The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Paul Gilbert

  It was only as we drew closer to St Jude’s that I suddenly became aware of the charming rural landscapes that were unfolding all around us. Vast swathes of lush pastures, which were intermittently bordered by some magnificent birch and elm, were spread out before us, as far as the eye could see. The occasional farmhouse appeared at the summit of gentle rolling hills and small groups of cattle gathered around tiny pools of muddied water.

  Then the Gothic wrought-iron gates of St Jude’s unkindly blemished this vista as it slowly came into view. Its dark austerity could not have created more of a contrast had it been the portals of Hades guarding the entrance to Nirvana. Yet this was our destination and my feelings of misgiving increased with each yard of our progress. The huge gateway appeared to be all-embracing.

  Each one of its weatherworn, blood-red bricks seemed to have etched, upon its gnarled surface, a tale of fear and terror from within.

  We decided that it would be for the best if we pulled up some way short of the entrance. Our mission would be better served if a supposed porter were not observed arriving to work by way of a London cab! As our driver turned us around in the direction of the constabulary, I looked back at Holmes in his blue uniform, moving slowly towards the gateway and his unknown, potentially hazardous fate.

  The intervening period was spent both anxiously and tediously. Our meagre evening meal of broth and rough bread was soon consumed and cleared away. By the time that Morrison and I were into our fourth pipes the endless speculating had come full circle. The thought of Holmes, alone and in that dreadful place, chilled me to the core. Yet exhaustion eventually took over and I collapsed on to my small bunk, which seemed to be cushioned with rocks.

  My sleep was both troubled and restless and therefore it was no great surprise that a sharp rapping on my ground floor window had me awake in an instant. I looked out through bleary eyes and blackened curtains and gasped at the sight before me! At first I could not be certain that the vision was reality or the remnants of a dark and vivid dream.

  A white, spectral face returned my gaze and an unfamiliar tousled fringe of hair was caked in the congealing blood that had been oozing from a large gash just above the left eye. By now I was in no doubt that both the hair and the blood belonged to my courageous friend and my urgent fingers fumbled with the window lock. I flung it open noiselessly and Sherlock Holmes fell from the sill directly on to my bunk. I raced from the room to fetch some water so as to discover the seriousness of his wound.

  Holmes was motionless while I cleaned his forehead and then suddenly he sat upright and irritably swiped aside the dripping sponge.

  ‘Watson!’ he snapped. ‘It is merely a scratch.’

  ‘It is somewhat more than that and, therefore, tells of some dreadful confrontation.’

  ‘Hardly a confrontation, although I will admit to having endured a somewhat arduous evening. Watson, could I trouble you for both a cigarette and a match?’ Holmes asked humbly.

  I furnished him with both. ‘Should we not first rouse Morrison and return to St Jude’s with all speed?’ I asked, suspecting that the Diego business was still unresolved.

  ‘That will not be necessary as the matter has already reached its conclusion. Besides I do need to take stock of the evening’s outcome before we involve anybody else.’

  ‘Concluded?’ I repeated, feeling somewhat disappointed at not being involved in the culmination of the case.

  Holmes was standing by the window, his dishevelled outline silhouetted by the three-quarter moon that was slowly emerging from behind a distant bank of trees. Further beyond I could just make out the imposing arched entrance of St Jude’s.

  ‘Oh, Watson, I should not have doubted you, for that is indeed a most dreadful place.’ Holmes said quietly, as if he had been following the line of my gaze. He gestured for another cigarette, upon which he drew long and hard before continuing.

  ‘I do not mind admitting that during the long walk from the gateway to the main entrance, there was more than one occasion when I considered retracing my steps and the abandonment of all of our plans. However, Nathaniel Brewer had followed your instructions to the letter and was well prepared for my arrival and intentions. To avoid any owner of unwelcome eyes becoming suspicious of my motives he immediately furnished me with a mop and bucket and I spent the remainder of the day in the cleansing of those endless corridors.’

  I should mention here that Nathaniel Brewer was the crotchety old uncle of a former colleague of mine, and his strict, disciplinarian regime had largely contributed to the ghastly reputation that St Jude’s had acquired.

  ‘The geography of these corridors is, I would hope, unique. They are laid out in the form of a Panopticon that ensures that any one of the rooms can be observed from each and every angle and position on the floor. The fact that each room is barred rather than enclosed by a door or wall, renders the poor devils within them as exposed as the beasts at the new Zoological Gardens, although perhaps with less dignity! In such circumstances it would be easy to conjecture that even the sanest of men would struggle to retain their sanity within those halls.’

  Holmes paused for a moment and as he turned from the window to face me, I could see that he had been greatly disturbed by the experience that he was describing.

  ‘As I carried out my chores I soon discovered that the occupant of each room was enduring a different form of suffering. One might emit a cry or a wail, another a violent scream of anger. Many sat in abject silence, almost oblivious to their surroundings and circumstances, some rocking back and forth, muttering to themselves. What they all shared, however, was their despair and degradation.

  ‘My adopted persona only allowed me a fleeting glance of Persano at this time and he was indeed sitting on the edge of his rudimentary bed, silently mumbling to himself.’ Whilst he was speaking Holmes began to remove his uniform to reveal his customary suit beneath. His hairbrush did much to restore his more familiar appearance. He even allowed me to apply a small dressing to his wound.

  A brief search of the staffroom revealed two tumblers and the remnants of a bottle of whisky. A grateful Holmes found that this discovery did much to repair his fragile nerves and he even managed the most fleeting of smiles as he lit the last of my cigarettes.

  ‘Eventually I received an opportunity to speak with Persano when I was called upon to deliver his evening meal. Alas, the effect of Diego’s worm is, as yet, unabated. Persano’s eyes appeared to be vague and empty and he certainly was unaware of my presence.

  ‘Notwithstanding the apparent futility, I persisted with my questioning of the man in the hope that I might gain a response. Once or twice I detected a glimmer of light from behind those eyes and his ramblings occasionally produced an intelligible word or two. I became excited when the words Cassales and Diego disentangled themselves until I realized that they been produced at random rather than being direct replies to my questions.

  ‘In despair I abandoned any further attempts at reaching the depths of Persano’s mind. A short while later “lights out” was announced and I knew that my vigil was about to begin. I was offered the use of a room immediately opposite to Persano’s, but I decided that my hiding-place should be somewhere more secluded and discreet.

  ‘With its door held slightly ajar, a broom cupboard that was situated further down the corridor afforded me a satisfactory view of Persano and it was from here that I decided to take up my post. The discomfort of sitting on an upturned bucket ensured that I would remain awake during the long night ahead. The stench of sodden mop heads made my task the harder to endure. I could not yet be certain that Diego would even appear! I would have to console myself with the thought that the prospect of Persano’s imminent release would spur Diego to one final desperate act of retribution, so certain was I that Morrison’s comments to the press would prove successful.

  ‘My only indication of the slow passage of time was the trajectory of the moon as it shed a strange grey light through the dark and distant skylight on its jo
urney across the night sky. This grey illumination had an unusual, almost mystical effect upon my surroundings of steel and stone.

  ‘The moon had almost cleared the skylight by the time I became aware of the first sound that I had heard in hours, other than that of my own deep breathing and the occasional cry from one of those poor incarcerated souls. It came from the front entrance and my heart quickened when I realized that it was the sound of a cautious and furtive footstep.

  ‘This was followed by several others and, despite his caution, the effect of the stone floor amplified them to an unacceptable level. The steps ceased and I became certain that Diego was now removing his shoes. Fortunately for me he was also casting a shadow and I abandoned my improvised seat as the shadow neared Persano’s room.

  ‘As he gradually came into view, I slowly opened the door of my hideaway and observed my quarry. He wore a set of overalls similar to my own and brandished what appeared to be a primitive knife. Although he crouched to avoid detection I could see that he was quite short and dark of skin, while his jet-black hair had been allowed to grow down to his shoulders. He turned his head suddenly, as if he could sense my presence and I now saw that his eyes were red and frantic. I can tell you, Watson, that revenge is surely the destroyer of souls!’

  Holmes paused again and it was evident that he now wished that he had been more frugal with my cigarettes. I fumbled in my pockets and eventually produced a small Indian cigar, which I offered to my grateful friend.

  ‘It was now a matter of timing. I wished for Diego to be preoccupied at the moment that I made my move, although I did not intend for him to progress too far with his intentions either. He had, evidently, managed to procure a set of keys from the caretaker’s office and I was upon him before he had the chance to select the correct one. By the way, I subsequently discovered that the caretaker had suffered a blow to the head that had rendered him unconscious for over an hour!

  ‘Before I was able to secure him in one of my locks, Diego was alert to my approach and he lashed out at me with the huge key ring.’ Holmes smiled sardonically and pointed to his forehead. ‘By the way, you have made an excellent job of the dressing, old fellow.’ I waved this compliment aside, for I was now most anxious to hear of the conclusion to this adventure.

  ‘I must admit to having been taken unawares by Diego’s sudden attack and those few seconds of surprise allowed him the time to make good his escape along the never-ending corridors. I lost no time in making my pursuit, yet his short legs moved at an incredible speed and I found it difficult to make up any ground. All the while the sounds of our chase aroused the inmates from their troubled sleep and a cacophony of wailing and screaming built up to an unnerving climax. This, however, did nothing to deter the stubborn man from his progress and it was only as he approached the rear exit that I was able to close upon him.

  ‘None the less, he was through the door before I could reach him and by the time I had breathed in the chill of the night air, Diego was already well on his way up a flight of metal steps that extended to the asylum’s roof. I clattered after him, not even pausing upon the numerous landings, until I had reached the uppermost level.

  ‘Once there I stopped abruptly. It had already occurred to me that he had chosen a strange route by which to make good his escape. After all, the roof was just as far and as high as he could go! It was only when I found myself surrounded by a veritable forest of huge, brick chimney stacks that I realized how precarious my position might be.

  ‘I knew that Diego was in hiding behind one of those stacks, with his crude weapon held menacingly poised above his head, ready to strike should I venture behind his chimney. The flat roof was strewn with shingle so I was in little doubt that he would hear even the most cautious of approaches. I had already resigned myself to another long wait, when it occurred to me that the shingle might also work to my advantage.

  ‘You know my method, Watson and I am certain that you have studied my monograph upon “The Tracing of Footsteps?”’ Holmes eyed me quizzically before continuing, while I grunted an embarrassed apology. ‘Nevertheless, I soon realized that, even without his shoes, it was most unlikely that Diego could make any movement upon that shingle without leaving a mark. In total silence I raised myself so that I could lie flat upon the roof. I strained my eyes until they ached and the moon’s light glistened upon the surface of the small stones.

  ‘Sure enough, to the right of me and toward the edge of the roof, I could just make out the shape of a small naked heel! A moment or two later I confirmed, to myself the outline of another, undoubtedly heading towards the nearest stack to my right. It was now my turn to remove my shoes and I inched my way towards my quarry.

  ‘As I drew ever closer I was determined to remain absolutely silent and even managed to hold my breath for a full three minutes! I could detect no sound of movement from behind Diego’s place of hiding and I made my move. Employing a hold from the baritsu martial art, I secured the hand in which Diego was holding his fearsome weapon. He was unable to endure the pain to his pressure point and in an instant his knife clattered to the ground.

  ‘I collected the knife in one movement, but recoiled, momentarily, at the sight of the face that now turned towards me. Understandably it was etched with intense pain yet it was the eyes, red and unseeing in their manic rage, that chilled my blood.

  ‘He emitted a grunt of Spanish hatred and turned toward the roof ’s edge before I could make a move upon him. Even now I cannot say for certain whether his next action was carried out in full consciousness or not. Yet by the time that I was able to reach him, that deranged creature had hurled himself into the dark abyss.

  ‘As he fell, I swear that I heard the word “Francisco” echo back towards me and the sound that his body made upon contact with the stone below, was audible even from that distance.

  ‘I sank back on to my haunches for a few minutes, reflecting upon the tragedy of which I was, in a sense, the cause. Although I knew in my heart of hearts that its real cause occurred a long time ago in Central America. Slowly I made my way back down the long flight of metal steps, pausing by Diego’s shattered body only long enough to confirm the inevitable result of his fall.’

  Holmes had not touched his cigar, throughout the final part of his remarkable narrative and, as he put a flame to it once more, I observed the effect that his night so fraught with danger had had upon his already gaunt features.

  ‘My dear fellow, what an awful experience to have had to endure alone. I sincerely regret that I was not there by your side,’ I observed quietly.

  Holmes turned and placed his hand upon my shoulder. ‘Ah, but I knew that your staunch support was just a short walk down the road and that was comfort enough. Besides I must now prevail upon you to rouse the good Inspector Morrison and return with him to St Jude’s to instigate the arrangements for the body. I did not even tarry long enough to inform Nathaniel Brewer of all that had occurred, so anxious was I to quit that awful place, to which I hope never to return.’

  ‘By all means, old fellow,’ I responded enthusiastically, so eager was I to be of at least some form of assistance. Morrison was quick to respond and, mercifully, produced some welcome coffees and cigarettes, which we enjoyed before our departure. I beseeched Holmes to take some rest while we were gone.

  He assured me that he would take my excellent advice. However, as I was leaving the room, I turned to see Holmes sitting by the window and staring up at the waning moon. His eyes were vague, vacant and unblinking and I could only speculate as to the ravages his fearful experience this night might eventually wreak upon his already fragile constitution.

  By the Same Author

  The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes

  Copyright

  © Paul D. Gilbert 2008

  First published in Great Britain 2008

  This ebook edition 2011

  ISBN 978–0–7090–9258–2

  Robert Hale Limited

  Clerkenwell House

  Cle
rkenwell Green

  London EC1R 0HT

  www.halebooks.com

  The right of Paul D. Gilbert to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988