by Wayward
“Nothing,” Holmes said at last. “No marks on the floor except for those made by Wraxford himself in his final throes. It is possible that Merton approached him without leaving discernible traces, but I doubt it.”
“What puzzles me, Holmes,” I said, “is why the tendrils that strangled Wraxford are still attached to the stem. If you wished to strangle a man with vine tendrils, you would surely cut them off first.”
“There you come to the heart of the mystery, Watson!” Holmes exclaimed, straightening up. “Why indeed – and why, in a house which must surely offer rope, wire, a scarf, you would choose to strangle a man with vine tendrils. Let us take a closer look.”
Approaching the pot, Holmes parted the leaves at the bottom of the vine and examined the stem. “Ah! See here, Watson!”
Looking over his shoulder, I saw two wires leading from the compost that filled the pot, then up the main stem until they were lost to sight among the leaves. Holmes gently tugged one of the wires, but it remained fixed.
“They are firmly attached to the root system, I imagine,” Holmes said thoughtfully. “I confess, Watson, I should dearly love to know where they are leading.”
Glancing around, he spotted a set of mahogany library steps which stood close by. As he strode toward them, his foot struck something hidden in the shadow of the vine leaves. It skidded across the floor; Holmes picked it up and held it out to me.
“Pruning shears,” I said. Sudden understanding flooded over me, along with a terrible feeling of guilt. “He took my advice, and started to cut the buds off. And – ” I could hardly believe what I was about to say – “and the plant protected itself, and strangled him.”
Holmes gave me an astonished look. “My dear Watson!”
“Haven’t you said yourself, Holmes, that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”
Holmes’s amazement gradually faded, to be replaced with a thoughtful look. “This is, indeed, a most improbable plant,” he said. “But supposing that you have lighted on the truth, there is still more here than we understand. What is the purpose of these wires?”
Clambering onto the library steps, Holmes traced the course of the wires up the main vine stem and across the roof of the conservatory, repositioning the steps as needed. I watched him, apprehensive that the vine would feel itself threatened and attack again, and wished I had brought my trusty service revolver. But beyond a slight shivering of the vine leaves, I detected no movement.
“There is a small hole drilled in the glass here,” Holmes said when he had reached the conjunction of the conservatory with the main house. “The wires appear to lead up the outside wall. Most curious.”
“What do you propose to do?” I asked him as he climbed down again. “Should we tell Lestrade what we have discovered, and effect the release of that unfortunate man, Merton?”
Holmes shook his head. “Offer Lestrade a murderous vine as the culprit? Ask him to arrest a plant? We should make ourselves laughing-stocks. We must say nothing until we can present him with the whole picture. For the present, I should like a few more words with the manservant Merton.”
I confess to a feeling of relief as we left the conservatory and made our way back to the main house. We discovered Inspector Lestrade, with Merton and the constable, in a book-lined room which was evidently Colonel Wraxford’s study.
“Inspector,” Holmes greeted him. “Please have the goodness to give me a few moments alone with Merton.”
“If you must,” Lestrade responded ungraciously. “You’ve nothing more for me, then?”
“Not at present.”
The inspector snorted. “I told you it was an open and shut case. But suit yourself, Mr Holmes. Come on, Huggins.”
Followed by the constable, he went out and shut the door behind him. Holmes seated himself in the leather chair behind Colonel Wraxford’s desk and surveyed the shrinking manservant who stood before him.
“I never killed him, Mr Holmes,” Merton said.
“I am quite convinced of that,” Holmes assured him. “But we must gather enough information to convince the good Lestrade.”
Relief and gratitude spread over the manservant’s features. “I’ll tell you anything I can, Mr Holmes!”
“Good.” Holmes leaned forward across the desk, with his elbows on the leather surface and his fingers steepled. “How long had your master been suffering from this nervous complaint?”
“Well, sir,” Merton began, “I came to work for him…a matter of eight years ago. He’d just come back from one of them outlandish places, and his health was quite knocked up. He was never entirely well after that, but not long ago he started getting…edgy, like, anxious and short-tempered. And drinking like he’d never drank before.”
From the first time the buds began to show on the vine, I thought.
“And did your master have many visitors?”
“No, sir,” Merton replied. “He lived very quiet. Sometimes his publisher would call, and his solicitor would come for dinner and a game of chess.”
“Hmm…” Holmes fell into a brown study.
As I waited for him to speak again, my gaze travelled idly over the bookshelves, the evidence of Colonel Wraxford’s travels and his interest in astronomy. Then suddenly my heart lurched as a name sprang out at me.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed, pulling the slim volume from the shelf.
My friend turned towards me, with an impatient look at having his thoughts interrupted. “What?”
Without a word I handed him the book, and was rewarded by the expression of utter astonishment that crossed his face.
“The Dynamics of an Asteroid, by Professor James Moriarty,” he read. “Well spotted, Watson. Well spotted indeed.”
Holmes flicked slowly through the book; looking over his shoulder I saw the pages crowded with diagrams and abstruse equations. Not even my friend’s intellect, I surmised, would be able to make sense of that.
“I fancy, Watson, we shall find the flyleaf holds greater interest than the text,” Holmes said, pointing to a scrawled inscription: EW from JM. “A signed copy. Merton, how did your master know Professor Moriarty? You did not mention him among his visitors.”
“The Professor used to visit, sir,” the manservant replied. “But it must be four years since he was here. I heard there was some trouble, and he died, but I always found him a very pleasant gentleman, no matter what they say he did. He and Colonel Wraxford used to talk about astronomy, and went up on the roof to make observations through the telescopes.”
“Did they indeed?” Holmes flashed me a glance; I guessed he was as nonplussed as I was, to think of the notorious criminal so blamelessly occupied. “Merton, we are talking about the same man? Tall, a domed forehead, scanty hair?”
Merton nodded vigorously. “That’s him, sir. Dressed very shabby for a Professor, I always thought.”
“That’s Moriarty. And his association with your master was purely intellectual?”
“I can’t believe that Colonel Wraxford – ” I began. Whatever the colonel had been in the last days of his life, I refused to accept that he could have collaborated in Moriarty’s evil plots.
Holmes raised a hand, clearly signalling me to give nothing away in front of Merton.
“They was up on the roof, most nights he visited, sir,” the manservant replied to Holmes’s question. “Why, Professor Moriarty built the second telescope himself.”
“Did he, indeed?” Holmes purred. “Interesting… Well, Watson, I think that we have done all we can here for the present.” He rose to his feet and took a pace toward the door, then halted. “No, wait! Merton, you say that four years have passed since Professor Moriarty last visited. Do you remember the exact date?”
I was surprised when Merton nodded eagerly. “I do, sir. It was the 24th of April.” Looking faintly embarrassed, he added, “I remember it well, sir, because it’s my birthday.”
It was hard to keep my mouth sh
ut as I followed Holmes out of the study, so many conjectures were tumbling through my brain. The 24th of April, 1891, was a date I would not easily forget.
Holmes handed the unfortunate Merton over to Inspector Lestrade. “This man is undoubtedly innocent,” he said. “But it might be as well to take him into custody temporarily, for his own protection. I hope within the next day or so to bring this matter to a conclusion.”
Lestrade gave him a smug smile. “I think you’ll find I’m right this time, Mr Holmes.”
~
Holmes refused to discuss the matter further until we were back in Baker Street, partaking of an excellent lunch prepared by Mrs Hudson.
“Holmes,” I said, “Professor Moriarty visited Colonel Wraxford on the very day that he visited you, to tell you to cease your investigation. The day before he left London in pursuit of you.”
Holmes nodded. “I think we can assume, Watson, that his purpose was not to say farewell to an old friend. His criminal empire was crumbling around his ears, and the only purpose in his mind was to take revenge. No, he visited the colonel for some vital purpose, something that had to be accomplished before he set himself to wiping me off the face of the earth.”
“But what could it be?” I asked.
“There you have me, Watson. And I feel the answer will not be easily discovered. Not even this is likely to enlighten us.” He drew from his pocket the copy of Moriarty’s book, The Dynamics of an Asteroid, and laid it on the table between us. I realised he must have pocketed it when we left Colonel Wraxford’s study.
“There are not half a dozen men in the world who could understand that,” I said.
“If as many. The man was a genius, there’s no denying that.”
“And something else puzzles me, Holmes,” I went on. “Why did you tell Lestrade to take Merton into custody for his own protection? Surely there can be no danger to him now?”
“I trust not,” Holmes replied. “But I wished to make absolutely certain that Merton would be elsewhere tonight, and leave The Pines empty.”
“You are going to break in!” I cried.
Holmes smiled. “I am – and I hope I shall have my trusty Watson by my side.”
~
Our cab dropped us at the corner of the street, and we made the rest of our way to The Pines on foot. We wore dark overcoats and scarves which, at need, we could pull up to cover our faces. Holmes carried his burgling kit and a dark lantern concealed beneath his coat, while I had tucked my service revolver into an inside pocket. I only hoped I would not have occasion to use it. Holmes also brought with him Moriarty’s book.
“Whatever Moriarty’s purpose,” Holmes said as he walked briskly along the street, “it must lie up on the roof with the telescopes. That is why we need darkness, though I thank Providence it is a clear night.”
I looked up at the stars and the thin crescent moon that just showed itself above the jagged line of the rooftops. It amazed me that a man who had studied such beauty and mystery should have given himself to evil as Moriarty had done.
When we reached The Pines, everything was dark and silent. I was relieved to see that the constable no longer guarded the front door. Nevertheless, we walked around the house to the tradesman’s entrance before we tried to gain admittance.
Holmes took out his leather case of housebreaker’s implements, and selected a skeleton key. A moment’s work with the lock and the door swung open. I followed Holmes into the house.
Holmes took out his dark lantern, for we did not wish to call attention to ourselves by switching on the electric light. By its feeble rays we trod noiselessly down a passage and through a door which opened into the main entrance hall. From here stairs led to the first floor; here a second staircase, steeper and uncarpeted, rose to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
Climbing the stairs, Holmes flung open the trapdoor and we emerged onto the roof. The balustrade I had observed earlier ran all around a wide, flat space where two telescopes were positioned: the structures I had seen but been unable to identify. Apart from those instruments, the roof space was empty.
On one side of the house stretched the dark open space of Hampstead Heath, on the other, a network of streets leading down toward the heart of the great city of London.
“A splendid place for observation, Holmes,” I commented.
Holmes strode quickly from one side of the roof to the other, making a rapid examination of the scene. “Ha!” he exclaimed, looking over the balustrade. “What have we here?”
As I joined him, I saw that we were gazing down onto the roof of the conservatory. Where it joined the main building, the glass was shattered, and vine stems were climbing the wall, the highest scarcely inches from the balustrade.
“I don’t remember the glass being broken when we were in the conservatory this morning,” I said.
“Nor do I,” Holmes responded. “Something has spurred the vine into activity, it seems. And here are the wires we observed this morning.”
He pointed to two wires which were affixed to the wall, leading upward from below and through a gap in the balustrade. Tracing them across the roof, we discovered that they ended in the mechanism of one of the telescopes.
“I’ll wager this is Moriarty’s,” Holmes said.
It was a noble instrument, of brass tubing and wheels with wooden fittings, which someone – perhaps Merton – had kept polished. The mirrors must have been at least four feet across. Holmes approached and squinted through the eyepiece.
“I see nothing of any significance,” he said, dissatisfied.
“But what could you expect to see?” I asked.
“If I knew that, Watson, we would be close to the heart of this mystery. But I am convinced that the answer must lie here, on this rooftop.”
He peered into the telescope again and began to track the instrument across the sky, painstakingly quartering it from one extreme to the other. I stood watching him, pulling my overcoat around me against the chill of the night.
Behind me I heard a rustling sound and turned to see that the vine was now curling around the supports of the balustrade, putting out luxuriant leaves and yet more buds. A few questing tendrils reached up into the air, looking uncomfortably like snakes.
“Holmes, the vine is – ”
I was interrupted by a sharp cry from my friend. “I have it, Watson! Look!”
I applied my eye to the eyepiece of the telescope, and after allowing a moment for my vision to adjust I saw a small silver patch against the backdrop of stars. It was pitted with dark spots like another, smaller moon, except that unlike the moon it was irregular in shape. “What’s that?” I asked.
“I’m no astronomer, Watson, but I should guess that it is an asteroid.”
“But it can’t be – ” I began.
“An asteroid in the asteroid belt would appear as a point of light,” Holmes agreed. “This one must be considerably closer. And to make more guesses, I would say that it is headed this way, and that we have Moriarty to thank for it.”
A chill of fear thrilled through my whole body. “If an asteroid strikes the earth…”
“Earthquakes, tidal waves, the atmosphere so full of dust that no sunlight can reach us,” Holmes confirmed grimly. “Mankind will be reduced to primitive survival in caves…if we survive at all.”
I have never felt so helpless. Many times in my life I have faced death with equanimity, but the thought of such wholesale destruction threatened to unman me. To think of so many millions dead, so much destruction of human art and culture…
“Wraxford was right,” I said. “The world is about to end, and the vine prophesied it.”
Holmes pulled Moriarty’s book from his pocket and flung it down on the roof with an exclamation of disgust. “The arrogance of the man, Watson! I’ll wager he has laid out the whole diabolical plot in this book, secure in the knowledge that few men in the world would understand it, and those who did would consider it nothing but an academic exercise.”
“
But I don’t understand, Holmes,” I said. “Why would Moriarty carry out a design which would inevitably destroy him along with the rest of the world?”
Holmes gestured toward the telescope. “He must have hoped that he would never have to use it,” he said. “But as the forces of the law closed in on him, he decided to pursue a vendetta against me, and on the night before he followed me to the continent he came here, to activate his device. No doubt if he had succeeded in killing me he would have returned to deactivate it. But in the event, as he plummeted into the maelstrom of the Reichenbach, he may have felt a final consolation that the rest of the world would soon follow him into destruction.”
“The man was mad!” I exclaimed.
“No, Watson. Coldly, logically sane, but to an evil end. However, our deductions do hold out a sliver of hope: what one man can create, another can discover. There must be a way of preventing this cataclysm, if only we knew what it was.”
He turned back to the telescope, examining it with even greater care than before. For the first time I noticed that on top of the main tube of the telescope was another, smaller brass tube, and it was towards this that the wires led from the vine.
About half way along the length of this tube was a brass collar, and as Holmes twisted it a thin beam of intense blue light sprang out from the end of the tube. I let out a gasp of astonishment.
Holmes examined the beam with minute concentration; after a few moments he reached out and touched the edge with one finger.
“For heavens’ sake be careful, Holmes!” I exclaimed.
Holmes’s hand jerked towards the end of the tube and instantly he drew back. “There is a not unpleasant tingling sensation,” he said. “And the beam seemed to grab my hand, forcing it closer to the tube. I deduce that it is some kind of…let us call it a traction beam. It is what Moriarty used to draw the asteroid towards us.”
“But the beam was switched off until just now,” I objected.
“Immaterial.” Holmes waved one long-fingered hand. “The laws of motion tell us that a moving body will continue to move unless something else is acting on it. Moriarty was able to set his trap for the world and leave, secure in the knowledge that the asteroid would continue on its journey across the deeps of space.”