by Guy Adams
“Moreau—or whoever he is—gained access through the cellars. We later found a hole knocked through from one of the expanded train tunnels.” He looked up for the first time. “We’re having our own station built as part of the Underground network, saves time all round. Anyway, once inside the building he made his way to the main debating chamber. He was not alone.”
“He had some of his creations with him?” asked Holmes.
Mycroft nodded. “According to one of the security officers there was a gang of eight, all of them recognisable as different animal species. A leopard, a goat, a … dear Lord … a horse! Oh, damn it all it was positively a bloody farmyard! And he played the part, he wore a pig’s face as a mask.”
“Really? That is interesting.”
“It’s damned grotesque. Obviously the majority assumed they were all wearing masks, then one of the damned things spoke and the way its mouth moved …”
“We have seen something of a similar nature,” Holmes said, briefly describing our encounter with Kane. “This security officer, might we hear the story direct from him?”
Mycroft nodded and gestured towards the old member of staff. “I thought you might ask that. Bring him in, Kirk.”
Kirk led in a small, stocky fellow who looked like he was completely out of his environment. Some people are simply more physical than others and this fellow looked like he was probably snapping the floorboards simply by standing on them.
“Fellowes, Sir,” he announced, holding out a worn, strong hand that looked all too capable of crushing the bones of mine to powder.
“Dr John Watson,” I replied, shaking the man’s hand.
“A pleasure to meet another old soldier,” he said. “I was wounded out around the same time as yourself. Good to finally put a face to the name.”
Mycroft was quick to cut the regimental reunions short. “We haven’t time for all the pleasantries, Fellowes,” he said. “Kindly explain to my brother exactly what happened.”
“Of course, Sir,” said Fellowes, clearly not in the least bit discomfited by the mild rebuke. A man who worked with politicians no doubt developed a thick skin to such things.
“As Mr Holmes has probably told you, our first assumption was that we faced a group of terrorists. It wouldn’t be the first time some group or another decided to storm the building and grind their axe in public. Normally they’re easily dealt with. These groups may have a good deal of enthusiasm but they have no training and that’s what really counts in the end, as Dr Watson here will attest I’m sure.”
“Absolutely,” I said, completely on impulse. Fellowes was the sort of man that could make you agree just by being in the same room as him. He had a very powerful personality.
“Given their bizarre mode of dress my first assumption was the animal rights lot, you know, anti-vivisection and what have you.”
“Quite the opposite, if anything,” said Mycroft waving his hands at Fellowes to encourage him to continue.
“Speaking personally, it was the horse-headed feller that first convinced me we were dealing with more than just a bunch of mutters in masks,” Fellowes continued. “He spoke up you see, told Sir Bartleby of the Exchequer to shut his face (the honourable gentleman was doing more than his fair share of screaming you see, Sirs). The way he opened his mouth was more than a theatrical costumier could manage and that was a fact. I saw its teeth, tongue and throat and knew that what I was looking at was a horse’s head on a bloke’s body. Absolutely ludicrous, naturally, but I’ve seen a fair few ludicrous things in my time and if there’s one thing I’ve learned working security it’s that you should never stop to question the obvious. I couldn’t begin to tell you how you got a horse’s head stitched onto a fellow but as I was looking right at one, somebody surely had managed and there was little to be gained by questioning it. The brute had designs on a number of peers, peers that fell under my care. So—figure out the how and why of it later —in that moment you just get on and do your job.
“Not that I was able to do much of that—those things had the strength to match their ugliness and I can honestly say that man was not built to punch horses.” He held up a bandaged right hand. “Made a right mess of me hand it did.”
“The chief was the odd one out—his face weren’t a part of him, however much he might have wished it were, snorting and oinking like the poor swine that had owned the face before him. It was a rough, butcher’s-shop job, hollowed out and worn like a cowl, the ears flapping as he shouted his orders. He looked an idiot to be honest but the gun in his hand probably went a fair way towards convincing people not to mention it.
“I’m embarrassed to say they had our number within seconds. I’m not blaming the men, they didn’t know what they were looking at. They had the wind blown out of them and it made them slow to react. Still, like I say, training—that’s what you need. If they’d been a bit more like me they’d have got the job done and not worried about what they were beating up.
“Once you’re on your back foot though it’s usually too late. Situation like that you’ve got to keep the upper hand from the off, otherwise they’ll make their move, grab hostages or what have you, and from there on you’re trying to limit the damage rather than win the day.
“That’s what happened to us, they grabbed Lord Bartleby, Lord Messingham and Lord Wharburton. The three of them were on their knees, looking death in the face before we could even rally a proper defence. Of course, had I known what they had in mind I dare say I would have taken the risk anyway. Without wishing to dismiss the worth of those noble gentlemen …”
“You’d rather risk an old peer than a Prime Minister,” said Holmes.
“That’s it, Sir,” said Fellowes, “you’ve got it.
“But I didn’t know of course so I was shouting for people to stand down before we ended up spilling blood that we’d struggle to mop up.
“Pig-face took up the speaker’s position and made his little speech. I’ll give it to you as verbatim as I can, Gentlemen, I can’t say it meant a great deal to me but I’ve been doing this game long enough to know that details are important so I do my best to keep everything locked away.” He tapped the side of his head.
“He said: ‘This is an action on behalf of the army of Dr Moreau.’ I remembered the name but couldn’t think why at the time. Since then I’ve placed it of course. Outside the heat of the moment there’s not much that escapes this ugly old head of mine.
“‘For too long, this world has been under the control of the stupid apes,’ he carried on, which was a bit rich considering one of his men had a monkey’s face on him. But, there you go, you don’t expect much in the way of sense from a man who wears a pig’s head as a mask, do you?
“‘I am here,’ he said, ‘to take away that control and place it in the hands of the next species, the better species. Mankind has had its chance and proven itself incapable time and time again.’
“He got a real good rant going then but I’m afraid I missed a lot of it. That pig mask of his obscured his words something chronic, and when he got excited all you could hear was the sound of wind being forced through that dead old snout of his. It was something of a one-sided history lesson, from The Hundred Years’ War to the Boers—anything and everything he could think to moan about with regard our track record. Personally I think it’s all too easy to give mankind a bad name as long as you’re happy to be selective, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.
“Anyway, it wasn’t the speech of a sane man so I don’t know why I bother trying to judge it. The man was a loon and a dangerous one at that.
“One of my boys decided to try and take his opportunity while pig-face was orating to the masses. He made a break for the doors; I like to think he was rushing to fetch help rather than just thinking about his own neck but we’ll never know. One of the creatures, the leopard-headed one, jumped for him. I tell you, it wasn’t just his head that was unnatural, that thing leaped feet into the air, sailing over people’s heads, befor
e landing on the poor lad. Its teeth made short work of him. He was nothing but bone above the neck by the time he’d taken a couple of bites.
“Of course that soon made the room panic, there was no more time for speeches. The Lords were shouting and screaming and pushing each other out of the way. At the sight of all this chaos the animals were quick to join in too, they were barking and screeching and leaping all over the place. It was only pig-face, Moreau, that managed to get them back on side. ‘Fear the Law!’ he started shouting, ‘Fear the Law!’
“Well, they hadn’t been doing much of that had they? Still, they gathered round him quick enough so it had the desired effect. Of course the rest of us were not so organised. It was madness in there as people made a break for the doors. It took them a few minutes to realise that nothing was stopping them. Moreau had used the chaos to grab the Prime Minister and make his escape. I’m afraid I didn’t even see him do it, it was only afterwards, when cross-examining those who were there that we realised what had happened.
“The Prime Minister had been making for the exit the same as everyone else but the horse-headed one and a short, hairy thing that had a good dose of goat in him had snatched at him before he’d got so much as a few feet across the hall. According to the Speaker of the House, they put a sack over his head and the horse creature carried him out under one arm. The man in question claims he tried to intercede on the Prime Minister’s behalf but, honestly, I don’t believe a word of it, I think he was as scared as all the rest and making it up after the fact as he didn’t want to be seen as a coward. Frankly there’d be no shame in what he did, he’s an old man and he’s never seen active service. No reason why he should suddenly become the man of action when faced with that sort of thing.”
“And they left the building the same way?” asked Holmes.
“They did, gone into the tunnels before we could get any kind of party together.
“I investigated some way down there myself but it soon became obvious that I had no chance of pursuing them in the dark, not on my own anyway. In these sorts of situations it’s never long before we receive communication. If they’ve taken the Prime Minister then likely they want a ransom, we’ll soon hear how much and what they expect us to do next.”
“That may be so,” said Mycroft, “but I’d rather not wait for them to make the next move, not if we can help it.”
“We most certainly can help it,” said Holmes, “we make our move tonight!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Once Fellowes had been shown from the room, Mycroft turned to his brother.
“You seem particularly confident, Sherlock,” he said. “Do you really think Kane intends to lead you to Moreau’s base of operations?”
“I’m fairly certain we’ll have matters resolved before the night is out,” Holmes replied.
“That, my brother, is not quite what I asked.”
Holmes merely smiled. “This has not been a case to exercise the brain, Mycroft, as biologically fascinating as some of its details may have been, the matter was a simple enough one. Now it simply comes down to fast action.”
He turned to me. “Watson, we need to gather a hunting party, would you be so good as to visit The British Museum and enlist Professor Challenger? Of the lot of them he’s the least likely to fall dead of shock the minute he enters the sewers.”
“Nothing could kill that man,” said Mycroft. “He has the sensitivity of an ox.”
“Just so,” Holmes agreed. “And however much Kane may wish it otherwise we simply must have police involvement.”
Mycroft shifted in his seat. “I would rather this wasn’t the talk of Scotland Yard, Holmes. Is there really any need to drag one of your tame inspectors into this?”
“I would trust Lestrade to be discreet,” Holmes replied. “Gregson too, but both are far too well known within the city, I have no doubt Kane would recognise them.”
“Perhaps he just needs to accept that not everything can be as he wishes it,” I suggested. I was more than happy at the idea of the creature being taken down a peg or two. I disliked pandering to him in the least.
“As much as it irritates me to admit it, Watson, we need him. I may have talked a good game at Baker Street but he is in a much stronger position than we are and he’s clever enough to know it. The minute Lestrade turns up on the doorstep, Kane is likely to be out of the back window and halfway up the street.
“Ultimately, what does Kane care if these experiments continue? Oh, he has an axe to grind, of that I’m sure, he wishes for revenge, but he desires his continued freedom even more.”
“That’s if he even intends to help us at all. It must have occurred to you that this could be a trap?”
“Certainly, most probably sprung with his creator’s knowledge. If he wanted to kill us after all, he could have achieved that easily enough back at Baker Street …”
“He nearly did.”
Holmes smiled. “Just so. So why is he keeping us alive? It is either because he is still too scared of his creator to countenance facing him alone, he wants us to help him destroy him, or he is still working for the man he calls his father and his entire story is nothing but a tissue of deceit.”
“There’s one sure way to find out,” said Mycroft.
“Indeed,” said Holmes, “but we must at least allow ourselves some chance of success!”
A thought had occurred to me. “I know just the man!” I said. “Inspector Mann, he’s not local but he’s certainly trustworthy.”
I looked to Mycroft who reluctantly nodded. “I’ll just have to trust your judgement, Doctor,” he said. “But Heaven help you if this ends up in The Police Gazette.”
“Excellent,” Holmes agreed, “I leave you to contact him. I have another couple of fellows in mind but I shall drop a line to them on my way.”
“On your way where?” I asked, only too aware that I was being left out of the picture again.
“To the home address of the man claiming to be Dr Moreau,” he said, “with whatever representatives of the law Mycroft will allow me.”
“What?” Both Mycroft and I asked the same question. Neither of us could believe what Holmes had said.
“Oh I don’t expect him to be there,” Holmes said, as if that explained everything to everyone’s possible satisfaction. “The man’s not an idiot, and while he has done everything possible to cover his identity, I sincerely doubt he’ll risk capture at this important stage in his plans.”
“But who is it?” I asked.
Holmes just smiled. “After your excellent work on this case I wouldn’t dream of telling you. You’ll come to the same conclusion I’m sure, and feel all the more vindicated to have done so under your own steam.”
I could have throttled him.
“And what about me?” asked Carruthers. “What would you like me to do? I’d hate not to be of service at this important stage in the case.”
“Mr Carruthers,” said Holmes, “the role you play will be of vital importance, rest assured of that.”
He looked at me. “Please, Watson, we haven’t much time! Challenger! Mann!”
I considered arguing but experience had taught me how efficacious that usually was. “Very well,” I said, “I shall be your errand boy.”
With considerable restraint I managed to walk out of the room and through the rest of the building without making a single noise.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I cannot recall ever feeling as despondent about my relationship with Holmes as I did during the journey between the Diogenes Club and The British Museum. Certainly there had been many times when Holmes and I had failed to see eye to eye; I had been the target for considerable insults and slights over the years. But there had always been an underlying respect between us, an understanding that, for all his bluster and unreasonable behaviour, the two of us were a partnership. Now, for all his guff about my wanting to come to my own conclusions, all I could see was that I was being deliberately sidelined. He would tell me no
thing and, to add further insult, he would not even involve me in the important aspects of the case.
In all honesty I felt like leaving Baker Street just as I had those few years ago, not to take up a new life as had been the case then, but simply to eradicate the irritations of the current one.
I had the cab stop at a telegraph office en route, glad at least that I had been able to bring Inspector Mann into the fold. I was aware of how my attitude towards the policeman’s feelings was the direct opposite of those of Holmes. I wanted to show Mann trust and respect, I wanted him to be involved rather than stuck on the periphery. I wanted to offer him the things I most wanted for myself. We are very simple creatures, are we not? Whatever the alienists say, the human mind is usually pretty predictable.
I arrived at The British Museum and was relieved at the ease with which I was able to pass through the door; arriving during its hours of opening made things a lot easier. Of course, I was naive to think that I would simply be able to stroll right into the Reading Room where the Science Club had taken up residence.
“Ah, is that Dr Watson?” asked an elderly voice. My heart sank to see the ageing caretaker sat in a chair outside the Reading Room door.
“Indeed it is,” I replied, determined to keep my voice cheery.
He carefully placed a wilting sandwich back into its brown paper nest on his lap, treating it with all the reverence you would expect were it an exhibit. It certainly looked old enough to be. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, once sure it was safe in his lap. “I am a highly contagious, respiration-borne virus. I can lead to pneumonia, bronchitis, encephalitis and ear infections. Fifty years ago I wiped out nearly half the population of Hawaii. What am I?”
I knew damn well what he was but was raised far too well to shout it in public. I therefore had little choice but to answer his question instead.
