Sherlock Holmes's War of the Worlds

by Manly Wade Wellman

  Happily she served his plate and he ate with good appetite, telling her of what had befallen on Horsell Common outside Woking.

  "How fortunate for Sir Percy that you were there with him," she said. "Only you would have thought to move so quickly and rescue him. Your mind has never moved with such magnificent speed as in that moment of danger last night."

  "I'll never tell Watson about it," said Holmes, eating chicken. "Sometimes he embarrasses me with his praise. You never embarrass me with anything, be­cause I love you."

  Her blue eyes were wide with worry. "But however did these Martians come here, over those millions and millions of miles?"

  "The press gave us notice of that. Midnight after midnight, a flash of light on Mars like an explosion, ten of them in all. Each flash propelled a cylinder into space, aimed here to seek us out. The second cylinder has already arrived, and a third should be here by tonight."

  Her hands clasped in admiration, like a girl happy with her first love. "'You are so well-informed of every­thing. But once Dr. Watson wrote that you know nothing of astronomy."

  "Oh, I told Watson that as a joke, in the first days of our acquaintance, but I do my best to learn something about everything. Only lately I reread Moriarty's Dy­namics of an Asteroid, and found new stimulation in it."

  "Let Dr. Watson think what he will," she said. "I believe that you have truly learned everything possible."

  "Not I," he demurred. "The greatest thing any of us can learn is that we can always learn something more." He put down his fork and rose. "Yes, Moriarty's study stimulated me, and I am stimulated by your ex­cellent cooking. Thank you, my dear."

  He went quickly down the hall to his own quarters. A letter was stuck in the frame of the door. He opened it and read:

  Friday morning

  My dear Holmes,

  Nobody, naturally, reflects that these invaders of earth at Woking came prepared to be violent. If you have planned to join me there, I urge you to stay clear. I might be killed, and in that case man­kind would doubly need your intelligence, which is not greatly inferior to my own, to help it in meeting this manifest danger.

  Yours truly,

  George Edward Challenger

  As he finished the letter and put it away, a messenger knocked and gave him a telegram:

  MARTIANS UNDER OBSERVATION FROM SAFE POSITIONS WILL FIRE AT FIRST HOSTILE MOVE

  SIR PRETERICK WARING KCB

  BRIG COMM

  Through the open window drifted the long-drawn cry of a newsboy. Holmes hurried down and bought a newspaper. STRANGE REPORT FROM WOKING, said the headline equivocally, and beneath this was a garbled account of the things he had seen and knew at firsthand. He sat at his desk and wrote rapidly:

  My dear Challenger,

  I went to Woking on Friday before receiving your letter, but did not find you. I saw no Martians myself; however, descriptions tally with what we observed in the crystal egg I left with you.

  Like you, I was prepared for hostility, and this weapon people are beginning to call the heat-ray is disaster to face. Nor do we know as yet what more terrible armament they may have.

  Without indulging too greatly in surmise, I sug­gest that these are pioneers of a mass migration across space, with more to arrive when Mars and Earth are next in opposition, in 1904. Very likely they consider us lower animals, to be exterminated as pests or possibly to be exploited in some way.

  Keep the crystal in your possession. Its proper­ties seem to include interplanetary communica­tion. The Martians may try to recapture it. What if we could trap one of them in the attempt and learn more about how to oppose him and his fellows?

  It occurs to me that health on a strange world may be one of their problems. You may enlarge on the supposition.

  With warm regards,

  Sherlock Holmes

  He sealed the sheet in an envelope and rang for Billy.

  "See that this letter goes to Enmore Park, in Ken­sington West, by special messenger," he said.

  "What's all this about these Martian people, Mr. Holmes?" asked Billy. "You were there, weren't you? The paper says they can hardly creep about in that pit of theirs."

  "Never trust such newspaper reports, Billy. They have complex machines to fight with, and undoubtedly to travel with. By the way, where does your mother live?"

  "Why, in Yorkshire. She went there last year, to raise a market garden."

  "Here, my boy," Holmes held out a pound note. "After you have seen that letter on its way to Pro­fessor Challenger, you may take a holiday to visit your mother."

  Billy pocketed the note, somewhat slowly. "But I'd rather stay here in London, sir. Things sound like ex­citement hereabouts, they do."

  "Excitement is exactly the word, Billy. But there is apt to be disruption, too, and very likely dangerous disruption. I would feel better if you were at a safe distance."

  Billy departed. Holmes returned to his desk and looked through a great sheaf of his hasty notes, making fuller and clearer organization in writing. Several ex­cited callers came to his door with news, rumors mostly, of heavy fighting in Surrey. That evening, Martha ap­peared with a veal and ham pie and a fruit compote for their dinner.

  "You're troubled," she ventured as Holmes opened a bottle of Beaune.

  "And quite accurately deduced, my dear Martha," he said. "A terrible fate seems to have befallen those unfortunate communities in Surrey. I have a special kindness for that country; it was there that I solved a puzzle at Reigate and explained a mystery at Wisteria Lodge, besides helping Sir Percy Phelps when he thought he had lost the naval treaty. Yet, bad as things are in Surrey, they may become bad here in London." He considered that statement. "Worse," he amended.

  She ate slowly. "But the people out there on the street do not seem particularly frightened, my dear."

  "Because they have not taken thought. Their minds are incapable of grasping the implications of this strange invasion. But I find myself talking like my respected friend, the professor, who holds the intellect of the entire human race, except for his own, in utter scorn. I wish I could talk to him. Yes, or to Watson."

  She was able to smile at that. "You have always laughed at Dr. Watson when he is unable to follow your own reasoning."

  "Yes, I have had my fun with him, but his mind has a good, sound scientific organization, and again and again he has proved his great courage and depend­ability. Now," he said, rising. "I must go to the tele­graph office, but you may expect me back shortly. By the way, I sent Billy on a holiday to his mother in Yorkshire. Where is your maid?"

  "I let her go home to Cheltenham for the weekend."

  "Then I hope she stays there, well away from Lon­don. But let us think of ourselves for a moment or two." He went to take his violin from its case. "Before I go, how about a little night music?"

  She sat and listened happily as he played a Paganini melody, then a wilder, more haunting strain.

  "What is that?" Martha asked.

  "I learned it from a gypsy. It was all he could pay for my help when he was falsely accused of picking pockets. I think it is beautiful."

  Again he changed key and mood. She sat up straight and alert.

  "I remember that, my dearest," she said. "You played it long ago, at the Trevor house at Donnithorpe. I heard you from outside the window. Who composed it?"

  "I did," he told her, smiling in his turn. "Once I had ambitions to play sweet music, to be thanked and renowned for it. But as you know, I took another way of life, and am content not be so greatly celebrated for my labors."

  He returned the violin to its case and went out on his errand.

  That night, and on Sunday morning while the church bells rang, Holmes interviewed refugees from the towns in Surrey. In shaky voices they told him of troops wiped out wholesale by the flashing reflector devices that by now were called the heat-ray, and of gigantic machines like "boilers on stilts," on the swift move everywhere below London. By Sunday noon, Holmes gathered that whole communities
had been effortlessly destroyed and that military forces—horse, foot and artillery had proved helpless against those stalking, merciless fighting-machines. Back in his sitting room that afternoon, he made two copies of all he had learned and his own estimate of the desperate situation.

  "And I have had no further word from either Watson or Challenger," he said to Martha. "Small wonder—the telephone service seems completely disrupted by a great flood of calls. Well, I shall leave one copy of my notes here."

  He stuck them to the mantelpiece with a jacknife. Martha winced as the point of the blade drove into the varnished wood, but he did not seem to notice.

  "The third cylinder's arrival has been reported," he went on. "It fell last night, again in Surrey. Apparently they are able to concentrate their landfalls within a few miles of each other and consolidate a position from which to operate."

  "At least they have not come to London," offered Martha, though with no great optimism.

  "But it takes no great deductive reasoning to see that this hopelessly one-sided war of the worlds will move toward us," he replied. "They are well aware that this is the largest city, the largest center of population on earth, and they mean to capture it."

  "But London," she said. "Great, powerful London. How can London fall to them?"

  "That, my dear Martha, you and I shall not be here to witness. Both Billy and your maid have gone to safe distances, and so shall we go. Pack some things, my dear, while I do the same."

  "Yes, yes," she agreed quickly, "but where shall we go?"

  "If you approve, we shall take our own holiday up at Donnithorpe, where we have not been for almost twenty-five years. You told me that your uncle is now landlord of the inn there, and my old friend Trevor is justice of the peace, like his father before him."

  Yet again he went to the post office, where he read more tersely wired reports of Martians on the move. Five of them, it seemed, came with each cylinder. That meant fifteen thus far, with more on the way. One of their fighting-machines had been smashed by an artillery shell at Weybridge, though the batteries there had been promptly obliterated by its comrades. Descriptions of those fighting-machines were exaggerated and some­times incoherent passages, and Holmes felt more in­clined to accept the "boilers on stilts" comparison he had heard on the street. Even as he read the telegrams, all information from Surrey ceased abruptly. The operator told Holmes that telegraphic communication had broken down and that railway service was dis­rupted.

  He swiftly made his way home. There he packed two valises and wrote a note to Watson, spiking it to the mantelpiece with his report. As he did so, a knock sounded. He opened the door to Sir Percy Phelps.

  "Come in, my dear fellow," said Holmes. "I am just on my way from town, and I strongly advise you to go as well. The news here is of continual disaster."

  "But you must not leave," said Sir Percy, his voice shakily earnest. "I have brought you a most important secret commission."

  He handed a folded paper to Holmes, who spread it out and read it at a glance. He frowned in concentration over it.

  "Dear me," he said after a moment. "This appears to give me the most sweeping powers and responsi­bilities:"

  "The Government itself is leaving for Birmingham," said Sir Percy. "We are asking you, Holmes, in the name of your country—nay, in the name of all human­kind—to be our observer here in London, help to plan for whatever can be done. You cannot leave."

  "But I must," said Holmes flatly. "I have another important duty in Norfolk, which I consider to be as important as this assignment you offer. What is my brother Mycroft doing? He reasons profitably in an armchair, which may well be exactly the place in which to resolve this matter."

  "Your brother has accompanied the Royal Family up to Balmoral Castle in Scotland," replied Sir Percy. "No, Holmes, there is no living man better fitted, none more worthy, of this important and dangerous commis­sion than yourself. Surely someone else is able to represent you in Norfolk."

  "I must go there in person," insisted Holmes. "But I promise you to come back as soon as I can."

  "Back to London, Holmes? In the face of the Martians?"

  "I do not despair of successfully accomplishing that return. Meanwhile let me communicate with you by wire at Birmingham, and you may say that I can be relied upon to return and do my best duty here."

  "Thank you, Holmes, thank you in the name of the Government itself." Sir Percy wrung his friend's hand. "Let me say one thing more. If you and I survive this crisis, if England and humanity survive it, a fitting reward will be given you for your services. I am in a position to speak for people in the highest places. There will be recognition for you. A knighthood."

  "Knighthood?" repeated Holmes, smiling and shak­ing his head. "Well, that is very handsome, but I must decline, with deep gratitude and respect to those who make the offer."

  "But, my dear Holmes!" cried Sir Percy. "You de­serve to be knighted. The title will be conferred upon you by His Majesty the King. Such a title would be gratifying to you and to your friends. It would cause you to emerge from your seclusion, come into high society, as your services and gifts so richly merit."

  "That is exactly what motivates me to decline." Holmes's smile widened. "If I were knighted, people would have to call me Sir Sherlock. Can you think, offhand, of a worse tongue twister? Not at all easy to say, like Sir Percy. No, I say, I shall be better off, and so shall all my acquaintances, if I remain simply Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

  9

  When at last the train brought Holmes and Martha into Donnithorpe shortly before midnight, the village inn blazed with lights. Its main hall seemed charged with an excitement that reminded Holmes of that day years before when Hudson, the blackmailing butler, and his scapegrace son Morse had fled the home of Squire Trevor, leaving their master dying of a stroke. Martha's aunt and uncle gave her a glad welcome, asked ques­tions about the invasion, and blinked uncomprehendingly at Holmes's guarded replies. Holmes slept well in the small room they gave him. At nine o'clock Monday morning, Martha brought in a tray with bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and tea. As they ate together she gave him more news.

  "The Squire has called a meeting here at the inn to discuss the situation and how to meet it," she said.

  "Of course, that is my old university friend, Victor Trevor," said Holmes. "We have not seen each other since he returned from the East Indies to his family estate. Probably I should attend that meeting."

  He found half a dozen grave-faced men in the inn parlor. Victor Trevor greeted him and introduced him to the rector of the parish church, the postmaster, the sturdy, bearded blacksmith, and other community leaders. At Trevor's request, Holmes told them what he knew about the Martians but omitted all mention of his government assignment.

  "I say, we must form a volunteer company of de­fense," said Trevor when Holmes had finished. "Every able-bodied man in the place. Let each bring what weapon he may have—a sporting rifle, a fowling piece. We shall meet war with war if we must, even die if we must. Die fighting."

  "Hear, hear!" applauded the blacksmith. "Every one of us is with you, Squire."

  But Holmes held up his hand.

  "Gentlemen, the regular army has tried to fight and was hopelessly defeated," he reminded them. "The Invaders saw at once how we gave battle and brought that sort of resistance to less than nothing. Their heat-ray weapon wipes out whole crowds at a single flash. It destroys houses and guns like wisps of straw. There is also a rumor of some sort of vapor, called black smoke, that smothers any living thing it touches, like bees smoked from a hive. To try to draw up in ranks against them would be suicidal."

  "How then would you have us deal with them?" asked Trevor. "Run like sheep before them, and be slaughtered like sheep by them?"

  "As of now I would favor scattering before them, which is not quite the same as running. But they are not here yet, nor near, and I hope for more useful information shortly. Meanwhile, I advocate the gather­ing of supplies in homes and keeping a close watc
h to southward."

  Several looked dubious, but Trevor nodded agree­ment.

  "Thank you, Holmes, you give us something of a basis on which to plan," he said. "Let us ponder all these matters, gentlemen, and meet here again at noon."

  "Telegrams for Mr. Holmes," called a clerk from the door to the front hall.

  Holmes went out and took the messages. He saw at once that they were in a cipher Sir Percy had not given him, and he studied them for a moment to puzzle it out. Then he was aware of Trevor at his elbow, and with Trevor stood a stranger.

  "Holmes, this is Lord John Roxton," said Trevor. "His name is familiar throughout the whole world of exploration and big-game hunting. He has adventured in every wild and dangerous land on earth. I consider it fortunate that he is visiting me at Donnithorpe at this time of critical action."

  Lord John Roxton was tall and lean, not unlike Holmes in figure. His strong features were deeply tanned, and he had gingery hair, a crisp mustache, and a pointed beard. Holmes judged him to be in his mid-thirties.

  "I say, I got here a thought late for your meetin', and I was outside the door when you spoke, Mr. Holmes," he said without preliminaries. "I've heard of you, of course. You're the big thinker of Scotland Yard."

  "Not exactly," said Holmes. "I have never served with the police, although on occasion I have been able to help a trifle."

  "I see. Well, sir, I'm takin' the liberty to say that I think action, not talk, is the best ticket here. I plump for that volunteer company of defense, don't you know. I happen to have some fine long-range rifles—I only came up here for the trout-fishin' with Trevor, but I never travel anywhere without my guns. I could arm several good men who were worth lendin' such things to."

  "Your guns might serve against a rhinoceros," said Holmes, "but the rhinoceros wouldn't be using the heat-ray or the Black Smoke."