, although in different departments. Last month, Mr. Stillwell died in a tragic accident. A week later, Mr. Norton allegedly committed suicide. Only Mr. Cross is still alive because he is now enjoying his retirement. If our perpetrator had struck then, as Moriarty intended, it would have hit him too."

I understood.

"And... you want to work there now?"

Upon closer inspection, I would have actually taken my friend for an impolite employee of an authority.

"With a little help from my brother Mycroft. Mr. Dumbarton will unexpectedly take the position of the suddenly deceased Mr. Hawkins. You are probably wondering about the purpose? The successors of Norton and Stillwell have already taken up their positions. I have checked them; they are shady figures. I have no doubt that they were placed there."

I had to sit down first.

"Someone is infiltrating the Ministry of Trade? What good is that?"

But Holmes did not want to commit himself yet.

"Oh, there can be plenty of reasons for that. Certain products whose import one wants to ensure or prohibit. Although I am sure that in this case, we can agree on the former. Moriarty wanted to fill certain positions in the ministry with his own people and therefore compiled the list. It did not happen; Scotland Yard obtained an arrest warrant, and it all ended in Meiringen. Whoever is now implementing this old plan must have connections to the London underworld as well as abroad. The appearance of William Dumbarton leads to a delay in his plans."

Slowly, I began to understand what Holmes' statement really meant.

"Holmes! This someone will have you killed! Just like the three men before you!"

A circumstance that my friend was well aware of.

"You are absolutely right, old chap. I have to disappear from the scene just like all the others. And that's exactly how we lure the perpetrator into the trap."

But I could not share Holmes' confidence. Our man already had three lives on his conscience, and from the traces in Jeremy Hawkins' apartment, we knew that he was large and extremely dangerous.

"Don't worry, Lestrade and his men will always be nearby. No one will be so stupid as to bother me in the ministry. It will happen in the evening on the way home or when I get to my apartment. I have rented it especially for this purpose. There, a trap would be even easier since an armed constable has taken up quarters there."

Immediately, I stepped towards my friend.

"Holmes, I would like to join your protection. You know you can rely on me and my Webley. Even if we are a bit rusty by now."

The detective put a comradely hand on my shoulder.

"I expected nothing less from you, Watson. But don't lie in wait too early. Our opponent is not so stupid as to eliminate me in the first few days. No, I expect it next week. Presumably, our man will also have to reassure himself with his client."

I nodded, and so our plan was set. I continued to treat my patients while Holmes pursued his new job at the Ministry of Trade. As predicted, nothing happened for several days. Then, however, the detective informed us that he had overheard a phone call that made an assassination attempt the following day very likely.

While Lestrade's men followed the detective at a distance on his way home, I, the inspector himself, and another policeman waited for him in his rented apartment.

When noises occurred outside, we were about to take up our hiding places. However, we realized that it was Holmes who was engrossed in conversation with someone.

As we heard the click of the lock, Lestrade pushed me into the back of the apartment. From there, our view was not the best, but we could still understand what was being said. "Come right in, good man. Of course, I intend to maintain a good relationship with all my new neighbors. Make yourself at home." he entered with a second person.

This person was a sturdy man who closed the door behind Holmes.

I swallowed hard. Was this our man? The one who had attacked Jeremy Hawkins at home and finally sent him plummeting? Holmes himself was the epitome of calm, having even turned his back on the man.

Now he offered his guest a drink, which he gladly accepted. As they marched into the kitchen area, it happened. I recognized the man pulling out a knife, and I gave Lestrade a signal. He had also not missed the danger.

Immediately, we stormed out of our hiding place and took position. I aimed my Webley at the attacker, Lestrade and his colleague their pistols. Visibly overwhelmed by the situation, the murderer froze. It was clear that he had not expected an ambush.

Holmes, still calm, now removed the beard and wig.

"Good work, Watson and Lestrade. Allow me to introduce Mr. Alfred Bassik to you. Although he did not recognize me through my disguise, the reverse was indeed the case. Mr. Bassik was the man who, on behalf of Professor Moriarty, was supposed to run me over with a carriage. I saw his face for only a second, but the shock was enough for you to never leave my memory again."

Now, for the first time, there was a reaction on the man's face.

"Holmes! You damned bastard!" he shouted, but contrary to our expectations, he did not attack but fled.

Lestrade pointed his pistol forward, but Holmes positioned himself in front of him.

"Don't shoot! We need him alive!" he said urgently.

At that moment, I was not sure if he was expecting too much from us. Bassik had already reached the apartment door. Had Lestrade's men followed the two of them up to this floor? If so, he would run straight into their arms.

The murderer escaped from the apartment, and we hurried after him. We recognized him at some distance, seemingly in panic. Indeed, Lestrade's men were also inside the building and prevented Bassik from fleeing downstairs. He turned around and ran upstairs.

"To the roof!" Holmes informed us, and we hurried after him, not lowering our firearms.

We were hot on his heels and arrived on the roof of the building. Bassik looked around in all directions but had no escape route. None of the surrounding buildings seemed high enough for a jump to be worthwhile. As we approached, however, he became increasingly desperate. So much so that he climbed onto the narrow wall.

"Damn! He's trying to jump! Watson, try to hit his leg!" he instructed me.

A demand that was much easier said than done. It was already dark, and hitting Bassik's leg without fatally wounding him was not easy. I knew, however, that I had to act immediately. So I aimed and fired my shot.

I hit, but the effect was not what I had intended. Bassik had already managed to climb onto the wall. The sting in his leg caused him to lose his grip. He flailed wildly, but although we rushed to him immediately, we could no longer prevent the fatal fall. With a scream, Bassik plunged into the depths, straight into the darkness.

It was Sherlock Holmes who took full responsibility. It had been important to him to take the man alive; he would have been the most likely to inform us about his client. Lestrade blamed the failure on the lack of securing the escape routes and therefore reprimanded his men.

Holmes, however, absolved me of all guilt. Firing a non-lethal shot, especially at night, had been a tightrope act from the start.

Alfred Bassik had been instantly killed by the impact. An irony, considering what he had done to his last victim, Jeremy Hawkins. Although his death, as well as those of the others, might have been avenged, the case was far from closed. Lestrade had the informant in the Ministry of Trade arrested, but he knew next to nothing. He had only received a few shillings for his information. He knew nothing about the murders or the unknown mastermind. The same was true for the officials who had replaced the deceased. Holmes was sure that Bassik had been our hottest lead.

All that Holmes found during the examination of the body were keys. At Scotland Yard, we learned that there was a file on Bassik, which even listed his current address.

We set off immediately, but this time accompanied by the inspector.

"Gentlemen, this time everything must be done by the book. A suspect is dead, and even though no one is likely to mourn this Bassik, I have stuck my neck out." Lestrade made it clear that he was just as unhappy with the outcome of Holmes' plan.

He would look over the detective's shoulder while he subjected Bassik's apartment to a more thorough inspection. It was almost morning when we arrived at his apartment in London's East End.

"Quite rundown, the area. But somehow fitting for this Bassik." I muttered.

Holmes just grumbled.

"That too must have served its purpose. Our man was certainly well paid for the murders. The fact that he still lived here probably only served not to attract attention."

That made perfect sense, and soon Holmes was pulling out his lock pick, which was supposed to give us access to the apartment. Lestrade had offered to break down the door to it, but fortunately, the detective had been able to dissuade him.

Inside, it was so dark that we waited until the daylight gave us enough visibility.

After we had opened enough curtains, we could inspect our perpetrator's apartment. It was equipped only with the essentials, which spoke for Holmes' theory that Bassik had used it only as a hideout. Our first stop was a desk in a corner, on which several papers were piled. The detective examined them, hoping to deduce the client from the correspondence. Lestrade, on the other hand, was more clumsy and virtually emptied the cabinets. My friend silently shook his head several times at this sight. I myself took a look in the kitchen, if you could call it that. Finally, I ended up at the bed and examined the small box in front of it. Besides several cups and a jug of water, I recognized something that resembled a music box. The lid was glass and seemed to be of high quality. Holmes now stepped up next to me, and from his expression, I could see that Bassik's correspondence had not been very fruitful. He now took the music box and examined it carefully. Then he lifted the lid, and a soft melody began to play. I couldn't place it, though. Holmes closed it again just as quickly. Unexpectedly, I saw my friend make it disappear into his coat pocket. Perplexed, I looked over our shoulders, Lestrade was still busy with the cabinets. Surely he would not have been pleased to see the detective simply take a piece of evidence again. Because that's what it was, why else would he have been interested in the toy.

When the inspector joined us, Holmes gave him a sign.

"We're done here, Lestrade. Have your men seal the apartment for safety."

Our companion shrugged.

"I don't know, Holmes. We haven't been able to secure anything of value."

Internally, I had to disagree with him, but I also relied on Holmes' judgment. If he did not want to inform Lestrade at the moment, he certainly had reasons for it.

Back outside, Lestrade instructed the first bobby to have Bassik's apartment sealed and then said goodbye. Not without making us promise to inform him if there were any new developments. Then the detective turned to me.

"Watson, if you go home now, you might be able to get an hour or two of sleep. I would suggest we meet again in the afternoon in Baker Street."

I was quite agreeable to that, feeling the fatigue setting in. I was no longer a young man, and staying up all night on the lookout was showing more signs than it used to. Before I set off, I asked Holmes what he planned to do next.

With a smile, he answered me: "I intend to march through Athens with a lantern."

I had followed Holmes' advice and gone straight home. After getting about two to three hours of sleep, my dear wife surprised me with a delicious lunch. For strengthening, as she mentioned to me, for of course, she had noticed that I was working on a case with the detective again.

As so often, she asked me not to put myself in unnecessary danger. I did not tell her about last night's confrontation to avoid causing her unnecessary worry.

In the afternoon, I set off for Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson informed me that the investigator had already been back for about an hour and was waiting for me in his office.

Purposefully, I climbed the stairs and knocked on his door. He invited me in, and I closed the door behind me. He seemed barely busy, sitting in his chair enjoying a pipe.

I sat down and asked for news.

"How are things on your end? Could your brother help you in this matter?"

The detective smiled.

"Ah, very good. So you understood the hint with Diogenes. Indeed, after our search of Bassik's apartment, I immediately went to the premises of my brother's club. I had to wait a bit because he was still busy in his office in Whitehall. But then it was possible for me to ask him for a favor."

I nodded understandingly.

"Does this favor perhaps have something to do with the music box that you removed from the apartment without informing the inspector?" I speculated.

Holmes hesitated for a moment, then became more serious. He took something out of his drawer and handed it to me. It was the music box from this morning.

"Please open it and tell me if you remember both the melody and the content."

I immediately did Holmes the favor and opened the lid as before. A melody played, but I couldn't place it. I doubted, however, that it was an English song. Inside the music box, two small figures now began to move. One figure was kneeling, and the other figure was standing, turning a large wheel. Via a tiny chain, this wheel drove a small grindstone on which the kneeling figure was sharpening a knife.

Without waiting for the end of the song, I closed the lid again and placed the music box on Holmes' desk. Then I got up and walked about two meters to a shelf mounted directly on the right side of the office. Satisfied, I noted that my friend had not yet packed its contents into boxes and let my gaze wander. In the top compartment, I found souvenirs that either Holmes or I had kept after the conclusion of a successful case. Such as the golden snuffbox that Holmes had received from the King of Bohemia when he took care of the 'Irene Adler' matter for him. Or a French medal of honor that he had received for his work for the royal house there. I soon found the object I was looking for and took it with me. It was a music box like the one we had found in Bassik's apartment. With it in hand, I returned to my seat and began to open it. It was made of different material, but immediately the familiar melody reached my ear. It was perhaps a bit louder but otherwise did not differ in any way. The two figures performing their work were also nearly identical. It had been almost 10 years since this object had been sent to us anonymously in Baker Street.

Holmes, of course, had immediately remembered it when he discovered the music box on the nightstand.

"So you remember again, Watson? As you can see, our current case has a connection to the one you wrote down around the year 1891 under the title 'A Study in Basilisks'."

I nodded.

"And I also remember that you asked me not to publish it as usual."

My friend only made a dismissive gesture.

"Please don't blame this on me, old friend. My brother Mycroft had insisted on it, as it might otherwise have led to international complications. We traveled to Basel at the time, where we came across the intended sale of secret plans for a submarine. After initially suspecting a German agent, it turned out that he had secretly been working for Professor James Moriarty."

I wanted to note that it had mainly been Holmes who had put the pieces together, but I left it at that.

"I also remember that we never caught this agent of Moriarty's, which left you with a disgruntled feeling."

Holmes was finished with his pipe and set it aside.

"With that, you are, of course, absolutely right. The agent, known to his contacts only by the code name 'Scissors Grinder,' was able to escape from Basel. Presumably to Germany, I assume. At least he was not among Moriarty's men who were arrested later that year by Scotland Yard. Although they proceeded quite competently, the arm of the law, unfortunately, does not reach as far as abroad."

Now I slowly began to understand the connections.

"Then we have our man! The music box in Bassik's apartment is unmistakable!"

Holmes now looked out the window thoughtfully for a moment.

"But how did it get there? Do you really think Moriarty's man would have simply left such a significant clue in his henchman's apartment?"

I was taken aback.

"But if it wasn't the Scissors Grinder, who could be responsible for it?"

Holmes avoided my gaze.

"I don't know yet, but I have a feeling we will meet this person, if we haven't already. In any case, I have asked Mycroft to check all German citizens who have immigrated in the last few months."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I can imagine that there are quite a few. The Scissors Grinder could be any one of them." I noted.

Holmes shook his head.

"Surely not 'any' of them. There are certainly some characteristics by which we can narrow down the search. In any case, my brother has taken the bait. The attempt of our enemy to replace several employees of the Ministry of Trade with his own people clearly falls within his area of responsibility. He has promised to activate his networks immediately and to inform us of the first findings tomorrow. I know I have asked you too often lately to neglect your practice, but would you still meet me tomorrow in front of the Diogenes Club in Pall Mall? I would like to have you with me at this meeting."

I had to admit that I myself had a great interest in the further developments in this case and agreed without hesitation. I felt much more rested the next day, which gave me a pleasant feeling. I had instructed a cab driver to take me directly to Pall Mall. It took about half an hour, then I got out near the Carlton Hotel. I only had to cross the street once to stand in front of the Diogenes Club, where Holmes' brother Mycroft was both a member and one of the founders. Holmes was not there yet, but fortunately, he did not keep me waiting long. He came around the corner just as I recognized him by his deerstalker hat. He wished me a good morning, and together we entered the interior. The club had its peculiarities. No member was allowed to take notice of any of the others, except in the visitor's room, talking was strictly forbidden. Three violations of this rule would lead to exclusion. The only purpose of the club seemed to be to read the latest newspapers in comfortable armchairs.

The butler led us to the visitor's room for this purpose, which served as the only exception. Even from a distance, I recognized the imposing figure of Mycroft Holmes. He was sitting at a table with two chairs lined up in front of it. At the same time, another servant served tea.

"Sherlock, Doctor! Please take a seat." he pointed to the free chairs.

We did as we were told and I reached across the table to shake hands with the Home Office employee. We began the conversation casually and checked the temperature of our tea in front of us. Then the younger of the two brothers began to get to the heart of our meeting.

"So? Do you have news for us?"

Mycroft Holmes, however, did not let himself be disturbed in his composure and folded the newspaper in front of him.

"With you, everything is always so hectic, dear brother. That will drive you to the grave someday."

Holmes sighed.

"With your lack of physical fitness, I would rather assert that of you." he countered.

Mycroft just smiled.

"In this case, I must contradict you, Sherlock. I have actually been active in investigating."

The detective raised an eyebrow.

"You mean, you have instructed your people to gather information."

But the older of the two shook his head.

"No, even if you may not believe it, but this time I have taken action myself. When you told me that the former agent of your erstwhile nemesis is interested in the plans for submarines, a completely new approach occurred to me. You surely remember Hugo Oberstein, don't you?"

Holmes affirmed, but I had to search my memory for a moment. Then I remembered the name of the thief who had been responsible for the theft of the Bruce-Partington plans.

Mycroft continued.

"I thought he might have a connection to the man you are looking for. And voilà? My approach was very promising."

He now pulled a piece of paper from his lapel, unfolded it, and placed it on the table in front of us. It was a sketch showing the face of a man. It was quite successful, so I assumed that not Oberstein himself, but a police sketch artist had created it. The face itself told me nothing, and Holmes seemed to be no different. It seemed to have no distinctive features and could have represented anyone.

"According to Mr. Oberstein, your 'Scissors Grinder' is a certain Leopold von Wittgenstein." Mycroft explained.

I swallowed.

"Is he, like Oberstein, in the espionage business?" I wanted to know.

But the older Holmes denied it.

"No, Wittgenstein is a businessman. A very successful one, which he has himself generously remunerated. Even the Kaiser's salary demands are said to be a bit too high for him."

Holmes took the paper and examined the sketch more closely.

"Not for our old acquaintance Moriarty. He hired Wittgenstein to procure plans for a submarine. But for what purpose? We can assume that this assignment had entirely different motives than, for example, Oberstein's assignment to spy for the German Empire."

His brother agreed with him.

"Unfortunately, Oberstein could not tell us more about him."

I remembered what Holmes had told me the day before, namely that he had asked his brother to check all German citizens who had immigrated in the last few months.

"This... Wittgenstein, he is currently in England, isn't he?"

The Holmes brothers looked at me for a moment.

"Indeed, Watson. He must be here to plan his actions. By exposing his spies in the Ministry of Trade, he is forced to adjust his plans. To what extent this is possible, or how he plans to do this, remains hidden for the time being."

Mycroft Holmes called for his butler and whispered something to him. After he had left, he asked us to wait a moment. We found out the reason for this barely a minute later. A man entered who put on a smile when he saw us. I did the same and got up to shake his hand.

"Mr. Woodrow! It is a pleasure to see you. It feels like an eternity."

Mycroft Holmes cleared his throat, seemingly not wanting to waste unnecessary time. Frederick Woodrow had brought several documents with him and now placed them on the table. Besides documents, I recognized some photographs. I could not place them, but Holmes seemed to have less trouble with them.

"These are pictures of Highclere Castle, if I am not mistaken. Why are you showing them to us?"

But his brother had expected that the detective would get straight to the point.

"Because Leopold von Wittgenstein is currently staying in this castle. He is a guest of the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, George Herbert, who inherited the estate around 1890 from his father, Henry Herbert."

"Are the Earl and this German businessman friends?" Holmes wanted to know.

His brother, however, could not answer that.

"Maybe. Maybe it's just business. Wittgenstein, like other guests, is a participant in Herbert's hunting party."

His younger brother now smiled.

"Well, one would almost like to be a fly on the wall, wouldn't one?"

Mycroft agreed with him.

"That's why you will set off for Newbury today and go near that hunting party. Your assignment is to gather information and possibly infiltrate. We need to find out what Wittgenstein is planning in the Empire and to what extent George Herbert is involved in the matter."

The younger Holmes had to laugh briefly.

"Do you take me for one of your errand boys? I have my own methods of conducting my investigations."

But his brother became serious.

"Not this time, Sherlock. You owe me one. I have promised Oberstein to extradite him to the Germans for his help. But we will not get any of our agents back for this, which is why I consider your help in this matter as compensation."

It was clear to my friend that he did not like having decisions made over his head. Mycroft Holmes made it clear once again that this was a condition for further cooperation.

"Don't be grumpy, Sherlock. You can take your Doctor Watson with you. Besides, Mr. Woodrow will accompany you, in his company you enjoy absolute safety."

I myself was reassured that Mycroft's best man would accompany us, even though we had had to rescue him during our last joint adventure. However, the confrontation on the roof came back to my mind, in which I had failed to fulfill Holmes' instructions and eliminate Bassik. I could no longer rely on myself and my old Webley as much as I used to. Having a younger, battle-tested man like Woodrow with us could only be beneficial.

After Sherlock Holmes realized that he had the worse cards, he finally agreed to his brother's plan. Thus, we said goodbye until later, and Mycroft Holmes promised to provide everything necessary.

We agreed to let ourselves be picked up by Frederick Woodrow from Baker Street just hours later. We had packed our suitcases, although I disliked the fact that I could only send a short message to my wife. Woodrow could not tell us how long we would be away, but we should expect to be gone for a few days. Nevertheless, I was confident that Holmes, as always, would deliver quick results.

In the train to Newbury, we discussed our further procedure. Woodrow reported to us about a small pension, which was located very close to Highclere Castle. We would stay there for the time being. Woodrow had booked three rooms there for a Mr. Brown, a Mr. Smith, and a Mr. Jones. I did not ask which of these gentlemen I was supposed to be. It did not matter much, and during the ride, Holmes tried to elicit more information from our companion that his brother might have withheld from him. To no avail, Woodrow knew his job and would do nothing to fall out of favor with his employer.

We arrived in Newbury in the early evening and marched straight to the pension, where we unpacked our suitcases and first recovered from the journey. Here, the difference in age between us and Mr. Woodrow became apparent once again. He did not need a break and immediately began to survey the area. Holmes had made himself comfortable on his bed and was studying his notes.

"Have you already considered how we will obtain the information your brother so urgently desires? I think we can assume that Wittgenstein knows our appearance, so approaching him would be extremely delicate." I finally addressed him.

My friend looked up at me and referred to a bag he had brought along besides his actual luggage.

"Don't worry about that, old friend. I have already thought of a few options, but they depend on the unknown situation as well as Mr. Woodrow's approach."

I asked him what exactly he meant by that. For the detective, however, it seemed obvious.

"Leopold von Wittgenstein has proven to be a dangerous opponent. Through his actions in the Ministry of Trade, he has made not just one, but two Holmes his enemy. Both I and Mycroft are interested in learning more about the circumstances of his plans. My brother, however, is not dependent on complete clarification. If we do not succeed, I am sure he has instructed his agent to eliminate Wittgenstein."

This left me speechless.

"Holmes, do you mean that seriously? I have absolutely no desire to be involved in a murder!"

The detective seemed to understand me, but could not change anything about it.

"Watson, as a former military man, you should be used to covert operations and the importance of eliminating enemy commanders from behind."

I assured him that I had never been involved in such a mission, but that did not change anything for him. Frederick Woodrow was an agent of the British government; he was only a consulting detective. He would not interfere, even though I, as a doctor, had ethical doubts.

Woodrow returned, but we did not let on what we had been talking about.

"I have found a suitable spot from which we can observe the hunting party. Can I count on your support, gentlemen?" he turned to us.

Both Holmes and I agreed. I remembered all too well how long I had to let him scurry through trenches. Besides, I preferred the forest to the hot sand of the desert at any time.

We spent the rest of the day preparing and exploring the area.

Newbury was located in the north of Hampshire county, vast estates stretched around us. It was likely that many lords found it worthwhile to go hunting here. Highclere Castle itself was built in the 8th century by bishops until it passed into the possession of the English-Welsh Herbert family in 1692. George Herbert himself, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, was known mainly for his support of Egyptian excavations. After a serious riding accident in 1901 had taken a heavy toll on him, he retreated more into private life and concentrated on events to which various guests were invited. Woodrow had reported that his department had succeeded in bribing a maid to obtain the personal details.

So the next day, we lay in wait. Woodrow had found the perfect spot from which we could scout the group. A little bit, I felt reminded of my time in Afghanistan, as the three of us crouched in our hideout, pointing our field glasses at the area in front of us. We remained completely still until we could detect the first signs of the hunting party. It consisted of four men and one lady, all appropriately dressed and ready to shoot foxes and hares.

Woodrow pointed to the man leading the way.

"That is Earl Herbert. He is very familiar with this area, we must be careful not to give ourselves away."

I agreed with him while Holmes remained silent and scrutinized the rest of the group. Mycroft's agent pointed to a man behind Herbert who was apparently of Asian descent.

"That over there is Mr. Kumamoto. A businessman from Japan, we have unfortunately not been able to find out much about him. Do you recognize the man next to him?"

I understood what he was referring to. Next to Kumamoto marched a sturdy man of middle age with a black full beard. Although I did not recognize him, if I imagined the beard away, he resembled in a striking way the sketch that Mycroft Holmes had made of the German businessman Leopold von Wittgenstein.

"Besides, the Earl of Silverbrook had announced his attendance, but fell ill shortly before. Instead, Herbert had allowed Wittgenstein to bring his fiancée. She is the lady behind him. However, I cannot contribute anything about the man at the very back of the group." he briefed us.

Holmes made unclear remarks.

"That is clearly a bodyguard of Wittgenstein's. He is constantly looking around and possesses a revolver instead of a rifle. He is supposed to protect his master from attackers. If you really intend to eliminate our opponent, you should take care of him first, Mr. Woodrow."

The latter eyed the detective out of the corner of his eye.

"Thank you very much for explaining my job to me, Mr. Holmes. But we are not at that point yet. Your brother explicitly wants to know what kind of danger Wittgenstein poses to the Empire."

After that, we concentrated fully on our observations. The Earl, Wittgenstein, as well as the Japanese man were the only ones who shot their prey. The bodyguard and the lady always remained behind them and applauded. Then it slowly became evening, and we watched the party leave the area. Only after some time did we allow ourselves to leave our hiding place.

I could see that it bothered my companions that we had not really gained any new insights. Back in our accommodation, we washed ourselves thoroughly to get rid of the dirt that our excursion had brought us. Then we met in the room of the British agent. I was the first to arrive there, but Holmes, as so often, made us wait.

Then he entered the room and threw a newspaper at us. Puzzled, we looked at it until Holmes instructed us to turn to page 7. I took over this and skimmed the articles.

"It's about the portrait in the top left. Watson, would you be so kind as to read it aloud?"

Of course, I fulfilled his wish immediately.

"Anthony, Earl of Silverbrook celebrates his sixtieth birthday. Due to an illness, however, he is unable to hold a large celebration."

I looked at Holmes, for this article told me absolutely nothing. Woodrow, however, reacted immediately.

"The Earl of Silverbrook? He is one of the guests who were supposed to attend the hunting party. Why are you showing us this?" he wanted to know from the detective.

The latter raised his index finger instructively.

"Forgive me for putting it so bluntly, Mr. Woodrow. But your approach will not get us any further. Therefore, I suggest going on the offensive and approaching our target."

I could hardly believe what Holmes was proposing. He could not seriously intend to expose us to such danger.

"Holmes! May I remind you that Wittgenstein knows who we are? He will order his bodyguard to attack us if he sees us."

But it was Woodrow who understood the detective's point before I did.

"You want to pose as the Earl of Silverbrook. Right, or?"

Surprised, I looked back and forth between the two men. I knew best about Holmes' talent for disguising himself and transforming into an entirely different person.

"But... would that be possible? Do they not know the Earl here?"

But Woodrow shook his head.

"Actually, no, Doctor. From the maid, we know that George Herbert and the Earl of Silverbrook have never met. It will be similar with Wittgenstein and Kumamoto, after all, they are not from England."

However, this explanation was not enough for me.

"And if so! Mr. Holmes would be forced to answer questions that only the Earl could answer. His disguise would inevitably be exposed." I insisted.

But my friend did not share my opinion.

"Not necessarily, Watson. You must not forget that the members of the hunting party do not know the appearance of the Earl of Silverbrook, but also his character. I will therefore portray the Earl as a stoic, taciturn man whom people consider eccentric and solitary. This should make it possible to evade most of the questions for which I do not have an answer."

Holmes' plan sounded quite plausible, but not without danger. Nevertheless, he ordered more pictures from Woodrow, which were supposed to perfect his appearance.

The detective spent almost the entire night in his room preparing. I did not approve of this at all, but I was more than impressed with the result. Woodrow and I were amazed when Holmes presented us with the result. His physique had gained considerably, a red mane and a bushy beard adorned his face. With the clothes, he had had to improvise and put them together from various parts of his roles.

"Holmes, you impress me again and again. If you had not informed us in advance this time, I would never have recognized you."

I knew that my friend would take this not as a compliment, but rather as a confirmation.

Nevertheless, this did not automatically mean that my concerns had completely vanished. Although it was true that the other guests did not personally know the Earl of Silverbrook, this did not rule out a trap. I reminded the detective who our opponent was. Wittgenstein, a wealthy businessman from the empire, who must possess some talents. Otherwise, neither his wealth nor the fact that he had been recruited by Professor Moriarty himself would be explainable. After our near encounter in Basel, he sent us the music box to Baker Street, which could only mean one thing. Namely, that he had not yet settled with us. Especially after Holmes had smashed the organization he had worked for and sent his former superior to the depths of the Reichenbach Falls, he would by no means underestimate him. What if he knew about Holmes' ability to slip into the role of almost any person? Once again, I expressed a warning and reminded him of his brother Mycroft. It made little sense that private individuals like us should take such a great risk. Mycroft Holmes had competent people, like our companion Frederick Woodrow, who were trained to bring such problems to a conclusion.

But as so often, my arguments fell on deaf ears, and once again, the same day, the detective set off for Highclere Castle. "What do you mean? Will they believe Holmes, or rather the Earl of Silverbrook, that he has recovered quickly enough?" I asked Woodrow after my friend had left.

The fact that the agent did not respond immediately did not exactly boost my confidence.
"Doctor, you know your friend best. And the circumstance of how quickly he can turn situations to his advantage. Let us continue to trust him and follow his instructions," he then suggested.
I agreed with him, and by evening, a message from the false Earl arrived.
"Infiltration successfully accomplished. George Herbert had no doubts that I was the Earl of Silverbrook. Only brief conversation with Leopold von Wittgenstein. No contact with his fiancée or the Japanese man Kumamoto. Further hunting expedition planned for tomorrow at 10 AM. Expect your support. Holmes."
For safety, I asked my companion if the maid who worked for Herbert could really be trusted. If she had previously passed this message on to her employer, the entire operation would be doomed to failure. But Woodrow could reassure me; nothing of the sort was possible.
So we went to bed early to be rested the next day. We set off before 10 AM and took cover in the same hiding place as the day before. Our task was to provide Holmes with backup. I relied primarily on Woodrow as a shooter. He would certainly execute a rescue shot far more competently than I could, as had been seen in the situation with Bassik.
After 20 minutes, we spotted the group; they were strolling along the same path as yesterday. I recognized Holmes; he was strutting upright next to George Herbert. In the second row marched Wittgenstein, his fiancée, and his bodyguard, who did not leave his side today either. The Japanese businessman brought up the rear. I felt more nervous than yesterday, for obvious reasons.
Although my friend had neglected to teach me lip-reading in recent years, he later reported everything in detail, so I am not forced to embellish my report excessively.
"Dear Earl, I would like to express my joy once again that you managed to accept my invitation despite everything."
Holmes only briefly made eye contact with him.
"Mhm. Have to. A little cough won't stop me."
He later told me that he grumbled into his beard.
After the group managed to shoot the first buck, they made themselves comfortable in a secluded spot. I watched as Holmes, particularly inconspicuously, repeatedly sought the proximity of Wittgenstein and his fiancée. His bodyguard eyed the detective with eagle eyes.
"Impressive. I must admit, the way you shot that buck earlier was not bad at all. Do you go hunting often?" Wittgenstein now sat down on a tree trunk next to him.
Holmes just shrugged.
"Now and then," he replied tersely.
The German now referred to the lady next to him. She wore sturdy clothing, even though she did not participate in the hunt, and a wide headscarf.
"Oh, I believe I haven't even introduced my fiancée to you yet. She insisted on accompanying me on this trip."
The woman now stepped closer and stretched her hand out to Holmes. He seemed to consider for a moment whether this friendliness would fit the personality of the gruff Earl. Finally, he took it.
"Gabriela Talherr. Nice to meet you."
Holmes held her hand not only noticeably long but also maintained eye contact longer than I had expected. Then he returned the greeting and broke physical contact before he could be accused of lacking manners. Her fiancé was about to reply when someone spoke to him. It was the Japanese businessman, Kumamoto.
"Excuse me, could we clarify some details briefly?"
Wittgenstein hesitated for a moment.
"You should have visited me in my room last night."
Embarrassment on the part of the Japanese man.
"I'm really sorry, but we were out so late that I just fell asleep. I'm not usually used to going on such adventures."
The German grabbed him by the arm and stepped a few paces to the side. Holmes reported to me that the two whispered, which was hardly a problem for my friend's trained ears. He also turned away and tried to appear as disinterested as possible. I observed how the fiancée kept glancing back and forth between Holmes and the two men.
Did she suspect something? I couldn't imagine it but wanted to report my suspicion to the detective later if I didn't forget.
After the short break, the joint adventure continued. Holmes was addressed a few more times but remained true to his eccentric nature. He spoke again with Herbert and with Kumamoto, but both times it was just banter. When exhaustion finally set in, most noticeably in the Japanese man, the group ended their outing and returned to the castle.
It was the middle of the night when Holmes visited us at the pension. There, as already mentioned, he reported everything in detail.
"Mr. Holmes, may I ask you once again to repeat what Wittgenstein and this Kumamoto discussed?" Woodrow then asked.
After the detective had removed the annoying beard and enjoyed his well-deserved pipe, he began to report.
"Kumamoto traveled to England specifically because of Wittgenstein. He spoke of the import of special goods and that the timetable could not be changed. This is remarkable in many respects. Wittgenstein owns no companies within the Empire. So why would Kumamoto turn to him? This strongly suggests that it is an illegal import. What else would the secrecy be for?"
I agreed with Holmes.
"Couldn't you hear exactly what goods were involved?"
But he had to disappoint me.
"Unfortunately not, old friend. However, since Wittgenstein had three employees of the Ministry of Trade killed and replaced by his people, we can assume that it is something dangerous. Perhaps even something that could cause sensitive damage to the Empire."
Woodrow seemed to have heard enough. He went to a bed and grabbed his pistol.
"In that case, I will eliminate both Wittgenstein and the Japanese man. I have permission from your brother to do so."
My friend knew this, of course.
"I still ask you to wait. For we can say who else is involved in this matter. By eliminating the two men, the operation could still be continued. And we would have no idea what it is actually about."
I cleared my throat.
"But can he even do that anymore? Continue his operation, I mean. His plan in the ministry has failed."
Holmes tilted his head back slightly.
"I have instructed you not to underestimate Wittgenstein. It would surprise me greatly if he did not have a Plan B. However... Wittgenstein was not the most interesting person I got to know today. To my complete surprise, I must admit."
I furrowed my brow. He couldn't mean George Herbert; they had already met the day before. That left only Wittgenstein's young fiancée.
"Holmes, since when are you interested in ladies?" I asked skeptically.
My friend, however, preferred to pay more attention to his pipe than to give me an answer.
"Could she even be involved in her fiancé's business?" Woodrow wanted to know.
The detective now smiled slightly.
"Involved. An interesting term. But well, the lady does not play a role for us for now. Tomorrow morning, all of Herbert's guests will take their leave, including me. My advice is that you arrest Wittgenstein and Kumamoto separately when they return to London. This way, they will suspect the least. And you can claim that the other partner has already talked."
The agent of Mycroft let this thought pass through his mind. Of course, he still had to reassure himself, but I knew by now that he trusted my friend's judgment.
After Holmes had returned to the castle, Woodrow set off to send a telegram to Whitehall. I stayed behind alone and made notes.
The next day went as Holmes had predicted. Wittgenstein and his fiancée left the estate first, followed by Kumamoto, and finally Holmes. Even when saying goodbye to George Herbert, he remained taciturn but assured him that he would be happy to repeat the outing sometime.
Back at the pension, he removed his disguise and stuffed it into his suitcase. He scratched himself in several places, which caused me to smile almost imperceptibly.
Woodrow came through the door.
"Your brother agreed with your plan. Wittgenstein and Kumamoto will be expected and received by our people at Victoria Station. We will find out exactly what they were planning in England."
Holmes seemed to expect nothing less from his brother. We settled our bill for the rooms and said goodbye to our aliases.
Our stay had lasted only three days, so I could soon embrace my wife again and, of course, take care of my practice. Above all, the home cooking was something I had missed on my trip.
I had just dined when a boy rang our doorbell and delivered a message. My wife took it and handed it to me. I pulled it out of the envelope and immediately recognized my friend's handwriting. As always, he had not taken long, and it looked like messy scribbles. Nevertheless, I could decipher it. Frederick Woodrow had announced himself for 5 PM in the Baker Street, and Holmes seemed to want me there.
Sighing, I set the message aside. Actually, I would have had things to do at this time, but on the other hand, I was interested in the conclusion of the case.
Half an hour before, I set off and took the first available cab. At the threshold of Holmes's and my former rooms, I let myself in and trudged up the heavy stairs.
After a brief knock, the detective immediately invited me inside. He seemed little occupied, and steam rose from the pipe he was enjoying.
"Mrs. Hudson is visiting her cousin today, so you will have to do without being fed by her," he quickly clarified.
But I only made a dismissive gesture and assured him that I had already dined sufficiently.
Then I asked what news there was in the matter of the murdered ministry employees.
Holmes set his pipe aside and looked out the window.
"I know just as much as you, Watson. However, this will change quickly; we are receiving a visitor," he informed me.
As a precaution, I moved an additional chair to the detective's desk and then prepared to receive our guest. Taking over the usual work of our landlady, I trudged downstairs again, and the front door was already ringing. I opened it and recognized the face of Frederick Woodrow.
"Good day, Doctor. Sherlock Holmes is present, I assume?"
I affirmed and led him inside. He hurried upstairs at once, so I had trouble following him. The pace did my old knee injury no good.
Finally, we were once again in the detective's office, who scrutinized the newcomer.
Woodrow preferred to get to the point quickly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but Leopold von Wittgenstein has unfortunately escaped us."
I rarely observed emotional outbursts in my friend's face, but this time it was undoubtedly justified. He angrily swept a stack of papers off the table and looked sharply at the agent.
"How could this happen? Did you have too few men?"
Woodrow shook his head.
"No, we searched the entire train when it arrived at Victoria Station. However, Wittgenstein was nowhere to be found. It seems as if he got off at an earlier station."
Holmes paused for a moment in his position, then leaned back in his chair.
"Well, well. So my disguise wasn't good enough after all."
Surprised, I looked at my friend.
"So Wittgenstein recognized you?" I asked, shocked. After all, it had been possible for Holmes to eliminate him at any time.
But he only made a dismissive gesture.
"Wittgenstein? No, not him. But I made another misjudgment."
I wanted to ask more, but then he addressed Woodrow.
"What about Kumamoto? Did he slip away from you too?"
But fortunately, the agent could deny it.
"No, the Japanese man, who was in another train, tried to, but luckily ran into the arms of our people."
I was glad to hear that at least one of the villains had been arrested.
"Were you able to find out anything from him? Did he talk? That is... if you are allowed to tell me, of course."
Woodrow nodded.
"No worries, Doctor. Your discretion is well known. However, the interrogation is still ongoing, so I cannot give you any details at this time."
He now sat down across from Holmes, and I also made myself comfortable.
"What about possible accomplices? Did the two act alone?" I asked.
The agent pursed his lips.
"We can't say for sure on Wittgenstein's side at the moment. But with Mr. Kumamoto, it seems clear that he is only a mediator who is to pass on the negotiations with Wittgenstein to his superiors."
The detective grumbled dissatisfiedly.
"You think the Japanese government is behind it?"
But Woodrow did not want to commit himself.
"I really hope that is not the case, Mr. Holmes. A German committing assassinations on members of a ministry within the Empire and doing so on behalf of the Japanese government? You can imagine what consequences that would have."
The investigator nodded.
"Oh yes, I can. Even more stress for my dear brother, which would certainly not be beneficial to his health."
Woodrow did not reply to this but seemed to see the matter similarly.
"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I am to invite you to the Diogenes Club tomorrow on behalf of your brother. We are confident that we will have the necessary information by then."
It was clear to my friend how reluctant he was to be ordered around. He had expected his brother to be reliable and the case to be virtually closed. But no, Wittgenstein had once again eluded him.
"You can tell my brother that I will appear. As for my friend's valuable time here, you will have to ask him yourself."
The agent of the British government looked at me, but I immediately agreed. I had stood by Holmes so far and would not end it so easily.
Woodrow thanked us and shook both our hands. Then he said goodbye and left the office. Thoughtfully, Holmes watched him as he got into his cab outside and drove away.
"What do you think, Watson? We have once again underestimated our opponent. Although Leopold von Wittgenstein is doing his utmost to follow in the footsteps of our professor."
At the same time, I remembered what Colonel Sebastian Moran had said to us during his interrogation. That Holmes had not had a serious opponent since Moriarty. I did not share this view. It was not for nothing that my friend, after his return to London, had sworn off cocaine and turned to other areas of interest.
He had found other things that fulfilled him, and... still.
I could see how much this situation burdened him. He sat down and looked at me.
"Watson, before I give up my life as a consulting detective, it is important to me to shed burdens like this. Will you continue to stand by my side until we have brought Wittgenstein to the gallows, or at least to prison?"
As so often, I did not have to think long about my old friend Sherlock Holmes's request. I would not leave his side.