Sherlock Holmes-The Army of Doctor Moreau

by Guy Adams

  I must say that, despite the frankly awful smell, I found it intensely peaceful in those tunnels. There is something wonderful about having one’s senses deprived, relying on the hypersensitivity of others. I almost seemed to float along in the darkness, caring not in the least that I couldn’t see a thing in front of me, knowing simply that I was walking in the right direction and that I could no more get lost than water rolling down a drainage pipe.

  I relished the fact that they were making more than enough noise to cover my pursuit. However sensitive Kane’s ears might have been, there was no way he could have heard me over the sound of Challenger’s frequent outbursts.

  Then the first round of shooting began.

  I kept my Webley in my hand and waited, listening intently for every clue as to what was happening. Holmes and I had agreed that there was little I could do in this situation. The important thing was to remain hidden until Mitchell’s lair had been exposed. Once that was known (and the information passed on) then I was free to act as I liked but, until then, I was to reveal myself for no reason other than to protect my own life.

  I heard the attacking creature splash into the water and the sound of excited chatter. Certainly the majority of them had prevailed then, I reasoned, and I continued to follow at a safe distance. At some point I must have passed the dead body of the creature that had attacked them, but in the darkness I had no way of knowing.

  The next attack came shortly after and followed the same pattern —a volley of shots, the sound of the creature expiring into the water followed by enough chatter to let me know that at least some of the party had survived.

  But then my ears picked up the sound of someone heading back in my direction.

  I halted and, once again, kept my Webley ready. The last thing I wanted to do was use it. That would expose my presence all too effectively. But if they came upon me anyway, I would have little to lose.

  They were carrying the lantern and it was only a few more moments before I recognised them as a friendly pair of faces.

  “You must be Carruthers,” the younger of the two whispered, as faintly as he could. “Holmes told me you were back here. My name’s Wiggins and this ere waste of space is Shinwell Johnson.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” I said.

  “Apparently we’re nearly there,” said Johnson. “Just a few more feet, according to Dog-Breath.”

  “Then might I suggest you gather Mycroft and his chaps?” I said. “I’ll keep on Holmes’ trail for now in case I can be of any assistance, but the sooner we have the weight of numbers the better.”

  “Righto.”

  I worked my way past them and continued after what remained of their party.

  Again, I was unable to see the beast they had killed, though I could certainly smell it, even over the effluent. It had a distinct hint of the ocean to it, like a fishmonger’s in high summer.

  Not long after I had passed it, I heard the sound of shouting ahead and a light appeared from behind an ill-fitting curtain that hung on the wall.

  Moving as close to it as I dared I could hear the sound of a man’s voice.

  “You really should have stayed within the safe walls of Baker Street,” it said. “Now that you are all here I can do whatever I wish with you. My experiments can recommence with fresh supplies! You are entirely at my mercy!”

  What a melodramatic old sock, I thought.

  There were obviously a number of creatures on the other side of the curtain, and I waited to hear them file away before I pulled the fabric to one side and stepped through the ragged opening in the bricks.

  I immediately felt something grab me and I turned with all the speed I could muster, bringing the revolver up and into the face of whatever had set its paws on me. It gave a short grunt but I wrapped my arms around its head, determined to muffle the noise, and swiftly wrenched its neck to one side. There was an awful crunching noise and the beast went limp in my arms.

  The rest of the party had taken their light with them so I’ll never know what manner of beast I slipped past the curtain and into the water beyond. It had lank, greasy hair and chunky teeth but I could tell no more.

  I could hear the sound of the melodramatic Mitchell, no doubt holding forth on quite how brilliant he was. I chose not to listen, rather hung back and started to ferret in my pack for the dynamite.

  Holmes and I had agreed that in all likelihood a distraction would be needed; I can think of little more distracting than a whopping great explosion so set about arranging one.

  It nearly happened early when young Wiggins snuck up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Johnson insisted he could manage so the stubborn oaf’s off to fetch Mycroft. I thought you might need a hand.”

  “Considering I almost blew one of mine off when you made me jump,” I admitted, “I’m only too glad of the offer. Keep an eye on that lot while I finish setting these fuses.”

  The building had clearly once been used for storage. Room after room of open space now filled with the detritus of those that had made their home here. Conscious of not causing enough destruction to either bring the whole lot down on our heads or block Mycroft’s arrival with reinforcements, I ran a length of fuse from room to room, setting up a network of small explosions that I hoped would cause the requisite chaos when the time was right.

  “He’s locked them up,” said Wiggins. “Get a move on, cause they’ll be heading back this way any minute.”

  “Ready when you are, old chap,” I told him. “Might I suggest you duck?”

  At which point I lit the first fuse.

  JOHNSON

  Only went and got myself bitten by a bloody sharktopus, didn’t I? I mean, seriously, the bloody thing went for me like a cross between a Chinese dinner and my mother-in-law. Would be me, wouldn’t it? Not Rover or Professor Gob, nah … “Shinwell Johnson, have a bit of that! What’s that, piece of your leg missing? Oh, yeah, that will have been me.”

  I shot it, of course, right in its pie-hole. Only it didn’t think the bullet was filling enough, obviously, as it were still hungry. I knew a woman like that once, never met something wrapped in pastry she didn’t like. Big girl. We used to call ’er … well, never mind what we used to call ’er, it’s not a turn of phrase you’re likely familiar with, though you’ve obviously had a pie in your time too if you don’t mind me saying. No offence. You’re a big lad though, like your school dinners.

  Anyway, so it’s bearing down on me and I shoot it right between the gnashers. I’d have aimed for somewhere more painful but, my eyes, I couldn’t see nothing but mouth and teeth.

  I reckon it were dead by the time it took a piece out of me, probably didn’t get to do much more than swallow. Still, not much consolation to me is it? A bit to the right and it would have had more of a mouthful and I’d have been Sheila Johnson for the rest of me natural.

  What’s that? Where are they? Oh yeah … I was getting to that. Down there, turn right, keep going until you hear the sound of screaming. Hole in the wall ain’t there?

  Better get a bloody move on and all! You haven’t got time to be hanging around here gassing all night ’ave you?

  HOLMES

  “You really should have stayed within the safe walls of Baker Street,” Mitchell continued, his voice distorted as it echoed around the inside of that swinish cowl. “Now that you are all here I can do whatever I wish with you. My experiments can recommence with fresh supplies! You are entirely at my mercy!”

  All of which, naturally, came as something of a relief.

  Of course if I had been in Mitchell’s shoes I would have had Kane lead us somewhere utterly unrelated, take us on a wild goose chase and then unleash the wild monsters on us. That way, in case something went wrong—and he was dealing with me so of course something might go wrong—you haven’t just led your enemy right up to your front door. All in all, such an action might be most charitably described as moronic. But then you don’t expect genius wh
en you’re talking to a man who wears a pig’s head as a hat. People like that are simply not the brightest sparks.

  “Remember,” I told the rest of my party, “stay calm.”

  The last thing we needed was one of them to bolt and set the animals into a frenzy. And what creatures they were! The equine creation mentioned by Fellowes, the leopard, a ram with ancient curled horns, a vulpine fellow, whose long white hair suggested to me Canis lupus arctos (my collection does in fact contain all canine species, not simply the domestic dog. Not so ridiculous now, is it?).

  “Calm?” asked Mitchell. “What have you got to be calm about? You have been an idiot, led straight here by the nose, a mindless oaf who scarcely warrants his reputation.”

  Well, I wasn’t going to stand for that.

  “Mindless oaf? Surely not. There has been little opportunity to exercise my brain on this particular case, I grant you, but that can hardly be taken as evidence of stupidity.

  “Though I grant you I should have seen the pattern days ago. A greyhound trainer and a Parisian furrier go missing then Andre Le Croix, the chef perhaps most famous for his foie gras, the recipe for which proudly reads like a torture menu for the unfortunate animal that goes into making it.” Watson thinks I pay no attention at all, this is far from true. I listen, I just do not always care. “Someone was clearly targeting people known for their mistreatment of animals. I presume it was Le Croix who ended up in a sack on the floor of the Bouquet of Lilies?”

  Mitchell was clearly somewhat thrown by this sudden change in tempo, an effect I always find endlessly pleasurable. “That was all that was left of him by the time my friends here had dined on him.”

  “Poetic I’m sure, I suppose we should be thankful you didn’t try to skin the furrier but merely settled for chaining him up and torturing him for a while.”

  “We let him off lightly.”

  “Oh shut up!” I shouted. I don’t anger often but this fool, this second-rate scientist with his hand-me-down philosophies and theories, was really beginning to get my dander up.

  “So much for keeping calm,” I heard Inspector Mann mutter. I suppose he had a point.

  “You are a charlatan!” I told Mitchell. “You claim to be fighting on the side of animals and yet you commit the most unspeakable acts upon them.”

  “I improve them!” he screamed. “I fulfil their potential.”

  “Really?” I looked to Kane. “What it must be to be so fulfilled.”

  He growled and stepped in front of his master, his “father”, still as loyal as ever, whatever he might have told Watson and I.

  “I am the equal of you,” he insisted, drool forming around his jaw.

  “Hardly, though we might have a similar skill for fetching sticks, I’ll grant you that.”

  I reached into my pocket for the whistle I had purloined off Perry but he had been thinking the same thing. He grabbed my wrist, pulled my hand out of the pocket and took the whistle himself. He dropped it to the floor and stamped on it.

  “We’ll have no more of that,” he said.

  “I suppose to have fallen foul of it a third time would have been rather embarrassing,” I said, only too aware that even if I could have incapacitated Kane the rest of the beasts would have remained fighting-fit. “It doesn’t bode well for your little sideline does it, really?” I looked to Mitchell. “I presume his criminal activities have been helping to fund your hobby? Just think what you could have achieved with an intelligent crook at your disposal, no doubt by now you would have managed to build an actual army rather than just skulking in the sewers with a handful of mongrels. Like an impoverished farmer with a grudge.”

  “Holmes,” said Challenger. “Not that I disagree old chap but you might want to mind your tongue.”

  “Wise advice,” said Mitchell, “or one of my friends will bite it off.”

  “Very well,” I replied, “let’s get on with whatever lunatic plan you have in mind. Taking over the country? Killing all the no-tails? Installing scratching posts on all street corners?”

  Mitchell clenched his piggy little fists but just about managed to stay in control. Unfortunately. It was probably extremely foolish of me but I was intrigued to see him reduced to his animal state.

  “Lock them up with their friend,” he said. “We’ll see them on the operating table soon enough.”

  “Only a fool would operate on Professor Challenger!” bawled the man himself. “It would be like repainting Ming china.”

  “Come along, Professor,” I told him. “There’s time yet to impress your genius upon them.”

  We were led through the warehouse and I paid special attention to my surroundings, noting Mitchell’s equipment and how many creatures we had to contend with. On the latter point, things were not far from my desultory comment to Mitchell. For all his grand talk, he was little more than a crackpot with dangerous pets. Once Mycroft arrived, we’d certainly have no problem in handling them.

  We passed his surgery and I slowed my pace in order to take in as much detail as I could. The rest of the warehouse had been—much like Mitchell’s brain—little more than empty chambers littered with animal faeces—this was a hive of order and efficiency.

  “You admire my laboratory, Mr Holmes?” he asked, noticing my attention.

  “It is at least lacking in bones and straw compared to the rest of your home from home,” I replied and took the opportunity to walk in and have a quick look around.

  “Come away from there!” he shouted. “You’ll see it soon enough when you’re underneath my knife!”

  I stepped out and he made a considerable show of locking the door behind me. I continued along the passageway to the room that was to be our gaol cell.

  Mitchell unlocked the door, threw it open and shouted at us to enter.

  We did so with no more complaint.

  “Holmes?” said the welcome voice of my Watson. “I might have hoped to see you on better terms.”

  “Ah!” I replied. “Is that you, Watson? Not the most convivial of surroundings is it?”

  “Damned disgrace,” Challenger shouted. “Treated like a blasted animal!”

  “If only his intentions were that kind,” said Watson.

  He proceeded to tell us of the fate of Lord Newman, a further depressing note to the case. Not only had it descended into nothing more interesting than the hunt for a lunatic, that lunatic had already managed to kill his most distinguished captive. Well, second most distinguished.

  “I can’t really see a way out of our situation,” continued the ever-fretful Watson. “He has an army of those beasts to fight against, we’re outnumbered, overpowered and trapped here in the dark.”

  “I know,” I told him, with a smile that he could not hope to see in the darkness. “I’ve got him just where I want him!”

  Which is when Carruthers started blowing the place up, providing a most exemplary distraction.

  “I don’t suppose anyone has anything long and thin I might use to pick the lock?” I asked.

  “Pick the lock,” shouted Challenger. “What for?”

  There was a resounding crack and the door swung open. I walked out, glancing at the imprint of his size fourteen boot on the paintwork. “You’ve been in Peru recently I perceive,” I mentioned, noting the highly unusual colour of the clay deposit he left an inch to the right of the lock.

  “Indeed,” he replied, “it was much nicer than this damnable place.”

  “Then let us take our leave.”

  INSPECTOR MANN

  Walking back out into the warehouse was an assault on our senses. The explosions continued and the animals were in a wild panic, screaming and howling as they ran to and fro trying to escape the loud noise and hails of brick.

  “My first London investigation,” I said, “and I’ll be blown up before I see the end of it.”

  “Sorry to have dragged you into this,” said Watson, over-thinking things as usual.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him, “at least
it will save me having to do the paperwork.”

  “What have you done?” Mitchell was screaming. “What have you done?”

  He ran to the laboratory, Holmes and I hard on his heels.

  There was a roar from the end of the corridor and Kane stood there, his mouth wide open as he growled his animal hatred at us.

  “Gun!” shouted Watson. Holmes, not even breaking his stride, threw his revolver to him and darted into the laboratory after Mitchell.

  “Stand down!” Watson shouted, pointing the gun at Kane. “Or I’ll drop you where you stand.”

  Suddenly the wall to his left cracked as another explosion took its effect. He fell to his right, the gun tumbling from his hands.

  “Watson!” Leaving Holmes, I ran to help him but the explosions had taken their toll on the structure of the old warehouse and the crack in the wall was only the beginning. With a soft crunch, the ceiling sagged and before I could get to the fallen doctor, there was a hail of bricks and plaster as the lot came caving in before me. “Watson!”

  “He’s a goner, man,” said Challenger behind me. “If the bricks didn’t get him, that damned dog soon will.”

  The passageway was impassable, we were sealed in and Watson was sealed out.

  HOLMES

  Mitchell ran straight towards his laboratory and I could only assume he had something in there he considered potent enough to help him regain the upper hand. I therefore felt it best to follow.

  He struggled with the keys as the explosions rang out throughout the warehouse, but wrestled the door open and dashed inside.

  I noticed Kane appear at the end of the hallway. I really didn’t have the enthusiasm to be able to deal with both of them. Isn’t it precisely for situations like this that you come in company?

  “Gun!” Watson shouted and I took great pleasure in throwing it to him as I continued in my pursuit of Mitchell. Behind me I was aware of the collapse of part of the ceiling and wall, hardly surprising given the age of the building. I’d placed the majority of it at close to a hundred-and-twenty years old, though some of the bricks had dated from as far back as 1763. Given the temperature of the last few winters and the fact that the place had not been looked after for some years, it must have been fragile indeed. I wasn’t aware that part of it had fallen on Watson. After all, I can hardly be expected to notice everything.