Sherlock Holmes: Zombies Over London

by Stephen Mertz

  "Mrs. Hudson!"

  Her Scottish ire would not be denied.

  "I run a respectable house, Mr. Holmes. I wish this domicile to be kept orderly, clean and tidy. The Good Lord knows that I have tolerated your considerable eccentricities with the best of humor, for I’ve seen first hand the good you’ve done in resolving folks’ troubles. But I will not tolerate—"

  Albert said, "Excuse me, good lady, but these gentlemen risked their lives tonight to save me from a terrible situation which could have cost me my life."

  That stopped Mrs. Hudson. She drew a breath.

  "Swear to me on your mother’s name that you speak the truth, son."

  "I do, for it is the truth. My name is Albert Einstein. Please do not think ill of these men on my account."

  Mrs. Hudson considered this.

  She said, "I turn to you, Dr. Watson. I know you to be a man of upstanding character, honest and sincere."

  "That is most kind of you to say, Mrs. Hudson. It is as the boy says. He was kidnapped and being held for ransom. Mr. Holmes has been retained to affect his safe return, and that is what we are in the process of doing."

  "Your word, Dr. Watson."

  "My word, Mrs. Hudson."

  "Well then, let us see to young Mr... . Albert, was it?"

  "If you please, m’am."

  Her demeanor warmed.

  "Well spoken and well behaved." She stepped forward to place a hand upon his shoulder. "Come, Albert, I will show you where you may draw a hot bath while I find suitable clothing for you."

  Holmes said, "It’s rather late to find a clothing store open at this hour."

  A wee bit of the landlady’s frost returned.

  "Mr. Holmes, I have not always rented flats to eccentric consulting detectives. I have numbered respectable families among my tenants over the years and even you would be surprised at what folks leave behind when they move out. I store away what may be reusable, and I believe I will be able to find Albert a fresh set of suitable, dry clothes."

  "Of course," mumbled Holmes. "Thank you so much."

  Albert sent us a look over his shoulder as he was being led away.

  "You will see that my parents are notified?"

  "I shall make contact with them at once," Holmes promised.

  And so he did, thanks to that new invention, the telephone, which was mounted on a wall of the front hallway. The London Telephone Exchange was only seven years old. Yet, through the wonders of technology, Holmes was able to telephone the telegraph office, where he had established an account and from where the happy news of Albert’s rescue could be telegraphed to his anxious, waiting family.

  With Albert in Mrs. Hudson’s capable care and his business with the telegraph office completed, Holmes struck a match and touched the flame to the bowl of his pipe. His head was soon wreathed by the usual foul smelling gray cloud.

  "So, what do you make of this case, Watson? The damnable thing about the whole affair is that I’m quite certain everything that’s happening lately is connected, but I’m not certain just how."

  I said, "As for me, I’ve grown increasingly disillusioned with Mr. H.G. Wells. Why has he picked such a time to disappear?"

  "Perhaps his disappearance was not of his choosing. Or perhaps his lying low is an act of self-preservation."

  I pressed on. "And what of this alleged time machine? The very idea is fantastic."

  "Some would say the same about zombies. The world is a changing place, Watson. Changing faster than any of us can comprehend. Who can say what the world will be like in, say, 1914? Our military foresees futuristic warfare that can devastate civilization. Let us hope they’re wrong. But you deflect my question. What do you make of this business?"

  "Sorry. I wish I had something to offer but frankly, Holmes, it seems a rather sticky wicket no matter how one considers it. There are connections. Albert is the houseguest of a married, possibly mad author who claims to have invented a time machine. Albert most likely avoids being seduced by Mrs. Wells only because he’s already fallen under the spell of Danielle, who is only setting him up for Big Stan and the kidnap demand. Then this afternoon she’s whisked away by Professor Moriarty’s minions in their damnable futuristic war machines."

  He nodded. "Danielle is the primary connection. She stole the serum. She’s Wells’ girlfriend. She thought up and implemented the plan to kidnap Albert for ransom."

  "So Moriarty was behind the kidnapping of Albert?"

  "No, our dear Professor would never dirty his hands on such a petty crime as kidnapping for ransom. Dani and Big Stan were enterprising small timers. The kidnapping is unrelated to Moriarty."

  "What about Andre, the knife thrower?"

  Holmes tapped out his pipe bowl into a standing ash tray next to his chair.

  "The attempt on my life at the music hall was spontaneous. Dani and Andre had just learned there was a price on my head. When Dani told Andre that I was in the house, he made a try for me."

  "But if he was one of Moriarty’s people, why was Andre killed on that rooftop while Dani gets whisked away?"

  Holmes said, "Moriarty disapproves of his people acting on their own, particularly when it results in failure as did their attempt to collect the reward money that Moriarty himself had placed on my head. Andre was expendable. I suspect that things will not go well for Dani, but Moriarty must yet have a use for her."

  There came a polite tapping at our door. The door was opened by Mrs. Hudson.

  "Inspector Lestrade."

  Holmes promptly rose from his chair.

  "My dear Inspector, what a pleasant surprise."

  Mrs. Hudson paused with her hand on the door handle. She stood behind Lestrade and sent Holmes a look. Albert would be in his hot bath. Her expression said, Mr. Holmes, what should I do?

  Lestrade strode in without his usual air of nonchalance.

  "My apologies, Holmes, for intruding at this late hour."

  "Bosh. Watson and I were just about to leave for a spot of dinner. Would you care to join us?"

  This satisfied Mrs. Hudson. She withdrew, closing the door after her.

  Lestrade waited until the door latch had clicked.

  "I’m afraid this is not a social call, Mr. Holmes, much as I’d like it to be. I must ask you to accompany me. You may join us if you wish, Doctor."

  I said, "And what is our destination?"

  "The home of Mrs. and Mrs. H.G. Wells. A murder has been committed."

  Chapter 19

  In the front parlor of the Wells home, Lestrade lifted the sheet from the dead face.

  Danielle’s coloration was already like marble; a mask of surprise and pain. Eyes wide. Mouth a frozen oval. She had been garroted, the length of common household rope twisted tightly around her throat. Her tongue protruded from the corner of her mouth, an obscene thing like a length of rotting sausage.

  Lestrade had wasted no time interrogating Holmes. Even before we’d reached Waterloo Station for the train ride to Surrey, he’d said, shortly after leaving our flat for the station, "I came to you directly upon receiving word of the murder. The local constable included in his telephone report to the Yard that the scene of the crime had been recently visited by a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes, I’d like to know what your involvement is with the Wells family."

  "Sorry, Lestrade. I can’t divulge that. It’s privileged information.""

  An irritable snort from Lestrade.

  "Well, we’ll see about that."

  Few words passed between the three of us following that exchange.

  At Waterloo Station, hurrying to catch our train, we passed Wiggins, who was hawking a late edition of one of the tabloids. He saw us and gave a brief negative shake of his head to indicate that The Baker Street Irregulars had no new word on the whereabouts of H.G. Wells. Neither I nor Holmes acknowledged the boy’s unspoken signal. Lestrade proceeded, oblivious to it.

  The official activity surrounding the Wells home upon our arrival included uniformed bobbies, p
olice wagons and one long black coach with government markings drawn up apart from the others, as if waiting.

  Inside the little two-story house, through an archway leading from the front parlor, Mrs. Wells could be seen, clad in a bathrobe, seated on the edge of a bed. Hands folded primly in her lap.

  Then we were past her, viewing the body. The local constable now stood at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back, his preliminary investigation officially now in the hands of Scotland Yard. Lestrade replaced the sheet across Danielle’s face.

  His ferret eyes centered on Holmes.

  "The local man tells me that documentation in this woman’s purse indicates that she was an entertainer at The Empire Theater. You already know that, don’t you?"

  "I beg your pardon, Lestrade?"

  "And well you should beg my pardon. When I visited your flat earlier today to warn you about there being a bounty on your head, I told you I was on my way to investigate an uproar in Leicester Square."

  "Yes, that is true."

  "You and Dr. Watson have previously been guests here in the Wells home, where the woman involved in an attempt on your life now lies dead. I spoke with people who were inside the music hall so I know about her involvement in the attempt on your life before she fled under, er, uh, unexplainable circumstances. And now she lies at our feet, Dead. What do you know about her?"

  "Not very much."

  Holmes spoke absently, making a production of studying the placement of Danielle’s body in relation to the points of entry into the parlor.

  Lestrade said, "You are aware, of course, that it is a crime, punishable by imprisonment, to conceal evidence or in any way hinder or misdirect the police during an investigation."

  Holmes said, "A young German national named Albert Einstein is involved. He met Wells through an international scientific correspondence society they both belong to. Albert has been Wells’ house guest. He went missing without taking his belongings with him. Wells retained me to find the boy. Really, Inspector. Have you ever found my involvement in one of your cases to be less than advantageous?"

  "Well, uh ... that’s beside the point! I need to determine who’s responsible for this murder. I would appreciate your cooperation. And quite frankly ..." Lestrade paused to nod in the direction of Mrs. Wells, who remained within our line of vision but beyond earshot of our voices. "Mr. Holmes, your assistance interrogating of Mrs. Wells would be most appreciated."

  Lestrade, I thought.

  First he accuses Holmes of intruding on his investigation, and then he asks Holmes for his assistance!

  Chapter 20

  We next interviewed Mrs. Wells, who I have referred to as Jane.

  Lestrade opened with, "Uh, pardon me, ma’am. It’s my duty to ask you some questions."

  She raised her eyes, ignoring Lestrade.

  "Hullo, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson."

  "Mrs. Wells," said Holmes.

  Recalling her intimate advance during our previous visit, I merely nodded without comment.

  Her eyes drifted to the corpse beyond the archway.

  "Will they be," she swallowed hard "will they be taking it away soon?"

  "Very soon," said Lestrade. "Are you up to a few questions? The constable reports that you found the body."

  She said, "I came home from visiting a friend who’s caring for her sick mother. The house was dark, so I knew Herbert was still ... that he was not home. I let myself in and when I ... when I saw her lying there, I ran out of the house. I’m afraid I was screaming. I was hysterical, you see."

  I said, "I can prescribe something for you once you’ve finished here, Mrs. Wells."

  "That would be very kind of you, Doctor. I intend to stay with my friend tonight. I couldn’t stay here. Inspector, do the police have any idea who did this ... and why?"

  "Ma’am, I was hoping that you could provide us with that."

  "My husband is a teacher and a writer. I am his wife. We do not know people who kill people."

  "Forgive me, but I must ask you a routine question. Can the friend you were visiting verify your statement?"

  "But of course. Alma and I have been friends since childhood."

  "And where might we find Mr. Wells?"

  Her eyes dropped to the hands clasped in her lap.

  "I don’t know."

  "Mr. Holmes tells me that a young man named Albert is your house guest."

  "Yes, that’s true."

  "I understand the young man is missing. Or might you know of his present whereabouts?"

  "I don’t know where Albert is. Why are you asking me these questions?" Her gaze lifted to meet his. "Do you suspect me of something?"

  "Again, Mrs. Wells, these are routine questions. Did you know the victim?"

  "No. I’ve never seen her before in my life."

  Holmes said, "Lestrade, I think we should inspect Mr. Wells’ study."

  Lestrade considered this, along with what little was being gleaned from Mrs. Wells. He nodded.

  "Quite so."

  They left me alone with Jane Wells.

  My first impulse was to accompany them, but something in her eyes bade me to remain, and so I did. She waited until we were alone.

  She said, "I owe you an apology, Doctor."

  As before with this woman, I felt tongue-tied.

  "Er, really, Mrs. Wells—" was the best I could manage.

  "Please call me Jane."

  "Very well ... Jane."

  "When you were here last, I behaved wantonly, referring to bedside manner and the rest. I must apologize for embarrassing myself and you."

  "Really, Mrs.—that is to say, really, Jane, nothing happened. We must make allowance for the stress you’re under."

  Damn! It was the wrong thing to say! My comment was intended was to pacify her, but my remark seemed rather to embolden her.

  She stepped close to me.

  I thought, Uh-oh!

  She said, "It’s just that, well, you’re so virile. A woman can perish of loneliness, married to a writer. But I should never have behaved the way I did, for you see," she drew a long pause before saying in a soft voice, after exhaling the long breath, "I am with child."

  "Does your husband know?"

  "Not yet. Oh, I’m so confused."

  And suddenly she was weeping in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder.

  I found it extremely uncomfortable. At least we were away from the activity in the parlor where additional official personnel could be heard arriving, entering the house to attend to removal of the corpse. I’m not sure exactly how long I stood like that with Jane in my arms. The scent of her jasmine perfume caressed my nostrils as before. But I felt nothing resembling desire. Empathy stirred within me.

  Eventually, awareness came to both of us. Holmes and Lestrade could be heard returning from their inspection of the study.

  Jane disengaged herself from me as if nothing had happened.

  Lestrade said, upon their reappearance, "Mrs. Wells, does your husband keep an address book on hand, or any sort of index file of those people with whom he stays in regular contact?"

  "Yes, I’ve seen such an address book. Why do you ask?"

  Holmes said, "Most men and women keep their books close at hand wherever they intend to be. There is no trace of any such book or file in your husband’s study."

  I said, "Wells took the address book with him. He’s going to lay low, moving about, staying in contact only with close friends and associates."

  Holmes said, "There is the possibility that he was abducted, and the address book was taken with him. But with no sign of a struggle or evidence to point us in that direction, yes, we are left with the reasonable conclusion that Wells has gone to ground. Given the circumstances, there seems to me only one reason that could drive him to such a degree of panic that he would lose his emotional bearings and flee."

  Lestrade said, "And what would that reason be, Mr. Holmes?"

  "The knowledge that his wife committed murder."


  Jane gasped. Her jaw dropped.

  "Do you mean to say that you think I murdered that ... that thing in my parlor?"

  "You say you’ve never seen the victim before. I think you’ve seen a picture of her. You know who she is."

  "You are mistaken, and I have murdered no one."

  Lestrade said, "I certainly hope that proves to be the case, ma’am." He sounded sincere.

  Jane bristled. "And how could it not be the case?"

  Holmes said, "A number of items don’t add up, Mrs. Wells. Your husband came to me because your house guest has gone missing. Now your husband is missing. And oh yes, there’s a murdered woman in your parlor."

  "I do not know what happened to Albert but I can assure you that I have not murdered him."

  "In your estimation, who would your husband call upon first to hide him out?"

  "I have not the faintest idea as to the present whereabouts of my dear husband. He could well be the perpetrator of this crime! I have murdered no one. I am being persecuted in my own home."

  Holmes eyed her coolly.

  "There was a charged emotional undercurrent coursing through this house, madam. I sensed it on my earlier visit when I found this." He produced the kerchief embroidered with her initials. He handed the kerchief to Lestrade. "This was among Albert’s personal effects."

  Lestrade’s ferret eyes shifted from the kerchief to the woman.

  "Were you and this Albert—?" He let the sentence drop midway short of lewd suggestion.

  Jane Wells emitted a short moan, remained seated on the edge of the bed, staring at her bare feet.

  "I know it looks bad but my only crime is that I’m going crazy, driven to the brink by the man I love."

  Lestrade blinked.

  "What the devil?" His eyes swung to me. "Doctor, just now you were alone with Mrs. Wells. What were the two of you were talking about?"

  Chapter 21

  What was I to say?

  What was I to do?

  As a medical man, I felt compelled, regardless of the circumstance, to honor the woman’s request for confidentiality regarding her pregnancy. On the other hand, I would not in good conscience withhold information that could influence an official investigation.