Sherlock Holmes Murder Most Foul

by Gordon Punter

  Holmes slips his hand into his dressing-gown pocket. Moriarty raises a censorious eyebrow, “It is a dangerous habit to finger a loaded firearm in the pocket of one’s dressing-gown, Mr Holmes.”

  Holmes takes a revolver from his pocket and places it upon the dining-room table, “I am a solitary person by nature, Moriarty, and therefore not in the habit of entertaining people, particularly those I intend to bring to justice.”

  “Your caution is understandable, Mr Holmes, but I mean you no harm tonight.”

  Moriarty removes his gloves, sits before the fire and warms his hands, “It is a damp evening, Mr Holmes, might I trouble you for a cup of tea?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Whilst our landlady, Mrs Hudson, was brewing us a pot of her fine [10]Ceylon tea, Moriarty used the time to further enlighten me about the science of pure mathematics, Watson.”

  “The nerve of the fellow, Holmes. Dropping in unexpectedly and then requesting tea. Why not ask for a [11]muffin as well?”

  Amused, Holmes smiles, “His damp umbrella revealed to me that he had stood outside the house for some considerable length of time before finally calling.”

  “Watching the house, waiting for me to leave, Holmes?”

  “Precisely, my dear fellow, and he had come prepared. Hence the umbrella. Only a fool would have deliberately loitered in the street without some form of protection from the rain.”

  Placing a piece of coal, and then another piece, upon the fire, Watson leans back in his armchair, “He may have remained in a [12]hansom cab, watching and waiting, Holmes.”

  “A fair assumption, Watson, but Moriarty desired a clandestine meeting of similar minds. No witnesses, not a cabby, nor you. He came alone, waited alone, and then after he had seen you leave for your surgery and, still alone, he had called upon me here.”

  Watson shakes his head admiringly, “Your powers of deduction are quite beyond me, Holmes.”

  “Really, Watson? I thought my inference was fairly elementary.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Moriarty lowers his teacup, staring at Holmes who is lighting his cherry-wood pipe. “Quite refreshing, Mr Holmes. A delicate flavour indeed. Grown on the Taylor plantation in Ceylon, I would say.”

  Holmes removes his pipe from his mouth, “Do you mean the tea, Moriarty, or my [13]shag tobacco?”

  Putting aside his cup and saucer, Moriarty leans forward, placing his elbow on one knee and raising an index finger to his lips, “The tea, of course, Mr Holmes. Your shag tobacco is grown on a Dutch plantation in [14]Bali, is it not? I have also learnt that you are in the habit of using cocaine when moments of despondency descend upon you. The measure of the drug you take has been affectionately named by you as your seven percent solution.”

  Holmes lowers his pipe, “I surrender to its narcotic influence only when I lack a stimulating crime to solve, Moriarty.”

  Moriarty slowly leans back in his chair, “Though I have known of your existence for the past few years and, of course, your growing celebratory reputation for solving perplexing cases, I have never once considered you a personal threat. That is, until now. If your relentless hounding of me continues, I will be in danger of losing my liberty. Therefore, Mr Holmes, one of us has to go.”

  Tapping ash from his pipe into an ashtray, Holmes leans forward in his chair and intently stares at Moriarty, “Your appraisal of the situation is indeed correct and, as long as I breathe, I will not flinch from the task of seeing you hanged.”

  Moriarty slowly stands and straightens his frock-coat, “Just as I anticipated. As a result of your obstinacy, I will leave England this very night. Henceforth, you will be rid of me. You have my word, Mr Holmes, but do not attempt to pursue me. If you do, you will be trodden under foot.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  “And with that parting remark, Watson, Moriarty had taken his leave.”

  “An ominous exit indeed, Holmes. But why inform you that he was about to leave the country? Why not just disappear, leaving no one the wiser? Announcing his imminent departure does not make sense, Holmes.”

  Holmes stands and begins to pace back and forth, “It makes complete sense, Watson.”

  Frowning, Watson again fidgets, “Oh, really, Holmes? Then pray tell me why?”

  “His announcement was tantamount to a challenge, Watson, throwing down the gauntlet, so to speak. By informing me of his departure, Moriarty knew that I would have to pursue him, if only to confirm that he had indeed left our shores.”

  Watson shakes his head bemusedly, “Strange, to say the least, Holmes.”

  “Quite so, my dear fellow, but with your good help, I intend to resolve the matter once and for all.”

  “Do we take up the chase, Holmes?”

  Pausing, Holmes stares at Watson, “Yes, without delay. Justice demands we do no less.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Refreshed after a restful night, Watson descends the hotel stairs, seeing Holmes in the lobby, fingering an envelope, while talking to hotelier Peter Steiler.

  “And you have no idea who delivered it?”

  “No, Mr Holmes, I found it lying on the reception desk when I came down this morning.”

  “At what time did you lock the hotel doors last night?”

  “After midnight, but the kitchen door remained open.”

  “A staff access, used by our mysterious caller, no doubt?”

  “Perhaps, Mr Holmes.”

  Steiler tips his head as Watson edges closer to Holmes.

  “Good morning, Dr Watson.”

  Watson cheerfully smiles, “Indeed it is, Steiler.”

  Holmes hands Watson the envelope, “It would appear that our presence here in Meiringen has not gone unnoticed, Watson.”

  Watson stares at a name scrawled in black ink on the front of the envelope: Mr Sherlock Holmes.

  “No stamp, or postmark. Evidently delivered by hand, Holmes.”

  Holmes gently taps the envelope with the handle of his walking cane, “Lucifer himself has summoned me, Watson.”

  Removing a piece of paper from the envelope, Watson reads the message and then gasps, “Good Lord, Holmes.”

  Quickly taking the note from Watson, Holmes strides off towards the hotel entrance. Courteously lifting his hat to Steiler, Watson rushes after him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Holmes solemnly exits the Englischer Hof, immediately followed by a bemused Watson, “Holmes, wait!”

  Lost in thought, Holmes hurries across the hotel veranda and quickly descends sodden wooden steps to a stony pathway.

  Watson pursues him, “Holmes, for goodness sake, wait!”

  Hastily descending the steps, Watson slips awkwardly, loses his balance and stumbles to the ground.

  Hearing Watson fall behind him, Holmes immediately turns on his heel and begins to assist Watson to his feet, “My dear fellow, you should be more careful.”

  Watson stands shakily, “Careful, Holmes? It’s you who should be careful.”

  Holmes stares at Watson intently, “He taunts me, Watson. I have to go. I suggest that you remain here and watch the train.”

  Straightening his overcoat, Watson retrieves his fallen [15]Derby hat from the ground and brushes it with his hand, “You may wish to defeat this Napoleon of crime, Holmes, but to go after him alone is foolhardy.”

  “Please, Watson, the train. We do not have much time.”

  Watson produces an army service revolver from his overcoat, “Holmes, I beg you, take this.”

  Glancing at the revolver, Holmes hands Watson the envelope and piece of paper, “His final message. You may want it for my memoirs, which I know you are compiling.”

  Disregarding the remark, Watson brandishes the revolver, “Then if you won’t take this, what will you take?”

  Holmes smiles mischievously, lightly touching his forehead with the handle of his walking cane, “This alone is more than adequate. I shall not be long.”

  Holmes turns away and strides o
ff along the pathway.

  Sighing and shaking his head, Watson looks at the piece of paper, again reading the brief message:

  The Reichenbach Falls. I will be alone.

  Moriarty

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  The Reichenbach Falls is indeed a fearful, desolate place. Its torrent of water, swollen by the melting snow, roars straight down into an abyss of immeasurable depth. Enclosed in glistening black rock, the lowest part of the chasm is continually shrouded by spray, forever spiralling upwards like an ominous, malevolent fog.

  Dwarfed by the awesome spectacle, Holmes gingerly navigates his way along a precarious narrow track beside the hissing chasm, fully aware that one false step could instantly plunge him into the maelstrom and certain death.

  Cautiously approaching the looming waterfall directly ahead, Holmes inexplicably pauses and gazes up at the towering wall of jagged rock alongside him. Suddenly dislodged from above and clattering down, pieces of stone fall to the ground in front of him.

  Hurriedly positioning himself with his back against the rock face, Holmes firmly grips his walking cane and waits. Peering back along the narrow track, he catches sight of an indistinct figure, stealthily ducking down behind a boulder. Unbeknown to Holmes, the man slowly raises a revolver, aiming the barrel of the weapon in his direction.

  Fully aware that his only avenue of escape may have been effectively sealed, Holmes turns to the waterfall and immediately stiffens. Veiled by the cascading roaring water, a vaguely familiar pale face with deeply sunken eyes intently stares at him. Slowly emerging from behind the waterfall and clasping his hands behind his back, Moriarty sneers, “We don’t have long, Mr Holmes.”

  “Of course not, Moriarty, your train departs within the hour.”

  Agitated by the remark, Moriarty points an accusing finger at Holmes, “I warned you not to pursue me, but you have ignored my advice. Your tenacity is insufferable.”

  “Yes, you had indeed warned me, but for what purpose? You cautioned me not to pursue you, knowing that I would do the exact opposite. I sense that all is not what it seems, Moriarty.”

  Moriarty raises his hands in a gesture of conciliation, “Come, come, Mr Holmes, before fate decides which one of us will be victorious, I am prepared to offer you a benevolent hand. Do I have your attention?”

  “Unlike [16]Beethoven, I am not deaf. Yes, I hear you, Moriarty.”

  Moriarty extends an appeasing hand, “You are indeed England’s greatest detective, perhaps the finest the world has ever known. How on earth you deduced that my final destination was to be Liechtenstein is, in itself, quite remarkable. Your powers of observation and inference are equalled only by mine. We are of the same intellect. Join me, Mr Holmes.”

  Deeming the offer ridiculous, Holmes frowns, “I do not negotiate with criminals, Moriarty, especially with one that is quite mad. You are extremely dangerous, therefore, I am compelled to bring you to justice.”

  Moriarty sighs, “Ah, well, so be it. At least I won’t have you on my conscience.”

  He snaps his fingers.

  A burly man, his arms folded, steps out from behind the waterfall and glares at Holmes.

  Moriarty indicates the man, “I believe you know…”

  Holmes interjects, “Ah, yes, Jacob Hobbs. He lost his…”

  Hobbs lowers his arms, revealing, instead of hands, metal hooks.

  Moriarty smiles, gleefully, “Crushed in a hydraulic press, fighting you, Mr Holmes.

  Holmes raises a nonchalant eyebrow, “I believe he was trying to kill me.”

  Moriarty snaps, “He still intends to.”

  Alerted by a noise from behind, Holmes instantly spins on his heel and sees a gaunt man with burn scars beneath an eye patch, crouching on a rocky ledge directly in front of him.

  As he had done with Hobbs, Moriarty indicates the new arrival, “Oscar Brookfield, Mr Holmes. You removed his eye with a hot candle.”

  Holmes turns and faces Moriarty, “I deduce he also means to kill me?”

  Moriarty chuckles, “Of course, Mr Holmes.”

  Leaping from the ledge, Brookfield lands on the ground next to Hobbs. Together, both men begin to advance on Holmes.

  Calmly depressing a spring latch on the handle of his walking cane, Holmes extends six inches of cold steel from its tip.

  Hobbs and Brookfield halt abruptly, glancing at one another uncertainly.

  Moriarty smiles, admiringly, “Quite ingenious, Mr Holmes, but then you are known to be prepared for any eventuality.”

  Staring at Hobbs and Brookfield, Moriarty snaps his fingers, “Well, don’t just stand there! Throw the [17]meddler overboard.”

  Menacingly raising his hooks, Hobbs snarls and charges forward. Quickly dropping to one knee and, lunging forwards and upwards, Holmes stabs Hobbs in the throat. A jet of blood spurts forth. Holmes immediately extracts the blade and then stands as Hobbs, with an incredulous expression, slumps to the ground and keels over, dead.

  Disappointed by this initial failure, Moriarty steps back, shaking his head wearily.

  Holmes turns to Brookfield, “I took one eye from you, Brookfield, do not force me to take the other.”

  Sneeringly, Brookfield jerks his arm, sliding a knife from under his sleeve into his hand. Raising the weapon aloft, he rushes forward. Holmes tosses his cane in the air, catches it as if it were a spear, and hurls it at Brookfield. Forcibly struck in the chest by the blade and uttering a fearful shriek, Brookfield catapults backwards and, like Hobbs before him, pitches to the ground, dead.

  Exasperated by this second failure, Moriarty throws back his head and howls, “Is there no one that can rid me of this man?”

  Hurriedly retrieving his cane, Holmes promptly turns, pointing its blade at Moriarty.

  Moriarty sighs, “Most impressive, Mr Holmes, it seems that you now have the advantage.”

  “I will press it home, Moriarty.”

  “I have no doubt that you will, Mr Holmes.”

  Holmes glances back along the narrow track, “You will walk in front of me.”

  Moriarty begins to edge away from Holmes, “You know that is quite impossible.”

  Lunging forward, Holmes stabs Moriarty in the chest. Unharmed, Moriarty smirks. Inquisitively, Holmes slices open his frock-coat and shirt, revealing polished metal.

  Moriarty chuckles, “A [18]breastplate, Mr Holmes, quite effective against sword-sticks.”

  Swiftly grasping the walking cane just beyond its blade, Moriarty yanks Holmes forward, viciously striking him across the face with the back of his gloved hand. Quickly raising his knee and promptly extending his leg, he then brutally kicks Holmes in the stomach.

  Reeling backwards and slamming violently into the trunk of a small weathered tree, Holmes loses his grip on his walking cane, which immediately flies through the air, over the edge of the track and disappears into the chasm.

  Moriarty stoops, picks up a mouldy length of [19]bough, advances on Holmes, and forcefully strikes him across the chest with it.

  Holmes drops to the ground. Moriarty continues to strike him. Slipping over the edge of the track, Holmes throws out one arm, then the other, gripping the tree trunk with both hands.

  Stepping to the edge, Moriarty gazes down at Holmes, dangling over the chasm and above the swirling fog of spray far below him, “King takes pawn, I believe, Mr Holmes?”

  Straining to maintain his grip, Holmes stares up at Moriarty, “It would appear so, Moriarty.”

  Moriarty raises the length of bough above his head, “I do not have to do this, Mr Holmes.”

  Surreptitiously gaining a toe-hold in a small crevice below him, Holmes raises a sceptical eyebrow, “Yes, you do, Moriarty.”

  Fiercely swinging the bough, Moriarty strikes Holmes on one hand. Holmes winces, but retains his hold. Again, Moriarty strikes his hand. Again, Holmes winces, but does not release his grip.

  Incensed, Moriarty kneels, glaring at Holmes, “Relinquish your hold!”

  Holmes respond
s defiantly, “Not until I am dead.”

  Moriarty stands, raising the length of bough to deliver a final murderous blow, [20]“Auf Wiedersehen, Mr Holmes.”

  A shot rings out, shattering the bough and showering Moriarty with splinters.

  With a profound sense of relief, Holmes murmurs, “Watson.”

  Quickly letting go of the tree trunk with one hand, Holmes seizes Moriarty by the lapel of his frock-coat and jerks him forward, “Farewell, Moriarty.”

  With a startled expression, Moriarty shrieks and pitches head first over Holmes’ shoulder. Plunging into the chasm, he penetrates the fog of spray, immediately vanishing from sight.

  Hurriedly emerging from a [21]cleft in the glistening black rock and pocketing his revolver, Watson rushes forward, drops to his knees and grasps Holmes by his free hand.

  Relinquishing his hold on the tree trunk with his other hand, Holmes grabs Watson by the arm, “Pull, Watson!”

  Looking past Holmes and staring into the abyss far below, Watson instantly experiences queasiness, “Oh, Holmes.”

  Seeing Watson blanch, Holmes tightens his grip on his arm, “My dear fellow, this is hardly the time, nor the place, to enlighten me about your fear of heights.”

  The rock surrounding the small crevice where Holmes has his toe-hold suddenly crumbles, causing him to slip and partially drag Watson over the edge of the track.

  Petrified, Watson stares down at Holmes, “I think it might help if I closed my eyes, Holmes.”

  Holmes peers over his shoulder and looks straight down into the ominous spiralling spray, “Yes, Watson, close your eyes and, whatever happens, do not move.”

  Summoning all his inner strength, Holmes slowly heaves himself up and painstakingly clambers over Watson to safety. Pausing for a breath, he then leans back over the edge, grabs Watson by his shoulder and pulls him to safety.

  Sitting beside Watson on the ground, Holmes affectionately taps him on the shoulder, “You may now open your eyes, Watson.”

  Breathing heavily, Watson opens his eyes, “Good Lord, Holmes, I thought our day had arrived.”