by Barry Day
“Quick. There’s not a moment to lose. Gunpowder, treason and now plot The cunning devil has set explosive devices on a timer. No doubt the breaking of the door triggered it. Moriarty hoped to destroy the evidence and us with it.”
As we emerged into the courtyard beyond, we heard another series of explosions, louder than the first, from all over the house. There was the sound of glass breaking as windows exploded and we were all showered with flying shards before we reached the comparative safety of the street.
Turning to look at Royston Court, now with streams of fire flickering from every window like obscene tongues, I found myself shivering, although the night was not particularly cold. Can a building take on the quality of evil through the nature of those who built it and from the sinful purpose for which they used it? If it could, then this one did. I seemed to still hear the house spitting defiance until we were safe in our carriage and the sound of the approaching fire engines drowned it out.
When we were well out of the vicinity, Holmes ordered the driver to stop and went back to the carriages that held Lestrade and his men. I could see them engaged in earnest conversation and then the smaller and faster of the carriages took off at a great pace in the general direction of Whitehall.
Alicia and I were left alone in the four-wheeler. On leaving the house I had insisted on draping my ulster around her and now, as she sat back, she looked for all the world like a small child cocooned against all harm. She looked at me for a moment in silence, then reached out and took my hand.
“John H. Watson,” she said simply. “Thank you. There are no words for what you and your friend have done and, even if I could find them, neither of you would wish to hear them. So, may I thank you on behalf of you both?”
And with that, she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Now I was the one who had no words.
I was saved from the necessity of speech by Holmes’s return. Those grey eyes missed nothing, of that I am sure, but he merely said: “Time is of the essence, I’m afraid, old fellow. I have arranged for one of Lestrade’s men to take—Alicia—back to Baker Street into Mrs. Hudson’s good care.”
Then to his surprise as well as my own, I heard Alicia say—“Mr. Holmes, if you imagine for one moment that, after all I have been through, I intend to be consigned to the category of ‘Women and Children’ when this little drama reaches its climax, then your knowledge of the modern woman is sadly incomplete. You say that time is of the essence. Then I suggest we waste no more of it. Driver, the Houses of Parliament!”
Holmes was hard put to it to swing himself up into the carriage before the driver cracked his whip and we were on our way. I stole a glance in his direction and the play of emotions across that finely drawn face would have made a narrative in itself. Nonetheless, I would have taken a bet that the dominant expression was one of amused satisfaction. His quick glance in my direction told me that I must have been smiling.
A few moments later he explained his plan.
One of Lestrade’s men had been sent ahead to dig Mycroft out of the depths of the Diogenes Club and have him meet us close to Westminster Abbey. Even with the House sitting, his authority would take us anywhere within the complex of buildings that made up the seat of Government, but it was important we rendezvous out of sight of Moriarty’s agents, who would certainly have set up a surveillance.
“I need hardly add that we must proceed with extreme caution. The charges are undoubtedly set already and we have just seen at Royston Court how effectively they work. Tonight’s debate will find some six hundred people in the Chamber immediately above and, if this morning’s newspapers are correct in their surmise, several European dignitaries are to be present as guests and observers. The subject of the debate is somewhat ironic, in the light of recent events. It deals with greater European collaboration against the threat of terrorism.”
With that he sat back, pulled his hat down over his eyes and appeared to go to sleep.
As the carriage clip-clopped briskly through the south London streets I looked down at the young woman sitting between us. She, too, was sleeping and her dark head had fallen on my shoulder. Why was it that, in the midst of all the terrible events unfolding around us, I wanted nothing more than to keep her safe from harm? Was there something about the line of the jaw or the curve of the lip that brought back memories of my own dear Mary and a marriage death cut all too short? Was some force outside us all trying to tell me that grief must give way to a new life in the great scheme of things? All of these speculations and more were running round in my brain as we drew up in the shadow of Westminster Abbey, a moonlit stone’s throw from the Mother of Parliaments. As if to remind us of its presence, Big Ben struck the three-quarters of the hour. A mere fifteen short minutes separated us from Moriarty’s devilish dénouement.
For a man who had supposedly been sound asleep, Holmes leapt to the ground with remarkable agility, leaving Alicia and I to make our own way over to the group huddled over a map dwarfed by Mycroft’s huge hands. As we joined them, he was explaining something to Holmes and several of Lestrade’s men. I noticed Hawkins among them.
“Here, here and here …” and his finger stabbed various locations on the map—“are the various entrances for the staff.”
Hawkins nodded. “We have our men covering all of them. Go on, sir, I expect the Inspector will be here any minute.”
“Now this …” the finger hovered—“is the entrance to the Main Lobby. All visitors come and go through here. With all of this I think I may say I am tolerably familiar. As far as the nether regions of the building are concerned, I regret to say they are a closed book. However, I am reliably informed that this …”—the finger stabbed once more—“is the door leading to the cellars and it is kept locked at all times when the House is in session. Of course, in a building of this age with all the many additions, I very much doubt if anyone truly knows all the nooks and crannies.”
“Take my word, one man has made it his business to know them by now,” Holmes interjected. “Gentlemen, we do not have a moment to waste, yet we must so dispose ourselves that we do not create alarm. The first sign of an attempted evacuation will undoubtedly cause Moriarty to act precipitately.
“Mycroft, I know, will not take it amiss if I say that, once we have effected our entry to the Lobby, his task is to watch, wait and protect our backs—not least from official interference. We have no time to fill out official forms or argue protocol. You catch my drift, Mycroft?”
“My dear brother, it will be my pleasure to bind officialdom hand and foot in its own red tape, should the occasion arise. Gentlemen, shall we …”
“I beg your pardon, I should also say ‘… and Lady’ …”
“Surely Alicia …” I began to object but Holmes intervened. “With Moriarty’s men undoubtedly roaming the area, I am more inclined to think the young lady will be safer in our company than out of it, old fellow.” A quick nod from Alicia showed that his plan had at least one firm supporter.
In twos and threes we made our apparently casual way across the road towards the Houses of Parliament. Because of the importance of this emergency debate, there was a steady stream of people passing to and fro, so that we did not appear particularly conspicuous as we passed through those historic portals.
Holmes, Alicia and I formed one group, talking animatedly and pointedly looking around us at the architectural splendours, for all the world like tourists seeing the sights for the first time. Hawkins and two other plain clothes constables made their way to the notice boards and loitered with noticeable intent to check something or other on them, while carefully scanning the area.
Mycroft, having nodded us all past the uniformed officials on the door, was on the point of leading the way unobtrusively in the direction of the cellar door when he was seized upon by a passing dignitary whose name was a household word.
“My dear Mycroft. The very fellow we need to settle an argument …” And the next moment the elder Holmes was in the middle of
a small knot of grand and reverend seigneurs. The raised eyebrow turned in our direction said more than words that even he could not brush aside this particular company with impunity. We must proceed alone.
No sooner had he observed his brother’s distress signals than Holmes gripped us both by the arm.
“Quickly, old fellow. By my calculations we have precisely seven minutes. If memory serves, Mycroft’s map has the door to the cellars at the end of that corridor …”
All pretence of being tourists gone, the three of us hastened across the echoing hall and were soon alone in a short passage way. Behind us the bustle of the place we had just left was now a low-pitched hum and we could hear our own footfalls echo on the stone floor.
“A few yards further on the left, I think,” said Holmes, consulting the folded map he had pulled from his pocket.
It was then that I saw Lestrade. He suddenly appeared from behind one of the many ornate pillars that broke up the expanse of wall. In the dim light in this little used annex it was difficult to see his expression but his body language was clear, as he raised a hand in greeting.
“Lestrade,” I cried as we drew nearer, “what have you found?”
“False alarm, gentlemen, I’m glad to say. Miss Creighton …” and he touched the brim of his bowler in salutation. I thought it a little strange that he didn’t raise it to a lady but the thought didn’t really register in the heat of the moment. Instead I almost shouted in relief—“False alarm?”
“That’s right, Doctor. Seems like the Professor was having one of his little jokes at our expense. I’ve been all round down there with my boys and everything is tickety-boo. Looks like we’ll have to think again. Well, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. ’Olmes—Doctor, I’ll just tell me boys they can call it a night. Why don’t I pop round to Baker Street first thing in the morning and we can have a powwow …?”
“Excellent work, Lestrade,” Holmes interrupted enthusiastically. “By the way, I must congratulate you on the work of that young constable we met earlier, Hawkshaw?”
I was about to say—“Surely you remember the man’s name was Hawkins—not Hawkshaw?”—when I heard Lestrade say—“One of our very finest, Hawkshaw. He’ll be glad you appreciated his efforts.”
“I’m sure he will. Except that ‘young’ Hawkshaw’s name is Hawkins and he’s not a day under fifty. And you, Lestrade, I see have taken to wearing an overcoat at least two sizes too small for you and buttoning it all the way up—a practice you have singularly failed to observe in all the years I have known you. Furthermore, I have never yet heard you to refer to your associates as anything but your ‘men’—never your ‘boys.’ I have only one question for you, Moriarty—what have you done with Lestrade?”
I felt Alicia stiffen at my side. I could well understand that she must be feeling that she was condemned to be part of a circle that would never be broken. At literally the eleventh hour were we doomed to be back where we started?
“I see your legendary powers have not deserted you, my friend, but frankly, I had hoped for something a little more subtle. A coat cuff brushed the wrong way. A vocal inflexion misplaced by a few miles from the good Inspector’s ‘patch’—Hoxton, if I’m not mistaken? Really, Holmes, in my academic days I would have been hard pressed to give you more than a Beta plus.”
“I shall be happy to settle for a Beta on this occasion, Professor, if that is the price of putting you where you belong,” Holmes replied calmly. “Watson, perhaps you would be good enough to retrace your steps and bring ‘young Hawkins’ to do what is necessary?”
Fool that I was, I had failed to notice that, as he spun his web of words, Moriarty had gradually moved nearer to us. Now, as Holmes broke his concentration long enough to glance in my direction, Moriarty threw an arm around Alicia and, drawing a pistol from his pocket, used her as a human shield. Slowly he began backing them both away towards a door in the wall behind him.
I began to draw my own service revolver, only to have Moriarty wave his own in my direction.
“The hero is a tempting part to play, Doctor, but I somehow doubt that a dead Boswell would be able to do justice to his friend’s exploits—always supposing there are clients who will wish to do business with someone who is seen to have failed as signally as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
At which point a voice behind us said—“Mr. Holmes? Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Is there something I can do to help?”
I turned instinctively to find a young man approaching us, clearly under the impression that we had lost our way. He was fresh faced with an almost baby-like complexion and thinning fair hair and I wasn’t sure whether to bless or curse him for his intrusion.
My mind was made up for me a moment later, when I heard the solid thud of a door closing and I turned to find Holmes and I were alone in the corridor. Moriarty and his hostage were gone.
Holmes ran to the door and tried the handle. It was firmly locked and barred from the inside and it was equally clear that none of my friend’s picklocks was likely to make an impression on it. By this time the young man was at our side and seemed to be immediately aware that his intervention had complicated rather than eased matters. Instead of asking for an explanation or offering an apology, he looked Holmes squarely in the eye in a way I have seen few men do and said simply—“I spend a lot of time in this place and one day I hope to spend rather more. The one advantage is that I do know the ins and outs of it pretty well. Would it interest you to see the service entrance, Mr. Holmes?”
“It most certainly would,” I said, speaking for both of us. “Lead on!”
Sensing our urgency, he sprinted down the corridor with us in close pursuit until he came to a narrow side passage containing nothing but a small door with its paint peeling. It was obvious that no one of consequence was expected to penetrate this far into the entrails of the House. At first the handle refused to turn and my heart sank. Then, with a strength that belied his slender frame, our new friend put his shoulder to it and with a complaining screech, it opened inwards, revealing a dimly-lit corridor.
We immediately flattened ourselves against the wall on either side of the aperture. For all we knew we might walk into a fusillade of bullets but nothing disturbed the silence that greeted us. Putting his finger to his lips, Holmes edged his way around the door frame until he stood in the passage way beyond. Only then did he beckon the two of us to join him.
The passage was quite empty in both directions and then our young friend pointed to the left. As he did so, I could begin to make out the rumble of mens’ voices some way ahead. Slowly we inched our way along in the gloom. Whatever purpose the place had served in the past, it was no longer in active service. We passed empty shelves strewn with cobwebs and our companion whispered in my ear—“Looks like it hasn’t been used since Guy Fawkes’s time.”
Holmes beckoned me to his side. “Do you have your service revolver ready, Watson? Good man. Let us hope your eye has not lost the sharpness it had at Maiwand. I fear this can only end badly.”
We came to a turn in the passage and peered around it gingerly. Directly ahead of us was what was obviously the Main Cellar. There two men—one of whom I recognised as Krober—were bent over a mechanical contraption not unlike the one Holmes and I had seen up at Loch Ness. Wires led off it to a series of packages I could see were fastened to the foundations of the building.
“The explosives!” I breathed to Holmes. He barely nodded. “Enough to blow up this building and everyone in it.”
Krober was now unrolling a thicker cable and backing along another passage way similar to the one we were in. “They will take that to their point of exit and detonate the explosion from there.”
“But where’s Moriarty?” I hissed.
The question was answered for me, as the Professor stepped out of the shadows next to where Krober had been standing, his arm still encircling a struggling Alicia. Every instinct in me told me to rush at the man and engage him hand to hand but Holmes pointed soundlessly at the revolver sti
ll held tightly in Moriarty’s free hand. Long before I reached him he could easily have picked me off and Alicia, too, for that matter. I had no delusions as to what the man was capable of, if pressed.
I turned to my old friend. If we had been in tighter corners, I could not for the life of me remember what they might have been.
“What are we to do, Holmes?”
“I think it is time we called in reinforcements, old fellow.”
“Reinforcements? What reinforcements? No one else knows we are here.”
“Watson,” Holmes murmured almost under his breath, “how often must I remind you of my old maxim that, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And Truth, said Jesting Pilate …”
With that he raised his voice and called out—“This way, men. Over here and the rest of you cover the other exits!”
I was rendered speechless by his effrontery but, to his undying credit, our new young friend picked up the thread immediately and cried—“Right behind you, Mr. Holmes … come on, lads. Rogers, Harris, you take that way …”
The effect on Moriarty’s men was instantaneous. They dropped the cable as if it were red hot and scuttled off down the far corridor, leaving Moriarty alone but far from finished. Raising his revolver and maintaining his grip on Alicia, he pointed it unwaveringly at the nearest barrel of explosive.
“A neat trick, Holmes, but I’m afraid it won’t work. One bullet and the whole place will blow sky high. Personally, I’ve always enjoyed playing for high stakes but I wonder whether you feel you have the right to risk so many lives on a bluff? Miss Creighton and I are going to take a little walk and if any of you try to follow us, I should perhaps remind you that I am an expert shot and a barrel is—how shall I put it?—a sitting target. A bientôt, gentlemen.”
As he began inching backwards down the passage his companions had used I fingered my service revolver, trying to decide whether I could get off a clean shot. Fear of hitting Alicia was balanced by the thought that I might well cause Moriarty to fire instinctively into the explosives. While I remained indecisive the man was getting away from us!