Sherlock Holmes-The Army of Doctor Moreau

by Guy Adams

  “I worked my way through father’s library, reading—though not always understanding—his books and notes. I tried to better myself, to be more than he believed me to be. Perhaps I sought approval. Why lie? I know I sought it. But there was no approval to be found. He was too all-consumed with the children he made after me, refining his science, learning new techniques and experimenting with new ideas. I was no more interesting than a sketch on a piece of scrap paper, rolled into a ball and tossed to one side.

  “Is it any wonder I wished for freedom?

  “I began to appreciate the fact that I was almost invisible within the confines of those tunnels and chambers. I watched father work, noting his methods, trying to understand his plans. That understanding, with every stab of pain it brought upon this ruin of a brain I have, was knowledge hard-earned but I think I have his measure now. In fact I know I do. Because there’s one thing that will always retain its value, Gentlemen—knowledge, and with it I am wealthy indeed.

  “Once I felt I had understood all I could, I decided the time had come to leave my father’s company. My time there would always have been short, he was never a man satisfied with the quantity or quality of materials, and sooner or later I would represent a greater value to him as organs and tissue as I did as—yes, the joke is clear—as his dogsbody. I would sit and feed the other creatures left to rot in their cells, watching as some of them diminished, driven mad by pain or infection, crippled further and further by scalpel or saw, and I resolved never to join them. Whatever the shortcomings of this grotesque form it—and the life within it—is all I have and I intend to keep hold of it for as long as possible.

  “Father was not permanently in residence so leaving was never going to be difficult. He could sometimes be absent for days at a time. I couldn’t say whether he was gathering fresh subjects or simply going about a life outside that he kept hidden away beneath the streets. To be frank I didn’t care. I simply waited for his next absence and took my opportunity. Only too aware that my appearance would be a handicap, I adopted a rough version of the costume you see before you and made my way to the surface. Though I had never left father’s lair, the route was extremely simple; I had cause to be thankful of this sensitive nose of mine as it sniffed out his trail all the way to the surface.

  “And what a world that now seemed to me! The noises were more grating, the smells sharper. It was a world that hurt just to be in it, a place that beat at the senses. I stumbled upon a small man selling roasted chestnuts and was nearly paralysed by the experience. As if his shouting were not enough, there was the roar of his fire, the crackle of the nutshells, the hiss and pop of coals fracturing, the chink of metal expanding in the heat. Then the smell, the smoke, the browning meat of the nuts, the sweat of the man—his stench alone was like a factory floor.

  “It felt like being attacked. It was all I could do not to tear out his throat in response. My temper is not good, Gentlemen, as you will have no doubt remarked. Perhaps you begin to understand why?

  “It was soon clear to me that I could not tolerate a normal life above ground. A piece of the underground was the place for me. I am a creature that suits shadow, am I not?

  “But what could I do? How should I provide for myself?

  “Oh I dare say you do not approve of my solution to that problem, but I have finished seeking approval from you or anyone else. Criminality is something I am suited to. I have the anger and strength for it. And yes, I have a lack of consideration towards ‘my fellow man’. For, let us be honest, there is no such thing anymore is there, Gentlemen? I am a species all of its own.

  “Nonetheless, my business matters are sure to be beneath your concern, Mr Holmes. What do you care if the inventory of a ship becomes light once in a while? Is it any business of yours if the walking wounded of our society take to the opium pipe? Why should Sherlock Holmes, London’s greatest consulting detective, trouble himself if a little counterfeit money works its way into the system? I have very little blood on my hands, Gentlemen, and the few stains there are came from men who work the same business as I. It is not something that troubles me.

  “And it must not trouble you if you wish my assistance in this matter, and you do, believe me, for who else do you know that can lead you straight to the door of the man you seek? Who else knows the details of what he is planning? Who else can salvage this mess before the country is brought to its knees?

  “Gentlemen, I rather think you and I are going into business!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The brute leaned forward, those monstrous hands extended as he jangled the handcuffs that hung from them. His tale was done, his point made.

  Holmes merely watched for a moment and then laughed.

  “You are a confident fellow, Kane,” he said, “and I’ll warrant that your extraordinary life so far would have broken a lesser spirit. Still, I will tell you this: you ask what concern it is of mine that you pursue your criminal career. You talk of London’s greatest consulting detective?” The apparent lightness of tone faded from Holmes’ voice to be replaced by a steel that was as sharp and potent as a sabre-blade. “I am the foremost consulting detective in the country, Kane, no doubt the world, and your criminal activities are every bit my concern. Furthermore, the moment I wish them to end I could ensure it happened as quickly as that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “You bet with an empty hand,” he continued, “and your pitiful attempts to intimidate me impress me not one jot. If you know a scintilla of useful information about your creator then you have yet to prove as much, certainly you will have to work hard to convince me that what you know is worth my turning a blind eye to so much as a day’s worth of your petty little enterprises.” He sat back in his chair and took a long puff on his pipe. “You will have to work much harder than this to preserve your scarred neck,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke towards the sensitive nose of our prisoner. “We have you captured and entirely at our mercy. If you wish to survive the encounter I suggest you begin to talk of something more useful than your own pathetic history.”

  Kane roared and jumped to his feet, the chair he was sat on tumbling behind him. He pulled at his handcuffs but they held firm, not that his greatest strength lay at the end of his wrists. He snarled and those teeth of his dripped with malice.

  There was a soft click as Holmes cocked the revolver he had just removed from his dressing gown pocket. With a raised eyebrow he uttered one world only, a word designed to enrage our captive even further: “Sit!”

  Kane had little choice but to do so, though he howled at the indignity of it.

  “That’s better,” Holmes replied. “As powerful as you no doubt are, a bullet through the skull would bring you to heel.”

  I began to realise quite how much he was enjoying this. I hoped it didn’t see him get his throat torn out.

  Kane growled and then began to speak further:

  “I have said that I have not sought the death of others and that the blood on my hands is meagre.” He looked at Holmes, cocking his head on one side in that peculiar way that dogs have when they are particularly drawn by something. “That may soon change. I have no doubt that to have your head in my jaws would be a pleasurable thing indeed.”

  “Well, metaphorically at least, I certainly have yours in mine,” said Holmes, “so let us get to business before either of us sees fit to bite.”

  “Father has not just been working as a surgeon,” Kane continued. “He has been hard at work in the field of chemistry too. He has been attempting to create a serum that can change the flesh without a need for the scalpel.”

  “Change the flesh how?” I asked, though I could imagine the answer after what Mycroft had told us.

  “He wishes to accelerate the process of evolution. The example he gave—and I am only too aware of how fanciful it sounds—was of a man falling from a great height. What use is evolution then? If it could respond immediately to the body’s surroundings then it could be the very thing that saves his life! He
could sprout wings!”

  I laughed, the idea certainly did sound fanciful. The subtle changes Mycroft had suggested, such as an ability to last longer than natural without water, or an increased tolerance to the cold, had sounded absurd enough. But this—the spontaneous growth of new appendages? What next, would a man on a windy day suddenly develop iron feet? Or a drowning man, gills?

  “Yes,” said Kane, “that was my response too. Then I looked in a mirror and, try as I might, I could no longer find the same confidence in my opinions.”

  Holmes thought about this for a moment then spoke: “The fact that he is experimenting in this field means nothing,” he said. “We knew as much already, the question is rather: is he making any progress?” He looked intently at Kane, as if trying to determine whether he could trust him. How he could hope to tell was utterly beyond me—what could one look to in that animal’s face to serve as a sign of veracity?

  “I think you will soon know the answer to that,” Kane said. “It will not be long before my father acts, but can you afford to wait until then?”

  “The bodies,” said Holmes. “Can I presume they were the victims of these creatures you described? The monstrous hybrids he keeps as guard dogs to his lair?”

  Kane appeared to shrug, and somehow this small, human gesture seemed the most absurd thing he had done thus far, to see something so recognisable come from something so inhuman. “Every now and then people would wander into his lair, and he would have me dispose of the bodies elsewhere. Now that I am not there to do his dirty work no doubt they simply wash up where they are wont to.”

  Holmes sat in silence for another couple of moments then got to his feet. He handed the gun to me and walked over to Kane.

  “Needless to say, you should shoot our visitor the moment he looks like wishing to do either of us damage,” he said. “I will ensure that you have a clear shot.”

  I was distinctly unhappy about the idea of letting Kane go free but I was also sufficiently intimidated by him that I decided it was better to show a united front and keep my concerns to myself. Holmes would do whatever he wished and all that would be achieved by us arguing over it would be a distraction that the vicious creature may take advantage of.

  Holmes unfastened the handcuffs and stood well back. He gestured to the door.

  “Go,” he said, “but know that our arrangement is not carved in stone. I have preparations to make before I follow you to the lair of your creator. If you prove to be a valuable guide then it will go some way towards the freedom I allow you to operate under in Rotherhithe.” He pointed at Kane. “But know this—don’t think you are immune from my attentions. If I consider that you step outside the incestuous world of gang violence and become a threat to the innocent then I will find you and put an end to you. Is that understood?”

  Kane inclined his head and I tried to decide if his exposed teeth represented a threat or a sign of humour. Perhaps it was both. “It is understood that you will try,” he said. “How long do you need to prepare?”

  “Return here this evening at nine o’clock, I will be accompanied by a small party.”

  “Police?” Kane asked. An unmistakable growl to his words.

  “No,” Holmes replied, “private citizens, but ones whom you can rely upon to offer a degree of strength against the creatures we might find down there.”

  Kane nodded and once again that half-smile, half-snarl was visible on his face. “They’ll need it,” he said, and bounded down the stairs and out of our rooms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Once Kane had left, Holmes visibly relaxed and settled back into his armchair. He reclaimed his pipe and brought it back to life with a match. “An unnerving character, Watson,” he said. “Only a fool argues with the clear evidence of his own eyes. Still, to be face to face with such a beast. To converse with it …”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admitted.

  “It is a nightmare of flesh,” he concurred. “The sort of vision one might suffer after indulging in that opium pipe he made such light business of.”

  “He made light business of a great deal of criminal behaviour,” I said. “It’s a wonder you let him leave.”

  He shrugged. “What choice did I have? I no more trust him than I like him but the stakes are high and we must take every advantage offered. I strongly suspect that the minute we descend into that damp ‘under-city’ our lives will be fragile things indeed, but we must try. Who knows what that creature’s creator has planned? Are we dealing with a lunatic with ideas beyond his ability or, much worse, are we dealing with a man who can achieve the monstrous acts he claims he is capable of?”

  “A serum that forces the human body to adapt? I cannot credit it.”

  “In truth, nor can I but the risk of the consequences if we are both wrong is too great to bear.”

  He settled to think for a moment, no doubt imagining the possible effects of such a chemical. What chaos it could wreak if let loose into the world!

  I settled into the chair opposite him and reached for my own cigarettes. What manner of creature would Holmes become if exposed to such a concoction—a swollen brain hovering over a pair of massive, tobacco-hardened lungs? The thought of such a beast, despite the serious context, could not help but make me smile.

  “And what of you?” he said, intruding into my thoughts. “A massive heart and stomach perhaps?”

  “Steady on, Holmes,” I replied, “there’s no need to be offensive.” I didn’t acknowledge that he had guessed what I had been thinking. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. It was a damnable trick and not the first time he’d played it.

  Which reminded me of how I had spent the majority of my day. “You may be able to read my more obvious thoughts, Holmes,” I said. “But even you will not be able to plumb the depths, I have a great deal to tell you!”

  “Your investigations went well did they?” he replied.

  I concede that for a moment I was more than a little put out. “My investigations?”

  “Well obviously you’ve been looking into the matter, you’ve been out all day and were no doubt positively itching to prove your deductive capabilities.”

  “Only because you have been so damnably smug of late!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Only of late?” He offered a smile. “You know my moods, Watson my friend, better than any other. I apologise for my recent behaviour. I would say that it won’t happen again but we both know that’s a promise I’ll struggle to keep.”

  In a way Holmes was even more irritating when he capitulated; you wanted to rage at the man and all he could do was nod and admit he was annoying. If there was a better way of taking the wind from a man’s sails I didn’t know of it.

  “You are quite the most irritating man I know.”

  “I excel in all things then,” he replied and chuckled. “But come! Tell me of your adventures.”

  Seeing little point in arguing further, I did as he asked. I picked up the folder containing Prendick’s account and the papers I had been given by Mitchell.

  “Watson,” Holmes announced once I had finished, “if I ever suggest you are anything less than a marvel remind me of today, you have done extremely well.”

  Despite my previous irritation I couldn’t help but be pleased. “I must admit that I was concerned that I was hardly farther forward than when I began,” I admitted. “The mystery seems thicker rather than clearer.”

  “These matters are murky indeed,” he admitted, “but you have certainly gathered data that solves some of the loose ends. In fact you have given me most of what I need to complete my own deductions.”

  “Complete them?”

  “Indeed. Prendick’s death seemed deeply unsatisfactory to me and that is at last brought into clarity.”

  “Unsatisfactory?” That seemed hardly a humane word to use in the context.

  He tutted at my faint disapproval. “You know full well what I mean,” he said. “Viewed from a purely logical perspective—as
I always must, these matters will not solve themselves by my emoting all over them—it presented a number of complications. Why was acid used? It immediately made one suspect that the body was not that of Prendick but rather someone else entirely, the acid an attempt to disfigure the corpse so extensively it would be impossible to tell.”

  I admitted that the thought had occurred to me.

  “Of course it had, Mycroft too I have no doubt. But it would seem from what Inspector Mann tells us that the face was perfectly clear. So why such a painful method?”

  “I had wondered whether there was a degree of self-hatred involved,” I said. “He chose a painful method because he believed he deserved to suffer.”

  Holmes shook his head. “Someone who wishes to suffer does not end their life.” He suddenly clapped his hands. “Of course! It was a preventative measure! He wanted to destroy his organs so that they would be of no further use. He was terrified of some part of him ending up inside another creature.”

  “It’s a possibility,” I agreed.

  “A certainty, he must have had a good reason to endure such suffering and it’s the only one that fits.”

  I began to leaf through his account of matters on the island. “This is quite the most bizarre thing you’ll ever read,” I said.

  “No,” said Holmes, fetching his hat and coat, “for one day you’ll write its sequel! Gather yourself, Watson, we should begin preparations for this evening.”

  I folded Prendick’s account into my pocket and within moments we were in a cab and on our way to a hotel on The Strand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “We need to enlist the rifle of Mr Carruthers,” Holmes explained. “It would be foolishness indeed to take on such ferocious beasts without it. While we travel let me tell you how I’ve occupied my own time, for you can rest assured neither of us have been idle.