Sherlock Holmes- a Duel With the Devil

by Roger Jaynes

  ‘There was no mention of this lettering in the papers.’

  ‘No. I copied it down, then had it scrubbed off, before anyone else arrived. No sense in revealing all our cards, I felt, until we were ready to play our hand.’

  ‘In that case,’ Holmes said, ‘I hope you were precise. Proceed.’

  ‘Their next target,’ Lestrade continued, ‘was the statue of Queen Anne, in front of the cathedral, upon the night of the thirteenth. She was painted red, just like the Prince, and there was a second row of lettering. This time, I was not quick enough, however, which is why you read of it in the papers. After that, we would hardly deny that such messages existed – though, naturally, we refused to make them public.’

  The policeman flicked his ash into the fire. ‘Lord help the officer who let that slip,’ he remarked with exasperation. ‘If I ever learn his name, he’ll sign in next on Queer Street! Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Incident number three occurred on Thursday last, in St James’s Square –’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Holmes interrupted. ‘William III, this time?’

  ‘Exactly. Little wonder, then, that certain people – rather distinguished people, if you catch my meaning – are quite upset. Three monarchs painted the colour of blood, and now this business in a graveyard! You don’t have to look far, Mr Holmes, to draw an inference from that.’

  ‘Hardly. You have questioned the known subversives, I take it? Abrams, Clark and their like?’

  ‘We have. But, so far, all trails have run cold. Yet, if not them, it’s someone close. Why, the motive’s plain as day! ’

  ‘You have examined each site closely? There were no footprints, or marks about?’

  ‘Not a one, Mr Holmes. We are of a mind there; that was what I searched for first. I mean, tossing all that paint about in the dark, you know. You assume someone must have stepped in something. But, no such luck! For vandals, they were a tidy bunch.’

  ‘Well, then, the most important point: these messages, Lestrade – what do they say?’

  ‘I wish that I could tell you, Mr Holmes. The truth is, I cannot read them! ’

  Holmes sat bolt upright in his chair. This time, it was his turn to be surprised. ‘You cannot read them?’

  ‘No. As I said before, they’re scribbling gibberish. Even Gregson, though he hated to admit it, couldn’t make head nor tail of them. Still, knowing your bent for things such as this, I brought them along, just the same.’

  Lestrade handed Holmes a single sheet of paper, upon which the following four lines were written:

  In a flash, Holmes was on his feet and at his desk, magnifying glass in hand. For some long moments, he studied the figures intently, while Lestrade frowned and fidgeted behind him.

  ‘Well, Mr Holmes, what have we here?’ he asked, when at length my friend finally put down his glass. ‘Some sort of secret code, I imagine?’

  Holmes chuckled. ‘My dear Inspector, your choice of words is remarkably apropos! ’ he stated. ‘More so, I’ll wager, than you fully understand. You see, this is not merely “a” secret code – it is one of the oldest secret codes in history! What we have before us are messages written in runes.’

  ‘Runes? And whatever are they?’

  ‘Characters of the earliest written alphabet,’ Holmes explained, as he re-lit his pipe, ‘used even before the time of Christ. The word “rune”, itself, Lestrade, means “secret” or “to whisper”; heathen priests used them for their charms and magic spells. A fitting choice, you must admit, in which to conceal a missive.’

  The lean policeman thought that over a moment, a frown upon his face. ‘Agreed. But why go to all the trouble, Mr Holmes? What good is it, I ask you, to leave messages no one else can read?’

  ‘A valid point. And yet, mark my words, there is a purpose to it, or it would not have been so deliberately – or carefully – done. Forget your gang of anarchistic roughs, Lestrade. There is a deeper purpose to this.’

  ‘That is all well and good for you to say, Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ the other replied, ‘but I must report to Whitehall this very afternoon. What am I to tell those gentlemen you propose to do?’

  ‘You may assure them I am giving the case my fullest attention, Lestrade. And that it is my belief, based on what we know, that the crown is not in danger. As to these messages – might I retain them for a day? A visit to the British Museum, I’m sure, will tell us much. They are copied down, I take it, in the order in which the incidents occurred?’

  ‘They are. The last, as you can see, I pencilled in this morning.’

  ‘Excellent! Hallo, is that the front bell? Watson, no doubt, returning from his appointed rounds. Yes, that is his footstep upon the stair. Now then, Lestrade! Keep sharp, and should these Crimson Vandals strike again, touch nothing, and send for me immediately –’

  It was at that point, Holmes informed me later, that I opened the door and entered the room – looking, he said, somewhat dazed and confused. What he and Lestrade did not know, of course, was that I had one purpose in mind, as I walked across the room to greet them.

  ‘Ah, Watson! ’ Holmes exclaimed. ‘Back –?’

  Without hesitation, I drew a revolver from my coat, aimed it squarely at Holmes, and fired.

  I shall always be thankful for Holmes’s ability to react so quickly, and Lestrade’s bulldog tenacity. These qualities were, at that awful moment, what saved the day, Holmes waiting until the very last instant, as he watched my finger tighten upon the trigger, then leaping aside almost simultaneously with the shot. And Lestrade, at that same second, lunging forward and knocking me to the floor, causing my aim to go far wide.

  It was the explosion of the gunshot that awoke me; I opened my eyes feeling groggy and somewhat weak. My mind was blank, my senses numb. The acrid smell of gunpowder was in the air. As my blurred vision began to clear, I could make out Holmes above me, looking apprehensive and concerned, as Lestrade quickly wrested the pistol from my hand. It was only then I began to realise that some sort of terrible mishap had just occurred – a tragedy in which I was somehow involved!

  ‘Holmes! ’ I cried out, my thoughts a panic. ‘What is the matter? My God, what is going on?’

  Before either man could answer, our door burst open, and a uniformed constable rushed in. ‘And what’s this all about, now?’ he demanded. ‘You there, put down that gun! ’

  Lestrade bristled, as only he could do. ‘I’ll give the orders here, constable! ’ he retorted angrily, rising to his feet. ‘I am Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, and this is Mr Sherlock Holmes! As you can plainly see, an accident has taken place, but we have things well in hand! ’

  The fellow paled visibly before Lestrade’s indignation. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, taking two steps back. ‘Just doing my duty, sir. I was walking past, when I heard a shot. Er, would you like me to fetch a doctor, sir?’

  ‘I doubt if that will be necessary,’ Holmes informed him. ‘A moment, however, until we get Watson to his chair.’

  As he and Lestrade lowered me into my familiar seat, Holmes noted my left shirt cuff, which was hanging loose, and quickly pulled back my sleeve. Two inches below the elbow joint, a tiny red needle mark could be seen.

  ‘It is as I suspected,’ Holmes commented. ‘He has been drugged.’

  ‘The scoundrels! Can you remember anything, Doctor?’

  ‘Only the dank smell of the river, Lestrade,’ I answered, wearily, my poor head still throbbing. ‘And a man who wore a turban.’

  ‘Ah, an Indian fellow, was it? He won’t be hard to find. See anyone of that description hanging ’round, constable? Here now! Where is he?’

  To our amazement, the doorway was empty. The officer had vanished!

  ‘Why, he left his post without permission! ’ Lestrade exclaimed, with disbelief. ‘In all my years, I’ve seen nothing like it. Mark my words, gentlemen, I shall have him on report for this! ’

  ‘A rather difficult task, I fear, Lestrade,’ Holmes interjected, ‘since I doubt if we shall ever see the m
an again. In fact, given his disappearance, I think we may safely conclude that he was no constable at all.’

  ‘Oh, really now? What was he, then?’

  Holmes’s countenance turned grim. ‘My executioner. His mission was to ascertain if Watson’s bullet had done its work; if not, then to administer the coup de grâce himself, leaving the good doctor to shoulder the blame. An ingenious plan, you must admit. And but for you, Lestrade, it might very well have succeeded! For instead of finding Watson supine and only myself to dispose of, he was confronted by you, as well – a genuine policeman, with the very gun in his hand.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ I gasped, realising again how close it all had been. ‘My dear Holmes, I don’t know what to say! Can you ever forgive me? Obviously, somehow, I was in their power, but still –’

  ‘My dear fellow! ’ Holmes assured me warmly, placing a sympathetic hand upon my shoulder. ‘Cease your protestations! It is all behind us, now. And with nothing worse to show than that rather dark and peculiar hole in Mrs Hudson’s ceiling. Are you feeling better? Would you care for a glass of brandy, perhaps? Good! Put up your feet, then, while I pour for us all, and we shall listen to whatever it is you can recollect.’

  Unfortunately, there was not much. What had happened to me, or where I had ventured amidst the damp and snowy streets of London during the past few hours, remained for the most part a complete and utter mystery. I did, of course, remember purchasing my cigars – after which I spent a relaxing half-hour in the barber’s chair, being ministered to for a haircut and shave. Thus trimmed and freshened, I had struck out south for exercise, in the direction of Hyde Park, towards Portman Square.

  It was just after crossing Adam Street – where I was splattered and nearly struck down by a most discourteous four-wheeler – that I came upon a bereft and elderly fellow, crouching wearily in an alleyway. To my horror, as I passed by, the beggar uttered a groan and slumped heavily to the ground – clearly, it seemed to me, on his last legs!

  Kneeling to help, my suspicions were confirmed – his complexion was pale and his breath, which reeked of spirits, was short. As I stood to call for a policeman, another man rushed up to lend a hand. ‘Why, it’s poor old Douglas! ’ he cried, cradling the tramp’s head in his arm. ‘Who of us hasn’t said the bottle would get him yet?’

  ‘Ah, you know him, then?’ I enquired.

  ‘I do,’ the other replied. ‘He needs his bed and a doctor’s care, and not another pint! ’

  ‘Well, I am a doctor,’ I informed him. ‘Let’s gather him up, then.’

  ‘God bless you, sir. And I know his Martha will say the same. He lives not far from here, near Hertford House. We can save some time, if we cut back through this alley.’ And so, off we went, slipping on the snowy cobblestones, as we carried the old vagrant between us.’

  ‘But you did not get far,’ Holmes concluded, when I had told my tale.

  ‘No. In fact, it was only moments later that I was grabbed and struck from behind.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘After that, Holmes, I can remember little – until I awoke here to find you leaning over me. I feel certain that I was unconscious for a time – and yet, I wasn’t! It was more as if I were in a daze. Everything in bits and pieces. Horses’ hooves and water. Hands upon me. Voices. Darkness, light and darkness, and then something gleaming very bright. And, too – I swear! – I glimpsed a man who wore a turban. Close, and yet I could not see him clearly.’

  ‘From what he says,’ Lestrade observed, putting down his glass, ‘You’d almost think he had been hypnotised. Not that I put much stock in all of that.’

  ‘You should,’ Holmes told him, ‘now that you have seen it before your eyes.’

  ‘Holmes, you mean that I –’

  ‘You have been the victim of a very elaborate ruse, my dear Watson. You were waylaid, knocked senseless, and bundled into a cab. It was there, no doubt, the drug

  was administered, to prepare you for the hypnotist. An altered state of consciousness can be induced by a variety of methods. A gleaming object before the light is one.’

  ‘Then you are saying Dr Watson was in a trance of sorts when he returned?’ Lestrade suggested.

  ‘A quite profound one. It is why he can remember so little of what transpired. Once in their power, he was given that gun, and ordered to use it, Lestrade. The sound of my voice, quite likely was what triggered his response.’

  ‘Well, gentlemen, this is bizarre! ’ the policeman stated. ‘Abduction and attempted murder, by a hypnotist and an accomplice, who impersonates an officer to boot. A very daring plan, to say the least! Have you that serious an enemy, then, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘I have one. Professor Moriarty.’

  ‘Moriarty! ’ I cried. ‘Holmes, do you really believe I was in his awful clutches?’

  Holmes nodded gravely. ‘I do, Watson. Only he could have effected such a plan. He has the organisation and half a dozen dens along the river. Which, I suspect, is where you were taken, given the smells and sounds you have recounted.’

  ‘If so, then what would be his motive?’ Lestrade enquired. ‘Revenge for the D’Arcy business, perhaps?’

  ‘No, Lestrade, I think not. For Moriarty to have played this desperately, bigger stakes must be at hand. The monarchy, I am convinced, is not in danger. The question remains: what is? You must admit, this business of the runes has now taken on a completely different light.’

  Lestrade appeared unconvinced. ‘I don’t know as I would go that far,’ he remarked. ‘For the life of me, I can see no connection.’

  ‘Nor do I, at this moment,’ Holmes admitted. ‘And yet, can it be a mere coincidence that my life is thus attempted, so soon after these Crimson Vandals first appear?’

  ‘You have a point,’ Lestrade conceded. ‘But why, then, did they wait a week? Monday or Tuesday, it seems to me, would have done them just as well.’

  ‘Hardly. Watson, as I’m sure they’ve noticed, is an incurable creature of habit; he only walks on Saturday. It was the one time he could be absent for so long, without arousing my suspicions. Thus, an ideal time to strike.’

  Holmes stood silently before the fire, contemplating matters for a moment, while he knocked the ashes from his black clay, then reached again for the Persian slipper.

  ‘Moriarty knew, sooner or later, that you would come to me,’ he told the policeman, pointedly, as he struck a match. ‘Whatever his fiendish plan, he wanted to be certain I could not interfere.’

  Lestrade sighed. It was clear, I could see, that he did not agree with my companion’s feelings. ‘Well,’ he said officiously, rising from his chair, ‘I must be off. Their Lordships await in Whitehall. Time will tell, I do expect, if Moriarty is involved. But frankly, Mr Holmes, I think you have him on the brain.’

  ‘Do I? That is what MacDonald told me once, at the time of the Birlstone murder. And I tell you now, Lestrade,

  that the subtle brushstrokes of Moriarty’s work are as unmistakable today as they were then. These scribblings, I suspect, hold the answer to this business.’

  ‘Well, you may keep them until Monday,’ Lestrade replied. ‘You will, I take it, keep me informed of whatever it is you might discover – Good day, then, gentlemen! And take care! Given what has happened here, I daresay you have good reason.’

  No sooner had he gone than Holmes was tugging on his own coat and hat as well. After which he grabbed up the scrap of paper which Lestrade had left, and pocketed the small revolver from the top drawer of his desk.

  ‘A wise precaution, I think,’ he remarked, heading for the door. ‘For once, Lestrade makes a good point; Moriarty may try again.’

  ‘Why don’t you take my Webley?’ I suggested. ‘Or better yet, I shall accompany you. You know the saying Holmes: “A faithful friend is a strong defence”.’

  Holmes paused at the doorway, a smile upon his face. ‘And none more so than you, friend Watson! But no. Rest and gather your strength. I shall surely have need of your assistance before this
matter is out. – Ah, but I must hurry! The museum closes at five; we have no time to waste.’

  ‘It was awfully close,’ I said.

  ‘Extremely so. But we survived. And I’ll tell you one thing, Watson. I would not want to be the Indian.’

  The following day, a hastily scrawled message from Porlock confirmed what Holmes had suspected.

  The Indian is dead. Dropped through a trap door, hidden before M’s desk. He is furious, afraid his latest scheme has been compromised. I dare not write more; his mood is foul today, and he watches us all quite closely. God help me if he discovers this.

  It was not until many years later, when Porlock was able to surface after Reichenbach, that we finally learned the chilling details of what had happened just hours after Holmes’s close call – when the unfortunate Hindu was bound and taken to Moriarty’s secret lair, hidden in a warehouse on the West India Docks, not far from the vile opium dens of Limehouse in London’s East End.

  The room into which the Indian was led was dark, save for a small lamp, which illuminated the top of Moriarty’s desk. In its glow, only his pale, veined hands could be seen – nothing more. All was silent, save for the low rhythmic slapping of water against the building’s foundation.

  For an instant, Moriarty’s left hand had disappeared from the light – then returned holding a small hourglass, which he set upon the desk.

  ‘The sand in this will last for all of thirty seconds,’ Moriarty said. His voice was soft, yet strangely terrifying. ‘You have that long to tell me anything you wish to say.’

  After which he turned the glass.

  ‘But it was not my fault, Professor! ’ the Indian cried. ‘The trance worked perfectly. How could I know a policeman from Scotland Yard would be present?’

  ‘It was a situation you should have allowed for. Oh, yes, you really should. Perhaps, for instance, you might have chosen a better time, or a different means.’

  ‘But you must listen! It was the only time we had to lay our hands upon the doctor! ’ The Indian’s eyes widened with fear, as he saw the sand slipping quickly downwards through the glass. ‘Please, Professor! Give me another chance, I beg you! I will not fail, I swear –! ’