The Revenge of Sherlock Holmes

by Phil Growick

  Marie sat back a bit from Reilly, as if examining a transformation and said, “Look at you, just look at you.”

  “Must I?” Reilly asked.

  “You are a totally different man than the one who shepherded us through Russia. You’re happy.”

  He grew pensive, then said quietly, “Yes, I am happy. For the first time in my life I am truly happy. But I’m not a changed man. Leopards cannot lose their spots. It’s the nature of the beast.

  “I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring a photo of Tatiana or the Tsar; but you know why.”

  “Reilly, what about William? Can I tell him you’re here?”

  “Not right now; there’s no need for that and it may only confuse things.”

  “What things?”

  “You know better than to ask that of me?”

  “You’re right. But there’s something I must ask of you.” Reilly nodded to proceed.

  “Anastasia. You know she’s disappeared and I’ve tried, but I can’t find out what’s happened. I’m very, very worried. I don’t want to lose another sister; my baby sister.”

  “Tatiana asked me, too. I’ll try to find her; but I have some other business which I must attend to first.”

  “I understand. Will I see you again before you leave England?”

  “Who can say? I’ve always felt like a leaf in the wind. Right now, I’m not sure which way the wind is blowing.”

  Now, it was Marie who grew pensive.

  “What is it?” Reilly asked.

  “I don’t know if this means anything, but I’ve had the funniest feeling, from time to time, that I’ve been followed. I mentioned this to William and he even took to hiding about to see if I was being followed, but he couldn’t find anyone.”

  “I see. And how long did you have this feeling?”

  “Oddly enough, from just about the time I arrived in London. Silly, I suppose.”

  “And when did you stop feeling as if you were being followed?”

  “After our return from our honeymoon.”

  Suddenly, Reilly’s demeanor changed radically and he smiled.

  “Marie, I may be able to find out where Anastasia is much easier than I had supposed.”

  “But how? How could that be possible from the few words I’ve just said?”

  “I can’t divulge that now. We must leave it at that.”

  Reilly thought to himself, “Holmes.”

  An Appeal To Holmes

  It was an easy enough thread for Reilly to tie together.

  Marie had felt followed from when she arrived in London, when she was most vulnerable, then no longer after her marriage to William.

  Believing that however bizarre Holmes may have become, he may still have felt an overweening responsibility for the safety of Marie and Anastasia; so he had them followed to prevent anything untoward.

  And if he knew where Marie lived, it was only natural that he would also know where Anastasia had gotten to. So Reilly made his way to that corner of Varrance and Lomas the next morning.

  He was, of course, stopped at the front door by the same men he had met on his previous visit. One man went up to Mr. Stash to see what should be done.

  When the man returned, he motioned for Reilly to follow him. This Reilly did and entered Holmes’ office.

  Holmes, as Mr. Stash, facial hair now regrown, sat in his chair, his body tilted towards Reilly as if poised to strike and motioned Reilly to sit opposite him.

  “Why have you come to see me this time?” Holmes asked.

  “Holmes, I need your help.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe you’re the only man who can help me. Holmes, I need to find Anastasia.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the family is worried sick. She’s disappeared. And there’s another reason, as well.”

  Holmes indicated, again with a gesture of his head, for Reilly to continue.

  “Holmes, Olga is dead.”

  Holmes recoiled as if slapped in the face. It appeared he had not received the news from his American colleagues.

  “How? When?”

  Reilly told him everything that happened in New York and he could see it pained Holmes deeply; even as Mr. Stash. But Reilly wondered why the men in New York hadn’t told him. Then he remembered they knew nothing about the connection between Olga and Holmes.

  “Holmes, I know you followed Marie...”

  Holmes cut him off. “How did you know that?”

  Reilly explained, then continued, “I thought you might have had Anastasia followed for protection, as well. And if that was true, you’d know where she is. But I have no idea of how you could’ve discovered that they were here.”

  Holmes seemed pleased at that and told Reilly of how he tracked them. Then he wrote something on a piece of paper and passed it across the desk to Reilly.

  “Paris? Anastasia is in Paris?”

  “Obviously. What will you do once you’ve found her?”

  “I promised the Tsar and Tatiana that I’d try to bring her back to Eleuthera where she can be cared for. Barring that, I’m just not sure and will cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Then go cross your bridge.”

  Reilly decided to ask a question, though he suspected it would bring ire.

  “Holmes, please forgive me, but for all that you mean to my family, to Watson, and to me, as well, why do you persist with this masquerade?”

  “Because it is easier,” Holmes said quietly.

  “I don’t understand. All you have to do is cast off this disguise and re-emerge as yourself.”

  “You think I have not considered that, Reilly?” What about Watson? I have not been able to discover who the other special branch agent is that can take his life if I resurface. And are there more I have not been made aware of?

  “There is also a certain pleasure I’ve discovered in donning an opponent’s mantle. It is perverse, but it is also gratifying.” As Holmes said this, he was rubbing his hands along the sides of his unkempt suit; his fingers fondling the fabric as he did so.

  Reilly watched these actions and could not reconcile the image of the Holmes he knew in Russia and the man who sat across the desk. He thought it best not to press the matter.

  Then Holmes asked a question that took Reilly aback.

  “Reilly, haven’t you, who has spent your life donning and doffing various personas, ever thought of becoming someone like me?”

  “I don’t understand,” Reilly answered, quite truthfully.

  “What I am suggesting is that since you are intimately acquainted with our friends in New York and what I have accomplished since becoming Clay, perhaps you might like to step into my shoes as I step down.”

  Reilly thought Holmes totally mad, at this point. Holmes saw the look on Reilly’s face and continued.

  “Reilly, think of what you would be able to offer Tatiana and the children in material wealth. You would be returning to Tatiana all the luxury so sadistically snatched from her by the Bolsheviks. You would simply be returning what was rightfully hers.”

  Reilly, at first, could not speak; so bizarre were Holmes’ words.

  “You can’t mean any of that,” Reilly finally said.

  “I most certainly do. You are the only person I know, other than Meyer, who can combine brains with brutality. I am not getting any younger, Reilly, and I would like to pass on what I’ve built to someone I can trust. Someone who will be able to take what I’ve built and build it even larger. Someone who can also act as guardian for Watson and his family. And the remaining Romanovs.”

  “Holmes, that is all too fantastic. I can’t even absorb the concept. But for now, I’ll take your advice and leave for Paris as soon as possible.”


  As he was about to leave the office, he turned and asked, “Holmes, is there anything I might be able to do for you, other than what you’ve just proposed.”

  Holmes said simply, “You know what that is.”

  He most certainly did.

  A Finnish Friend Returns

  The next day, Reilly made it known to the two reaming SIS operatives he felt he could trust, that I was about to break my silence and reveal to the world what I knew. His idea for this latest subterfuge was that my story might be circulated and heard by that unknown agent, causing him to visit me as a warning to remain silent.

  Then Reilly would know who he was and how to deal with him. Of course, I knew nothing of this plan nor that Reilly was in London.

  Reilly kept a night vigil outside of my home, positive that this person would do as Reilly believed. On the second night, at about eight, Reilly saw a man knock on my door, me open it and let him in.

  Since Elizabeth and I usually didn’t have callers at this time, Reilly suspected it was time. He came to my front door, opened it, and heard me speaking with a man who sounded strangely familiar. The door to my study was closed, so Reilly could not be sure that he truly recognised the man’s voice.

  As Reilly had thought, the man was warning me to remain silent or there would be no accounting for what would happen to Holmes.

  “But I assure you,” I said, “I have no intention of saying anything now or in the future. If my friend is still alive, I cannot risk his safety. But why are you asking me about this after all this time? Is Holmes well? Have you seen him?”

  “We heard that you were about to reveal what you knew.”

  “Now where could you have heard such lies?” I asked.

  “From me.”

  I turned to see Reilly, pistol in hand, standing at the now-opened door.

  The man who had a moment before been wondering from where the lies had come, seeing Reilly, simply smiled and said, “Of course.”

  “Good to see you, Yrjö,” Reilly said.

  “Likewise,” Yrjö, said, “but do you really need to point that pistol?”

  “I don’t know; do I?”

  “Sidney, after all we’ve meant to each other?” Yrjö seemed to be playfully mocking Reilly.

  “You two know each other?” What a foolish question; but it was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Yes, yes, Dr. Watson. Sidney and I are old comrades.”

  “I thought I asked you not to call me that,” said Reilly, smiling, as he put his pistol back into his overcoat.

  “A mere slip of the tongue.”

  “Somehow, Yrjö, I don’t think anything slips from you,” Reilly said.

  “How kind of you,” Yrjö said.

  It was obvious these two men had history, but good or ill?

  “Reilly, who is this man? It’s obvious you know him.”

  “Quite well, doctor. But I have no time to waste with our story.” I decided to ask no more and to just watch and listen carefully.

  So,” said Reilly, still smiling at the man, but with a touch of menace in his voice, “it seems you and I have a problem, Yrjö.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Now, Reilly’s tone grew serious and the smile was gone.

  “Enough. We both know why you’ve come and I’m here to tell you that whatever order you had received from Lloyd George during the war, it’s over, done, rescinded, invalid, called off, stopped, cancelled; must I go on?”

  “Sidney, I’m very impressed with your knowledge of synonyms, but on whose authority should I cease, desist, etc.?” Yrjö asked, nonchalantly.

  “On mine,” answered Reilly, smiling again.

  “Well, in that case...” Yrjö paused and it was his turn to become serious.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to need a better reason.”

  “How about this: being a Finnish friend.”

  Yrjö’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re going to use that now, are you?”

  “Anything at my disposal, Yrjö.”

  Since Reilly had his pistol, the double meaning was quite clear.

  “Dr. Watson, I know this is presumptuous of me, but may I ask you to leave your own study so that my friend, here, and I can speak in private?” Reilly asked.

  “Under the circumstances, I cannot think of a better alternative,” I answered. I left the room, with Yrjö’s eyes watching me carefully.

  “John, John, who’s there,” Elizabeth called from upstairs.

  “Oh, a slight surprise reunion, you might say/”

  “At this hour?”

  “Well, I said it was a surprise. I’ll be up presently. We’re just talking and they’ll soon be off.”

  “Some sort of a reunion that is,” she said in brusque finality. I waited outside and then, after about five or so minutes, the door opened and Reilly motioned me back in.

  “All is resolved?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes,” Yrjö said resignedly. “I just wish we Finns weren’t such good friends.”

  With that, he and Reilly hugged, and the man gave me a civilian salute. However, he paused in my study doorway, turned to Reilly and said, “You can best translate it as internal strength; or as you Brits might say, bulldog determination; or as the Yanks might say, not taking crap from anyone.”

  “Pardon me,” Reilly said.

  “Sisu,” Yrjö said.

  “Ah, yes; sisu. Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Yrjö said, as he closed the door and left.

  “Sisu?” I asked.

  “No matter. Let’s just say he owed me one. But you and I have a lot to discuss.”

  “Yes, why are you here?”

  “Dr. Watson, I can trust you because of all we’ve been through together,” Reilly said; not able to tell him of his meeting with Holmes.

  “We received some other upsetting news on the island recently, Anastasia has gone missing.”

  I was confused. I still didn’t know how Olga had come to be in New York on that horrid night and now this. Reilly saw my confusion.

  “John, I believe I can call you that; there’s much I can’t explain. But I believe she’s in Paris. I’m going to leave as soon as possible. Tatiana has asked, if possible, to bring her back to Eleuthera.

  “But I didn’t want to be in London without me seeing you again and speaking of what happened in New York.”

  “Yes, terrible, terrible,” I said.“Elizabeth still talks about that poor, beautiful young woman but, of course, she knows nothing of her real identity.”

  “What happened with Olga was tragic, but it’ll serve no purpose for me to elaborate any further; only to let you know she was given a proper burial and I was there.

  “What’s done is done and all on Eleuthera are well and healthy; Tatiana, the Tsar, Marie. And oh, yes, by the way, there are now two little Reillys on that island.”

  “Another child?” I asked in total happiness.

  “Yes, little Alix. She was born on the seventh of February.” With that, Reilly pulled a photo from his wallet to show to me. It was of Alix and little Sidney.

  “Oh, Reilly, they are beautiful. Takes after their mother, of course.” I laughed.

  “I can’t argue with you on that point. And now, John, I’ve got to go. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see you, again, or if I’ll be going back directly from France, but in any event, you know you hold the gratitude of all of us.”

  “I know. Good luck, Reilly. I hope you find her. And if I can help in any way, you know you can depend on me.”

  “Of course,” Reilly said.

  With that, he left.

  Finding Anastasia

  When Reilly stepped out of his hotel about seven the next morning, there was Mr. Sta
sh; albeit one more presentable for public transport.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” Reilly asked.

  “If you want an answer, then ask him directly,” Holmes replied.

  Reilly just shrugged. They proceeded by cab to Victoria Station, then on to Paris by the usual method: rail to Dover Piory, then ferry to Calais, then rail, again, to Paris.

  Reilly assumed that perhaps not all of Holmes had dissolved into Clay or this Mr. Stash and that there may still be hope of Holmes becoming Holmes again. After all, Holmes was sitting next to him on an errand of mercy. Though Holmes had remained silent for most of the journey.

  However, on the train from Calais to Paris, Holmes, at last, broke his silence.

  “Reilly, hopefully our presence will not unduly disturb Anastasia. All we must do is determine that she is well, well cared for and we can then leave knowing the best; which you can then report to Marie and the family on the island.

  “I agree.”

  However, other than the few disturbing words describing Anastasia from Marie, they had no forewarning of the true extent of her mental state.

  They were in Paris by mid-afternoon of the third of November and went immediately by Paris taxi to the address that Holmes said was hers.

  They ascended the stairs and Reilly knocked on her door. When she opened it and saw Reilly, she screamed in joy and threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in, kissing his cheeks as she did so. Holmes watched warily, followed them in, then closed the door.

  “Reilly, Reilly,” she kept repeating and kissing his cheeks as he struggled gently to extricate himself from this surprising onslaught of affection. When finally he had done so, still holding her arms tenderly as precaution against another burst of regard, they sat on a little sofa she had placed to catch the northern light.

  “You’ve found me, you’ve found me. But how?”

  Reilly pointed to Holmes.

  Anastasia looked confusedly at Holmes, who, as Mr. Stash, slowly removed his eye patch and stood until Anastasia shot upright at her recognition and now Holmes was under her attack of affection.

  “Enough, enough, Anastasia. I am happy to see you, too,” said Holmes, now trying to disengage as Reilly had just moments before. Reilly sat and laughed.