Quickly and carefully, as he had practised at home, Anton plugged the active cholera cultures with a rubber stopper and made sure the seal was very tight - sixteen. He opened his small bag - eleven, removed two identical bottles - eight, and placed them on his lab bench - five. Then he slipped the bottles filled with cholera germs into two separate leather bags inside his doctor’s bag - two. At home, he would add a large amount of creosote and pour them into the Thames the next morning, when they would be harmless.
Bonsell turned around and Anton was back under surveillance. After two more minutes, Strowbridge returned.
Around noon he received a wire from Bowden: ‘Will call tonight, six o’clock, your quarters, JB’
~~~
Anton made tea and placed two cups and the tea pot onto his coffee table. He left the armchair for Bowden and placed one of his kitchen chairs opposite to it. Two bangs announced Bowden’s arrival. Anton opened and beckoned him in.
‘Dr Bowden, thank you for coming. Please take a seat. Can I offer you some tea?’
Bowden nodded and inspected the cup before taking a small sip. Then he set it down and looked expectantly at Anton.
‘The cholera cultures are ready, Dr Bowden. Bonsell and I prepared enough liquid of active and heat-killed bacteria to test them tomorrow if you should choose so. However, I must caution you - we have to use them within the next two days. If kept at this state for too long, they will be rendered ineffective.’
Bowden nodded. He hadn’t said anything yet. Anton leaned back in his chair and the wooden backrest produced a creak.
‘Do you want me to tell you what we are doing next?’ he asked the old man coolly.
Bowden’s mouth tried to fight back a chilly smile.
‘Dr Bowden, I know you trust me about that far.’ Anton held up his right hand, his thumb and index finger almost touching. ‘But remember, I can be convicted for what I have done for you. I am open with you. So open, that it shocks you. Still, you can not come to a decision, whether to trust me or not. Why is that?’
‘You are German,’ said Bowden simply.
Anton was flabbergasted.
‘Well, that’s neither my fault, nor should it be a problem. England is my home. I do not have many memories I’m fond of when it comes to my life back in Germany,’ he replied with great contempt in his voice.
Bowden did not move; he only smiled coldly and unbelieving.
‘Again a decision I can’t make for you. But I’m getting tired here. I know that you picked new subjects for the cholera trial. You did so several days ago.’
Bowden lost his grin and looked shocked.
‘I am not stupid, Dr Bowden. That is after all why you chose me in the first place. I am observant. I noticed paupers had disappeared from the work houses. And only those individuals who signed the consent, who have not been chosen for the tetanus trail and have no family. These were not many. Twenty subjects, ten men and ten women, if I counted correctly. You had to move them to a different location because you want to infect them with cholera and you can’t do so under the eyes of half London.
Anton had not taken his gaze off Bowden.
Slowly, all air in Bowden’s lungs escaped in one long sigh. The body of the rigid man moulded itself into the gentle bends of the tattered arm chair.
‘Dr Kronberg, I think it is time I introduce you to Broadmoor.’ He sounded relieved as he said it.
‘I know Broadmoor and Nicholson. He is driven man and probably the right one for you. He has no scruples or other moral baggage,’ noted Anton.
Only minutes later, the two men agreed on taking Bowden’s brougham to Broadmoor early the next morning.
~~~
I sat in a rocking chair and looked down onto my pale and bony legs. My hands, mottled by a too long life, rested on my knees and held an apple and a knife. There was no one who would bemoan my death, I noticed with regret. What did I survive for?
I opened my eyes and determination vibrated in every fibre of my body.
~~~
Anton and Bowden crossed Broadmoor’s courtyard and aimed for the high security blocks. ‘We chose a set of twenty subjects,’ Bowden said, ‘as you correctly noticed.’
Anton remembered the place, the fear, and the night spent under a tree. With haste, he wiped the memory away.
The two men walked through a large hall. The cold stone walls echoed their footsteps. They passed twenty small cots, each equipped with four fetters. Interweaved with the sharp clack-clack of their heels was a quiet murmur. It seeped from the back of the hall and announced the final arrival of horror.
Anton made for the noise and Bowden followed. They passed through an arched doorway and a narrow corridor that forked like a snake’s tongue. At the end of each tip was an iron door with a small barred window.
Anton aimed towards the left and stood on tiptoe to look through the square opening. Ten women, aged between fifteen and forty were squeezed together in a small cell. A bucket served as a privy and was full to the brim. The fear was palpable.
With foreboding so heavy he could barely walk, he made for the door to the right. The room harboured ten men of approximately the same range of age. With a jolt, Anton recognised the tall man.
He felt his armour peel off him like a skin too small for her wearer. It fell off in shreds and would never be worn again.
Somewhere in the Berkshire, an Oriole male cried his melodic call and the raspy answer of the female followed soon thereafter.
Part Three - Sherlock
Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too;
this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently
and sees distinctly what love is.
B. Pascal
Chapter Twenty
There he stood - one of ten starved and tattered looking prisoners. The thought of the dying rabbits and mice behind my lab at London Medical School snuck into my brain, threatening to rip it apart.
Our time had run out.
Someone behind me spoke; it was Bowden. My throat was clenched to a fist, my mouth a desert. He tapped my shoulder and slowly I turned around. I tried to conceal the rage in my eyes. My brain sent an urgent command to my lungs to commence breathing. Not so much for the lack of oxygen, but for the danger of being discovered. I coughed and looked at Bowden. ‘They look too sick already!’ I barked at him.
Reproachful he took half a step back and retorted: ‘These were the only ones available! Use them.’
This last sentence was a command.
‘When do we start?’ I asked, straining to put only curiosity in my voice and not the stampede of angst and hate.
‘Tomorrow.’
~~~
The next day, a last health check-up of our human test subjects was due. Only hours later, we would feed them active cholera germs, or inject the heat-killed ones into their veins.
In my doctor’s bag were two dark brown glass bottles, labelled with ‘active’ and ‘inactive’, together with syringes, needles, and a rubber band.
Walking through the hall of block five, I asked Stark to examine the women and let him believe I felt an aversion to the female sex. He was noticeably amused.
I entered a small cell and spread my utensils on a table as the first man was shoved in carelessly by the guard, who then remained standing there, watching us. I was shocked - the man was naked with his hands cuffed behind his back. It wasn’t even necessary to force off all his clothes for a comprehensive physical examination. Respect and compassion have obviously left that place long ago, and I wondered why normal people willingly turn into torture machines. It gives them power, I thought and nodded. Immediately I regretted it deeply - the guard had observed me and now frowned, wondering what could be the matter with me.
I examined the man, and then the next, and the next. They all were copies of the same: undernourished, maltreated, and scared. They all hoped I would help them, show mercy, or tell them what would happen. As if they would like to know! I wouldn’t. Anything but
die of cholera while being strapped onto a bunk.
The guard lead in the next man. He looked like the others, starved and dirty with his ribs only too visible above the concave abdomen. He was hunched over and limping, his feet blackened. I knew him so well. Nicholson wouldn’t recognise this wreck of a man, whom he had met once a long time ago.
I placed myself between him and the guard and slowly lifted my head. My heart was racing and my face was hot as if someone had slapped it repeatedly. He appeared controlled and kept his eyes fixed upon a spot somewhere above my head.
I started the routine auscultation. Like the others he had a number of bruises and cuts on his torso. I placed my clammy hand on each mark. One had the shape of a shoe. The thought of the kick made my hands shake. Then I spotted the freckles on his shoulders. How absurd, I thought, noticing how fragile they made him appear.
I blinked and looked up in his face, examined his mouth, tongue, and eyes, while silently trying to communicate to him that I had a plan, that he could trust me. Although I wasn’t too sure what that plan would be.
But he looked determined, as if he had his own strategy. Without moving his head, his eyes darted towards the guard and then looked back at me. As his lips twitched to the faintest smile, I stopped breathing. Only a second later he began to cough badly and doubled over, barely able to catch a breath.
I barked at the guard to make haste and take off the cuffs to prevent the man from choking. The confused guard stumbled over to Holmes, but stopped half way, not sure what would be the safest procedure. I took a step towards him and stretched out my hand, ordering him to give me the key. Holmes was now on the floor, feigning weakness. The guard’s eyes flew from my outstretched hand to the heap of coughing man and he seemed unable to decide what to do. I took another step towards him and kicked him hard in his groin. With a long huff, all air left his lungs and his body caved in. Just before he sank to his knees I used all my fury to hit him on the back of his head. His nose cracked as he hit the floor. He was about to get up again as Holmes’s naked heel made contact with his neck. Any other day, the loud snap would have shocked me. Today, it felt like the greatest relief. We had won our first battle without making too much noise and drawing attention.
I fumbled the key from the guard’s clenched fist. ‘Turn around,’ I said and freed Holmes’s wrists, panting.
I took a step back to give him the necessary space to undress the dead man and put his clothes on himself. While he pocketed the guard’s revolver, he asked casually: ‘How long until they expect you to have another patient?’
I didn’t answer and he finally looked at me. ‘Anna!’ he ordered.
‘Ten or fifteen minutes at the most,’ I said automatically
‘That should suffice,’ he noted and gingerly took my right hand and pulled it closer to his face. I hadn’t noticed that the knuckles were bleeding. Before he could examine it further, I whisked my hand away from his.
‘What is your plan?’ I enquired.
‘I will break into Nicholson’s office and wire to the local police that Broadmoor is suffering a mass breakout. That should make them come with the artillery,’ he said with a smug smile.
‘Listen, Sherlock – whatever happens – I must be Anton Kronberg for a little while longer. I’ll explain everything later.’
He nodded, and I said: ‘Now I should be believably unconscious.’ He made a face and I explained: ‘Knock me out.’
He looked around and picked up a small piece of plaster from the floor.
‘You want to hit me on the head with that tiny thing?’ I wondered aloud, almost amused now.
‘All you need is a little blood,’ he said, took as step forward grabbed my neck and drove the pointy little rock into my brow. It was only a small cut but bled sufficiently.
‘Thanks,’ I noted wryly and bent down to rub some dirt next to the wound.
‘Perfect!’ said Holmes and unlocked the door with the guard’s latch key. I watched him leave and then lay flat on the ground and pretended to take a nap. My heart was thumping so loud, I got worried someone may hear it through the closed iron door.
Chapter Twenty One
Lying on the cold floor, I felt like the eye of a tornado. Holmes was the storm and I was the centre, waiting for destruction to surround me. I closed my eyes again and listened into my own dark and to the soft click-click of blood lazily dripping onto the stone tiles.
After a few minutes the tempest began with a timid rap on the door. As no answer came the knocks became urgent and then turned into shouts: ‘Dr Kronberg? What is going on? I demand you open the door immediately!’ It was Stark’s voice.
Then I heard him fumble the lock and try to force it. Several minutes passed until they had found a spare key and finally opened the door. He stuck his head through the opening and shouted: ‘An escape! Guards! Hurry!’ on his way back through the hall.
The blood drew a tiny black pond on the floor, and I let my thoughts tiptoe back to the night at the bog lake.
After a while Nicholson walked in. I saw him through my half closed eyes. Slowly and considering he planted one foot on the ground and then the next. A quiet tap-tap. I pictured him flicking a forked tongue in and out of the slit of his mouth. Like a great Anaconda tasting the air, trying to detect the next meal.
Then he stuck the tip of his shoe into my abdomen. This, too, he did slowly and deliberately. I had to suppress an angry growl; I wanted to eat him alive. Only a quiet groan escaped my lips and he stopped, put his foot back to the floor, and left me alone.
Then I heard a great hustle in the hall - people shouting, several gunshots, and Holmes’s commanding voice. It spread a very warm feeling through my intestines.
Two policemen walked in. One jerked me up onto my feet, and the other cuffed my hands behind my back. I let my head hang low as not to show the triumphant smile I couldn’t wipe off my face. They walked me out the room with a firm grip on the scruff of my neck. The other men were handled the same way - Stark, Nicholson, Bowden, several guards, and the Broadmoor staff. Among them was Holmes, looking pleased. We avoided each other’s eyes.
They loaded us criminals into a dog cart with two officers pointing guns into our faces. The other policemen and Holmes were behind us in a hansom and Bowden’s brougham. Holmes had managed to engage the entire local police force, I thought admiringly.
On the way to the police station we passed over a particularly bumpy section of the cobblestone road. I stood up halfway and protested against this inhumane treatment of a medical doctor who had only wanted to save the human race - I did that very loudly - and then head-butted Nicholson while falling on top of him.
The crack I heard as my forehead made contact with Nicholson’s nose was very satisfactory indeed! The man protested with zest – spit and blood flew out of his mouth as he threw insults at me.
The cart stopped, and one of the two policemen jerked me back onto my seat. Nicholson was bleeding copiously and I smiled at him. His eyes were full of hate. I was sure he would have wrung my neck here and now if he could only have freed his hands.
Feeling like a queen on her throne, I rode along. These men would all hang, and nothing could have made my day any better. The time of the Club was over.
Shortly thereafter we arrived at the local police station.
‘Put this man into a separate cell, inspector. He was the head of the gang and we must interview him at once,’ said Holmes with a most convincing coldness in his voice. Even the hair on the back of my head believed it and stood erect.
An Inspector pushed me into a small interrogation room and pressed me down on a stool. He left and locked the heavy iron door behind me. Only a minute later someone unlocked it again. I heard Holmes’s footsteps, heard him bolting the door – which surprised me – and heard him take two swift steps towards me.
Exceedingly careful, he inspected my head. The cut he had made was irrelevant. The bruise on my forehead did hurt, but it would heal soon enough. He was so fo
cused on probing my superficial wounds with gentle fingers, that he didn’t notice my gaze.
And without thinking I closed my eyes and pressed my face in his palm. He didn’t move away. Time stood still and all was silent. Only the rumbling of my heart was audible. He moved closer then and for a moment I thought he would pull me into an embrace. But his hands went behind my back and the manacles clicked and fell to the floor with a loud clonk.
‘You broke Nicholson’s nose,’ he noted.
‘I identified his footprint.’
He straightened up then and opened his mouth to speak as someone knocked and shouted: ‘The brougham is waiting for you, Mr Holmes.’
‘Come,’ he said, picking up the manacles again.
‘I’ll have to put them back on for the time being. I’m to transfer you to London, Yard’s main quarters.’
I nodded and put my hands behind my back.
Chapter Twenty Two
The carriage waited in front of the station, and Holmes shoved me into the small enclosure. The vehicle made a lurch and my back smashed my cuffed wrists against the wall behind me. A few seconds later, my tingling hands were freed and Holmes sat down opposite me and spoke first.
‘Officially, I’m on my way to the Metropolitan Police headquarters to turn you in. Unofficially, I, Lestrade and another twenty men will take down the other members of the Club. The ones residing at Cambridge will be arrested by the local police force there.’
‘Hm…I figured that much,’ I mumbled, wringing my red rimmed wrists. ‘You didn’t question me as I insisted on being arrested, too. There’s more you know.’
He nodded. ‘You told me the woman had been abducted in Dundee and a doctor from the Medical School was involved.’
The Devil's Grin - A Crime Novel featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes (Kronberg Crimes) Page 15
