Sherlock Holmes and the Father of Lies

by C J Lutton

  Knowing his inference, I shuddered at the realisation that Thaddeus and I might one day be responsible for the death of the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Or that Thaddeus or I might be killed by each other’s hand. Whilst such thoughts sickened me, Thaddeus merely narrowed his eyes and gave a single nod. Once again, the young man proved he was more like Sherlock Holmes than anyone I’d ever met.

  This rude encounter with Dracula served to spur Holmes’ protégé to ever higher levels of attention. Thaddeus was remarkable in his fortitude and zeal. He read and reread every scrap of paper. His vitality and keen mind displayed an incredible tenacity in ferreting out the smallest of details whilst correlating their relevance to myriad possibilities. It was his opinion that the files in our possession were an excellent gauge to put forward an educated opinion as to Dracula’s strengths and weaknesses. Thaddeus noted the varied authorships as proof that the facts before us had been seen, noted, and repeated in areas so far flung that the writers could not have possibly influenced one another. He suggested that by breaking down each report and speculation into distinct categories, we could deduce the creature’s habits, traits and so on, whilst simultaneously eliminating the unsubstantiated, the exaggerated, and the preposterous.

  Holmes found the proposal brilliant. He made a suggestion that neither Thaddeus nor I had taken into account. Steepling his fingers, the great detective said, “May I suggest that even the most preposterous stories have a grain of truth in them? I believe it is so. To ignore evidence simply because it cannot be substantiated is a crime in and of itself. Only a few days ago the possibility of either of you believing in the existence of vampires was ludicrous. It is all too easy to forget that history has to have a beginning. That's why I feel so strongly about these old wives’ tales and folklore. The very first sighting of a vampire must have been too incredible for anyone to fathom. But as we now know, vampires exist, nevertheless. May I suggest, therefore, that what cannot be verified or corroborated should be placed into its own subcategory of possibilities. Even these may shed some light on the phenomena we are researching.”

  ”How shall we break them down?” Holmes asked, as he looked directly at Thaddeus.

  The young man thought for a moment and then walked to the chalkboard. He drew four vertical lines to divide the board into five columns. At the top of each column, he wrote a heading: Who, What, When, Where and How.

  ”This is something that I've learned from a journalist friend of mine,” explained Thaddeus. “When covering a story, these five things are critical. Who is the story about? What is it about? When did it happen? Where did it happen? How did it happen? My friend believes that once you possess all this information, your thinking will be clear and concise. I believe with a few modifications we can apply this to our investigation.”

  The young man turned around and waited for Holmes’ reaction. A nod from his mentor was Thaddeus’ reward.

  Going back to the chalkboard, Thaddeus continued, ”First, the ‘Who’ would be the person reporting the incident, since we already know whom the report is about. Second, the ‘What’ could be understood to mean the nature of the occurrence. For example, an actual sighting, or killing, and so on. Thirdly, the ‘When’ is self—explanatory, excepting that we should also include the exact time if known. Fourth, the ‘Where’ is also obvious. And lastly, the fifth column is critical. The ‘How’ should be considered for our purposes here in great detail. Of course, I’m asking, ‘How did he get away?’ or ‘How was the vampire killed? or ‘How was our agent killed?’ From this information, there will be much that can be deduced. Once we have all of the essential facts listed in one place, we should be able to see patterns forming. I'm not sure whether a bat is a creature of habit, but man most assuredly is.”

  ”Bravo!” said Holmes. ”I could not have made a better argument for deductive reasoning. It was a splendid presentation, Thaddeus.”

  ”Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

  ”Thaddeus,” I said, feeling buoyed by the young man's logic, ”for the first time I truly believe that our international posse cannot help but win. Dracula's days are numbered.”

  Putting our minds and energies to work, we compiled a profound tabulation of Dracula's evil ways. There were many similarities of occurrences that when viewed apart offered no significant clue. However, when considered collectively, these situations exposed the obvious chinks in Dracula's apparently invincible armor. The three of us sat down, stared at the chalkboard, and mulled over our findings. To be sure, Dracula had many powers, but our method of organizing the information proved he had just as many weaknesses—and these weaknesses would bring about the demise of Dracula.

  * * *

  Addendum from notes taken by T. R. Wiggins:

  A vampire cannot appear in daylight.

  The symbol of a crucifix will keep a vampire at bay.

  His coffin must be nearby and it must be filled with a layer of soil from his homeland.

  He can be hurt by holy water.

  If holy water is sprinkled on the soil in his coffin, he cannot enter that space.

  If he is unable to return to his coffin before daylight, he cannot survive.

  He can be destroyed with a wooden stake through his heart.

  He cannot pursue a victim onto hallowed ground.

  When he transforms himself into a bat or wolf, he is extremely vulnerable.

  He cannot awaken from his sleep whilst the sun is still up.

  A vampire casts no reflection.

  He survives only on blood and cannot eat or drink anything else.

  * * *

  Thaddeus postulated that even though Dracula appeared to possess complete freedom of movement, it was necessary that he have a loyal subject working as an assistant. This helper would make the necessary arrangements to maintain Dracula's anonymity and safety. Considering that the vampire seemed to frequently need hasty travel plans to make good his escape, we could safely assume that this assistant was of incredible importance to the survival of the monster.

  “When his servant is destroyed, Dracula is be forced to stay and fight,” reasoned Thaddeus. “After all, he is restricted to nocturnal activities and his proximity to his coffin.”

  Holmes removed his pipe from his mouth and added, “At least until he finds another slave.”

  “Agreed,” said Thaddeus. “This also suggests that Moriarty is not as powerful as Dracula. We know he conducts his affairs during normal business hours. You’ve seen him in daylight. I would guess that his job is to provide Dracula with a safe haven.”

  I was in full agreement with my friends. When our discussions came to an end and we were putting the documents back into the crate, I said, “As a man of science, I think we should copy our findings and put those in the crate also. Should we fail—and God willing, we shall not!—what we have learned might be of some use to others who follow in our footsteps.”

  “Excellent point, Watson,” said Holmes.

  When the copy work was done, I watched as Holmes and Wiggins added our findings to those in the crate. The two men closed the crate and sealed it again with red wax. After securing the papers, Holmes summoned a porter and had the wooden box placed in the ship's vault.

  Watching the porter as he hurried away with the sealed container, Holmes said, “Come, my friends. Let us enjoy our last evening aboard in the company of strangers.”

  We were all eager to return to our quarters and wash off the week's tension before meeting in the main dining room two hours hence. At the agreed hour, we dined in a relaxed atmosphere whilst mingling with unsuspecting citizens who were unaware of our quest. Exhaustion came swiftly upon us as the night wore on. We decided to turn in early and get a good night's sleep. I awoke the next morning to fading memories of horrible nightmares. When we dressed and met over breakfast, the gaunt look on my companions’ faces indicated that neither of them had a restful night.

  However, our spirits were quickly lifted by a jubilant commotion outside o
n the deck. “We must be in sight of the New York harbor,” said Holmes. We rushed out into the cold air. There on the deck we clung to the railing and watched as Lady Liberty grew larger and larger. I can say with surety that all three of us were inspired by her magnificence.

  11

  A Most Singular Lady

  “Never before,” said Holmes in a hushed tone, ”has such a monument been born. She stands, not as a trophy of some long—forgotten conquest, but rather as a beacon of hope to those who have been conquered.

  “A mighty woman, whose right hand never waivers in its purpose to light the way to sanctuary. Her left hand caressing the words of hope and understanding. With silent lips, she speaks to us all, 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest—tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'”

  I should not have been surprised that Holmes could quote the inscription with accuracy. He continued, “Her flowing robes offer shelter to any and all. Whilst the crown on her head is not a demand of servitude, it speaks of rays of brightness, of new ideas, and of bold new beginnings.

  “Millions of people will benefit from her quiet strength and understanding, but I pray that this magnificent woman has the wisdom and power to withstand the blasphemous blight that is at this very moment casting its dark and ominous shadows across this land. Let her torch be the flame that burns down the House of Dracula and all of his treachery!”

  We continued to watch in silence, measuring Holmes’ words against the task that lay before us. As the Statue of Liberty faded into the mist, we waited with excited anticipation as the ship docked and we, along with the other first— and second—class passengers, disembarked. The throngs of people in steerage and third class looked around eagerly, trying to see the ferries and barges that would transport them from the pier to Ellis Island where they would undergo a medical and legal inspection. Although I do not profess to be a man of language, their faces said it all: We are home!

  ”Get out your credentials,” Holmes instructed as he flashed his badge to one of the many men in customs’ uniforms. Thaddeus and I followed Holmes’ actions. We were led to an office marked “Private.” On the desk was a name plate that read: “John O’Malley.”

  After a short wait, a gentleman of obvious authority entered. He was a heavy man, chomping on a wet cigar. By the looks of him, he had not seen soap or razor in some time. His blue uniform was sloppy and shiny with too much wear. The jacket was much too small for his girth. Clearly, he’d given up any attempt to button it closed a long time ago. The shirt underneath was stained with food, tobacco juice, and sweat.

  ”Mr. Holmes?” the man growled, looking at each of us.

  ”I am he,” said Holmes.

  ” I don't know what the hell this is all about, but we were told to give you every courtesy.”

  It was clear he didn’t want to give us any courtesy. But Holmes didn’t take the bait. He simply said, “I expect you to dispatch one of your men to expedite us through the customs process. Unless you want to lose your job.”

  Moments later we found ourselves ever closer to Dracula. Climbing down the gangway to the pier, we were met by a much more respectable—looking gentleman.

  ”Mr. Holmes, I presume?” asked the man, looking directly at my old friend. ”My name is Wilson. Paul Wilson.”

  Wilson showed Holmes his credentials. I noticed that they were the American version of ours. The two men shook hands and the proper introductions were made all round.

  ”Your trip was pleasant?” asked Wilson.

  ”Interesting,” responded Holmes.

  ”Mr. Holmes, I of course have received your telegram, otherwise I would not be here to greet you. Your instructions have been carried out. At the hotel, you will find every newspaper published in the last three months from the entire eastern seaboard. My agents have marked every article pertaining to your requested subject matter. The task was immense, and I am proud to say that we have concluded our work with hours to spare.”

  ”Thank you,” responded Holmes. The air was cold and damp, and we were anxious to get out of it. We were whisked away to our hotel. Arriving at its side entrance, we were informed that our baggage was already in our rooms. Attempting to escape the frigid temperatures, we hurried inside, forcing Wilson to speak to Holmes on the run. ”Mr. Holmes, if you should require anything more, please feel free to use me or any of my men for your purpose.”

  Holmes gave his appreciation. After Wilson departed, we were taken to our rooms by an eager bellboy. He followed us as we inspected each room.

  ”Splendid,” said Holmes, tossing the lad a coin and ushering him out of the suite. My friend pointed to the stacks of newspapers. ”We have our work cut out for us, men. We must read every article before we can proceed any further.”

  Thaddeus and I groaned at piles so large they required their own separate room inside of Sherlock’s suite. Holmes had thoughtfully arranged the accommodations so we could sink into comfortable armchairs or perch on a large divan and read, if we tired of sitting around a large table. Our host had supplied us with pens and paper for notetaking.

  ”Come on, gentlemen, it could have been worse,” said Holmes, choosing an armchair. “I could have requested papers from the entire country, but my information lead me to believe that Moriarty and Dracula are in the eastern part of America. In fact, I've narrowed our scope to the northeastern states.”

  When he took off his coat, Holmes was wearing the shotgun. ”We will be armed, from here on in.”

  Thaddeus and I smiled sheepishly, drawing pistols from our coats. Shaking his head, Holmes walked back into his bedroom and returned with a large leather valise that I had never seen before. ”I've gone to great lengths to have these made by one of the world's premier armament specialists,” he said, reaching into the bag. ”They are of my own design. I believe these to be the best weapons for our task.”

  From the valise, Holmes withdrew three identical sawed—off shotguns and their accompanying harnesses. Very carefully, the great detective laid them side by side on the table. As horrible as their purposes were, they were magnificent. Giving us each a weapon, Holmes replaced his old one with the newer version.

  ”I will explain,” said Holmes. ”You will note that near the business end of the barrels there's a small fixed sight with intersecting rectangular pieces of silver affixed to the barrels. These crosses have been blessed by the church. In fact, inlaid crucifixes have been pressed into the stock. The purpose of the crosses is obvious, to ward off any vampire, but should you find yourselves in close combat, he might try to pull the weapon away from you. I designed the guns so that the sight rests on a cross that’s been blessed by the church. If the vampire grabs it, his response should afford you some additional time to fight him or flee.”

  The gravity of our task weighed heavy on us as Wiggins and I watched Holmes handling the bulky guns. The detective continued, “Both of you are familiar with shotguns and the spread of the pattern, but these shells are singular in nature because of the special load we will use. We have had to sacrifice much in the amount of pellets in each shell in order to add another ingredient inside. Each shell has a waxen package that contains holy water. Once the gun is fired, the package will disintegrate. The force of the charge will cause the water to spray onto the pellets. Of course, much of it will dissipate as the pellets travel through the air. But perhaps there will be enough remaining to inflict some unexpected pain.”

  Holmes paused and took a small box of shells out of the valise. “These, gentlemen, are some of the tools we'll use to bring down Dracula. Hopefully, these desperate weapons will provide us with time. The shot will not kill him, but it may afford us an opportunity to get in close enough to drive a stake through his heart. Never be more than an arm's length from a shotgun at any time. Do I make myself clear? If not for your own safety, then consider those around you. Of course, we've boxes of norma
l shells, as well as these special ones. Until we get to Dracula and Moriarty, the shotguns will be loaded with the regular shells.”

  We spent the next half hour getting acquainted with our new weapons. Thaddeus and I slipped into the harnesses and adjusted the seating of the weapons for our own comfort.

  While my young friend and I settled in to read the newspapers, Holmes received a few telegrams. By the look on his face, it was obvious that they did not contain the news he had hoped for. Angrily, he crumpled the telegrams into a ball and tossed them into a large trash can that sat near one of the armchairs.

  ”Any news?” I asked, with a nod toward the crumpled messages.

  ”None good,” said Holmes. “I had thought that by now there would be, at the very least, a beacon in the sky lighting the way and pointing to Dracula’s den.”

  Thaddeus pushed a paper under Holmes’ nose. “Perhaps there is. Read this.”

  Holmes grabbed the paper and looked at the article that Thaddeus was pointing to. My old friend read the piece in silence for a few moments. His eyes widened as he scanned the article.

  ”What does it say, Holmes?” I asked.

  ”It's from the Savannah Register, and I quote, 'A Colonel Thomas Moran, rumoured to be in league with the Knights of the White Camelia, a group dedicated to preserving the natural order, was found dead this early morning. His body was found impaled on the doors of the barn where he and the Knights of the White Camelia allegedly hold their meetings.’”

  ”But I don't see any connection, Holmes,” I said. “A group preserving the natural order would be most welcome if they offered us their assistance.”