Sherlock Holmes: Zombies Over London

by Stephen Mertz

  He pointed with his walking stick.

  "You’re best off knowing there’s man killers aboard that boat. Forewarned is forearmed, young chappie. That’s what I always say."

  The warning from my subconscious surfaced, becoming a conscious suspicion.

  "I suppose you know everything about the crew?"

  "That I do and that’s a fact. It’s Big Stan Auger and his boys. Stan’s a tough son and no mistake. The others be just as mean."

  The old man lapsed into a spell of hacking and wheezing that concluded with the spitting of a gob of phlegm that arced gracefully over the dockside. His coughing subsided.

  I had to laugh.

  "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who do you think you’re fooling?"

  Holmes was not only a master detective but was also a master of disguise. At various times I have seen him believably disguised as an opium addict, a priest (on several occasions), a vagrant, a murderer, a stable hand and a chimney sweep. He could assume the pallor of sickness, fake seizures, faint convincingly, and imitate deafness, dumbness, and/or blindness. He could adopt a limp in either leg and well knew the dialects, slang and accents of countless regions.

  The tramp snorted. "Mister, you’re talking nonsense.

  "Holmes, I won’t argue with you. You sent me to snoop after Big Stan so you could come down here and conduct your own investigation in disguise."

  He peered at me with unabashed curiosity.

  "Are ye daft, man? Is that why you’re about to board that boat alone? A form of suicide, is it?"

  I said, "Enough. Holmes, you have tricked me like this in the past but I’m not falling for it this time. Kindly drop this charade and tell me what you’ve learned."

  The tramp said, "I’d best be moving on."

  He started to shuffle away.

  I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed his arm above the elbow, gripping bone that felt thin as a broom handle. I wondered how he had managed to fake bone density. It was an impressive disguise.

  I said, "Stubborn, eh? I will divest you of this ridiculous disguise!"

  I gave his beard a sharp yank, expecting it to free easily in my hand.

  The beard held tight.

  "Ow! Don’t do that! Let me go! I’m not Shamrock Jones, whoever he is!"

  He swung at me with his walking stick. I raised a free arm and blocked the stick’s weak blow.

  The familiar chuckle of Sherlock Holmes drifted out of the darkness from another direction.

  "Really, Watson. I’ve heard that the waterfront is a dangerous place but I never suspected you of being one of the reasons. For heaven’s sake, unhand that poor soul."

  Stunned, I released my hold on the beard and the spindly arm.

  I managed to say to the old tramp, "Good Heavens! My dear fellow, I am so sorry!"

  He snorted. "Take this, my dear fellow."

  He swung the walking stick at me again. He missed. The motion caused him to lose his balance. I rushed forward and steadied him so he could retain his balance. He angrily tugged himself away from me. He shuffled off into the night, muttering to himself about lunatics who belonged in an asylum, not out roaming the streets amongst normal people.

  My embarrassment gave way to irritation. I looked around. I seemed to be standing alone.

  "Dammit, Holmes. Show yourself!"

  He emerged from the fog wearing a short-caped coat and his fore-and-aft deerstalker cap against the evening chill.

  "Best to lower our voices, Watson." His eyes were on the tugboat. "Sounds carry easily across the water at night."

  I lowered my voice. "Damn me for a fool, I was certain that old man was you. What in blazes are you doing here?"

  "Apparently saving you from the gallows for the murder of a hapless senior citizen."

  I sighed. "Poor fellow. My ire was up. I thought you had again made a fool of me. But I see that this time I did a fine job of achieving that without your help."

  He said, "After you left, a telegram was delivered to 221B. It was from the Einstein family in Germany. Mrs. Wells referred them to me. The Einsteins received a letter in today’s post demanding ransom for the release of their son. I wired the family that I was already investigating Albert’s disappearance, having been retained to do so by Mr. Wells. I assured the family that I would keep them informed of my progress, and of course I fully intend to do so."

  "Any new leads?"

  "Yes. An important one. I persuaded my dear brother to use his authority to gain me the cooperation of the postal service. I learned that the ransom demand was mailed from a post office serving this district. The local postmaster remembered the letter being mailed to Germany by Big Stan."

  "Rather unusual for a postal clerk to recall a detail like that, isn’t it? They serve hundreds of people every day."

  "In this part of town, Big Stan seems to have established a reputation. The clerk knows him by sight and remembered because Stan had never before posted a letter, much less one to another country."

  "So Big Stan is holding Albert prisoner."

  "The Einstein family thinks so. A lock of the boy’s hair and some of his personal items were included in the envelope with the ransom demand. The payoff is supposed to be tomorrow, here in London."

  "Is the boy being held aboard that tug boat?"

  "That’s what we’re about to find out."

  I scanned the fog-shrouded boat.

  "Strange there’s no sentry."

  "There was," said Holmes. "He’s presently lying unconscious near the wheel house. I waited for Big Stan to arrive before I dealt with the sentry. I knew you’d be along."

  "You knocked out a sentry after Stan boarded? I didn’t hear a thing."

  "My dear fellow, that’s because you weren’t supposed to hear a thing."

  "What about Wells and his time machine?"

  "Mister Wells remains unaccounted for, I regret to say, as does his time machine. So, Watson. Shall we see what Big Stan is up to?"

  I unholstered the .44.

  "Let’s."

  Chapter 17

  I was first onto the tugboat. The shadow of the bridge took form. A hatchway led below deck. The wheelhouse appeared deserted. A porthole midway along cast a pale oval glow. I held the pistol up, my index finger curled around the trigger.

  I sensed more than heard Holmes join me from the deck.

  The boat rode gentle swells from the commercial traffic that plied the river despite the fog. The smell of the filthy, oil-streaked water was strong. Water slapped against the pilings. A barge hooted out on the river.

  Holmes touched my arm lightly.

  He whispered, "Mind your step."

  He guided me around the prone figure of the sentry, slumped against the wheelhouse. I would have stumbled if he had not alerted me. Holmes stepped up to the porthole. He risked a cautious glance in, using only the corner of one eye. Then he drew back and motioned for me to take a look.

  I did so, discreetly as possible.

  The small cabin was a Spartan affair. A spirited poker game was in progress. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. The cabin was littered with empty bottles. Danielle sat at a rough wood table playing cards with Big Stan and a pair of grimy crewmembers.

  Dani was presently engaged in raking in her winnings from the previous hand, adding to an already considerable stack of coin and paper. A cigarette bobbed from the corner of her mouth.

  "There you be, my laddies. Has the wee thing from the North Country reamed you good and proper?"

  One of the crewmen threw down his cards.

  "I’m buggered if I ain’t flat cleaned out."

  Big Stan smirked. "Go topside and relieve Chas."

  "Aw, do I have to, Stan? I’ve lost enough in this game to see who cleans who, ain’t I?"

  Dani considered the other crewman. "So Alf, are you in or out?"

  "Deal me in, Dani."

  Dani shuffled and dealt the cards.

  "They want to see me clean you out, Big Stan."

  "Y
ou ain’t cleaned me out yet, missy."

  They read their cards.

  She said, "No, but I’m about to."

  Stan groused. "You’re a little shark is what you are."

  Alf groaned when he read his hand.

  Dani chuckled. "Alfie, you need to learn how to play poker." She eyed Stan. "And you keep a civil tongue in your head, lover boy. You’re talking to the brains what thought up this caper."

  Big Stan read his cards without expression.

  "I reckon," he said without expression. "Now shut up and play cards."

  I’d seen and heard enough. I eased away from the porthole.

  Holmes wordlessly moved on. I kept pace with him. The fog hugged the boat in a damp, vapory caress. Holmes was showing me the layout of the old tug that creaked against its moorings. The Einstein boy was aboard. The kidnappers’ security was lax. They were over-confident. We eased around corners, inching along.

  Movement!

  We halted.

  In the weak light, a strange figure emerged from a hatchway. My first impression was of a walking mushroom: a shadowy shape fluffed out at the top, narrowing down, stalk-like; the mushroom image a result of an extravagant, untamed mane of black hair, the length of which bore little respect for current style or convention, topping a thin torso and a skinny set of legs.

  The three of us of us regarded each other in silence for several heartbeats.

  Then Holmes said softly, "Mr. Einstein, I presume?"

  Teenage eyes held alert wariness.

  "Yes, I am Albert." He spoke with a distinct Germanic accent. "You are the police?"

  "I am Sherlock Holmes. This is Dr. Watson. We have come to rescue you."

  That was good enough for Albert, who said, "I have initiated my own rescue, as you can plainly see. They thought simple knots could restrain me. Ha. My destiny is to unravel the mysteries of time and space. I can untie a knot."

  A shout broke the relative quiet of the night.

  "He’s gone!"

  Those around the card table inside the cabin could be heard scrambling to their feet, kicking back chairs.

  Holmes said, "This way, Albert."

  We started toward the bow.

  Danielle was shrieking, "Get them! Kill them, but not the kid! Do it!"

  Alf materialized from the fog just before we reached the bow, from which it would have been an easy step off the tug. He threw himself at Holmes with the snarl of an angry bear. Holmes met him with a sharp right jab to the jaw. Alf hesitated, shook his head a couple of times and stormed in again. He barreled into Holmes, the velocity of the charge sending both of them off their feet, onto the deck.

  I raised my pistol. Holmes would surely throw off his opponent, providing me a clear shot at Alf.

  That when Donny, the other crewman, jumped me from behind. The two of us went sprawling across the deck.

  Big Stan burst out of a hatchway and went for Albert. He effortlessly hoisted the boy off his feet, into the air.

  Donny, having latched onto my back, slammed my face into the deck but I remained aware of Albert’s struggling and Big Stan’s cursing, and the struggle raging between Holmes and Alf. I rolled onto my side with enough force to throw Donny off my back. He scrambled to grasp the wrist of my gun hand in both of his hands, attempting to wrest the pistol from me.

  The gun fired. A sharp, loud report ... followed by the splash! of someone or something falling into the water.

  Had Big Stan, seeing this kidnap job go bad, thrown Albert overboard in an attempt to drown him? Disposal of living evidence; that was the way of the Big Stans of the world.

  The thought filled me with renewed energy.

  I twisted about again until I was atop Donny. Then I took a chance. I released the pistol. It clunked to the deck. Donny let go of my wrist. He reached for the pistol, exactly as I intended him to. I brought the edges of both hands down sharply upon opposite sides of his neck at twin pressure points.

  Donny sagged with a sigh, instantly unconscious.

  I shoved him aside. I retrieved the pistol and was back on my feet. I sighed with relief.

  Big Stan looked not quite so big in death, sprawled face-down with the back of his head blown away by the wild shot from the .44. Nearby, Holmes rose from having finished off Alf, either permanently or temporarily, I could not discern nor did I much care.

  Splashing sounds.

  Albert’s voice, calm though with what sounded like considerable strain, called to us through the fog.

  "I say! I am quite all right but I require assistance. I do not know how to swim."

  Holmes knelt to extend both hands to the young man in the water.

  He said to me, "Danielle! Catch her if you can, Watson."

  I circled the boat deck, half expecting an ambush. But there was no sign of her.

  Danielle had escaped into the fog.

  Chapter 18

  After being fished out of the Thames, Albert dried down in private with an old blanket before donning shabby, dirty workman’s clothes that must have belonged to one of the crewmen.

  While we waited, Holmes made a fast but thorough search of the cabin, using a magnifying glass drawn from the folds of his coat. He examined what may well have been every square inch, standing on his tiptoes to include nooks and crannies before crawling about on his hands and knees. He rifled through a stack of paper work.

  Then we left with Albert.

  I said, "We’re leaving behind at least one dead man. The gunshot that killed Big Stan ... won’t it draw the police?"

  "In this section?" was Holmes reply. "Hardly likely." His mouth was a tight line of frustration. "I found nothing but routine paperwork. No clues."

  "We found Albert."

  Holmes actually patted the lean boy on the back.

  "That we have, and for now that is enough."

  Albert’s countenance was difficult to read. There was no open show of enthusiasm, relief or emotion of any sort.

  We had to walk some distance before finding a cab stand. Albert looked midway between a wet puppy, what with his hair a scraggly mass flattened against his head, and a child wearing adult clothes, given the baggy looseness of the soiled clothing that drooped from his narrow frame.

  The driver we approached looked askance at Albert in his sorry state and then at the two gentlemen who accompanied him.

  I tipped the driver generously.

  "I am a physician." I nodded in Holmes’ direction. "This man is associated with Scotland Yard. We are rescuing this young man from dire circumstances."

  Albert stepped forward. He had been shivering when Holmes hoisted him from the filthy river water but once the shivering passed, a sort of natural decorum returned, considerably at odds with both his youth and his unkempt appearance.

  "What the gentleman says is true. You must help us."

  That turned it.

  Moments later the driver was snapping his whip over the head of his horse and our cab was clip-clopping away from the waterfront.

  Holmes said, "Tell us about Danielle."

  Albert sighed.

  "She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And really quite intelligent. When Mr. Wells took me to The Empire Theater, he introduced me to her. Her friends call her Dani. After her performance, she joined us at our table."

  "Are you aware that Danielle and Wells are romantically involved?"

  Albert raised one eyebrow with an air of sophistication beyond his years.

  "There did seem to be a familiarity in their interaction with each other that suggested more than a casual friendship. On the Continent, of course, such extramarital liaisons are, how shall I say it, more socially acceptable."

  Holmes asked, with a twinkle in his eye, "And so you did not mind cutting in on Mr. Wells by romancing Danielle on your own?"

  Albert smiled. "I am shy, yes, but I am not unread in, shall we say, certain areas of human behavior. I am curious about many things. I understand this is normal for a person of my age. I found Danielle’s
performance and her personality to be most, uh, stimulating. I hardly imagined that my attraction to a beautiful woman could lead to misfortune."

  I said, "Believe me, Albert, you aren’t the first man to have that thought, and I daresay you won’t be the last."

  "Nonetheless, it is a lesson I would have preferred not to learn at the price of personal experience. Herr Wells made a point, on my initial visit to The Empire Theater, of mentioning to Danielle that I had traveled far from home to meet him. He meant to impress her. He told her that I came from a good family in Germany. Danielle became more interested in me. When Herr Wells excused himself to, er, answer a call of nature, I was left alone with Danielle for several minutes."

  Holmes said, "I’ll wager she found you fascinating."

  Albert sighed again. "I realize now it was mere flattery to snare me in a trap. She signed a copy of her picture for me. She told me how interesting I was, a young man my age being so smart and so on. She invited me to return alone and watch her perform with Andre. Well, I returned. I met her after the theater closed." His eyes clouded. "Big Stan was with her, waiting for me. They took me to that boat and held me there until you arrived. Danielle changed. They were not kind to me."

  Big Ben’s chiming of the nine o’clock hour resonated throughout the London night as the Hansom cab deposited us at 221B Baker Street.

  Mrs. Hudson’s cry of dismay resonated throughout the house at her first sight of Albert.

  "I must say, Mr. Holmes, there has certainly been a flow of, er, unusual traffic through here today."

  Holmes was the soul of contriteness.

  "Mrs. Hudson, I know this young man’s appearance, so soon after the unfortunate performance by our young friend Wiggins—"

  I cleared my throat.

  "Excuse me, Holmes. Your young friend." I caught Mrs. Hudson’s eye, which had been alternating between an assessment of the boy’s unfortunate condition and her disapproval of Holmes. I said, "Mrs. Hudson, I’ve always had the greatest respect for your sense of decency."

  "And I for yours, Doctor, despite your friendship with Mr. Holmes."

  Holmes blinked, genuinely taken aback.