The Last Sherlock Holmes Story

by Michael Dibdin

  ‘I say, Holmes, what did happen? What went wrong?’

  For a moment I thought I had blundered. My friend looked up at me with hurt in his eyes, and an expression that seemed to say ‘Et tu, Brute?’ But the next instant he laughed, though it was perhaps rather forced.

  ‘Are you a Brother of the Angle, Watson?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Have you fished?’

  ‘Upon occasion.’

  ‘Then you will be aware that the critical juncture occurs just when your game is nibbling at the bait. Pull too fast and the hook will miss him; too slow, and he will be off with his supper, leaving you with none. These four nights past we have been angling for Moriarty. The unfortunates of Whitechapel were our bait and my patrols the hook. But I was too eager. Not that our time was by any means wasted, for we certainly prevented another murder. But I had set my sights on taking the Professor at his work, and there I failed.’

  I regarded Holmes steadily through a haze of cigar smoke.

  ‘Moriarty was there, then?’

  ‘Certainly he was there. He studied the network of police patrols I had instituted, noted that it was flawless, and retired, gnashing his teeth.’

  ‘Then you did not fail! We have beaten him!’

  Holmes shook his head slowly.

  ‘No, Watson. On the contrary, we may have lost everything. If he were to change his method or his sequence, we should be all at sea once again. Ah, but Watson, imagine his rage! Think what frustration and resentment must be his! He challenged me to a duel, and I have forestalled him. There can be little question that he will now step up his attempts to eliminate me. And therein lies our salvation.’

  ‘Holmes! What are you saying!’

  ‘That we must keep him to his sequence at all costs! His next attempt is not due until the weekend after next. Somehow or other we must occupy his attention until then. Now if I can lure him out of London and keep him entertained until Thursday week, I believe there is an excellent chance that we may still come out of this affair with credit.’

  I was horrified by this proposal, and protested long and volubly, but to no effect. Holmes argued that his life was at risk in any case, and that it was actually to his advantage to leave town.

  ‘Moriarty knows and uses this city as if it were a machine he had personally designed. In the country we shall be on a more equal footing. I rather fancy Wiltshire would suit. It has always attracted me from the train; here is a splendid opportunity to know it better.’

  Seeing that any attempt to dissuade him was doomed to end in failure, I demanded the right to accompany him and to share whatever hardships and dangers lay in store. But once again he refused, and when I insisted he permitted himself some unkind comments on my physical capabilities. At this I fell silent. As soon as I ceased to argue, Holmes applied the balm.

  ‘Don’t look so cast down, old fellow. Your role may appear less glamorous than you could wish, but it is a vital one. It is up to you to hold the fort here, and to keep my base secure. And in the event of my failing to return –’

  ‘Holmes!’

  ‘If I fail to return, I say, by nine o’clock in the evening of the 8th, then you must summon Lestrade and hand him the envelope of papers which you will find in pigeonhole M. I am afraid that it will be like setting Newton’s calculus before an Esquimau, but I will naturally do what I can to ensure that the situation does not arise. No, not another word! I am going out now to attend to some business. After dinner I expect to feel a craving for bright lights and milling throngs. A visit to the music hall would, I fancy, supply both. May I count on your company? It is always salutary to remind oneself that for every man who thrills to Patti’s “Una voce poco fa” there are ten who would sooner listen to Bessie Bellwood’s rendition of “What cheer ’Ria”.’

  I was agreeably surprised by Holmes’s suggestion. After some of the so-called entertainments to which I had accompanied him, it was indeed pleasant to be able to contemplate an evening of real enjoyment. We went to the Oxford,* and I for one had a grand time. I completely forgot all our recent tribulations in the many and varied attractions of the skilfully arranged programme. As act followed act I willingly surrendered to the spell of each artiste – laughing with this one, weeping with that, and joining in the chorus of songs both patriotic and sentimental. I could not remember having enjoyed myself more; but all good things must end, and when the show was over my pleasure was distinctly marred by the discovery that Holmes had disappeared. I searched high and low, I questioned the attendants, I waited for fifteen minutes outside, but at last I was forced to concede that my companion had simply deserted me in mid-evening without so much as troubling to take his leave. I walked back to Baker Street in some considerable disgruntlement. But once I had given the matter some thought I ceased to be quite as surprised, though I remained extremely annoyed at his shabby behaviour. No doubt Holmes had found the proceedings at the Oxford dreadfully common. His taste, as I knew to my cost, inclined more towards highfalutin foreign fairy tales that go on and on for five hours without one hummable tune. There was indeed a distinctly snobbish strain in my friend’s blood, which caused him to shun the pleasures of the people on principle. It was one of the trifling peccadilloes which reminded one that he was, after all, only human.

  There was no sign of Holmes at 221B, however, and when he had still not returned the next morning I began to wonder if I had been mistaken. Was the explanation of this mystery perhaps more sinister than I had realised? Then, just before lunch, a telegram arrived. It had been handed in at Devizes and read: ‘Hare off and running. Hounds hard at heel. Going moderate to heavy. Holmes.’ I looked up from this message, and in my mind’s eye I scanned the bleak windswept uplands of Salisbury Plain and the Wiltshire Downs. All at once this plan of Holmes’s appeared horribly double-edged. If Moriarty was removed from his haunts and helpers, so too was Holmes himself from the refuges and resources of the city none knew better than he. Out in those ancient unpeopled wildernesses he was utterly alone, and might be hunted down and killed like any solitary animal.

  ‘No news, good news’ runs the proverb, but as the days passed with no further word from Holmes, it came to seem a very hollow comfort. Any news, however unwelcome, would at least have banished my unrestrained conjectures. But nine days passed without even a crumb of comfort. Then, on the evening before Holmes was due to return, I made a singular and rather disturbing discovery. It happened in this way. I was sitting before the fire, a book lying unread before me, thinking over the steps I should have to take the following evening if my friend did not reappear. This train of thought led me to recall the envelope of papers which Holmes had instructed me to give Lestrade. Before long I began to speculate on the contents of this packet. What further revelations of Moriarty’s character and misdeeds might it not contain? There could be no harm in my looking through papers of such an impersonal nature. I fetched the envelope from its cubicle in Holmes’s desk, and tore it open. The contents literally staggered me. The document I was to pass on to the police in the event of Holmes’s death, representing all that was known about the Whitechapel murderer, consisted of five sheets of perfectly blank foolscap.

  For a minute or two I considered the possibility of invisible inks and suchlike, but I was soon forced to accept that the entire business of the ‘all-important papers’ and my ‘vital mission’ had been nothing but a contrivance to silence my protests at being left behind. Holmes must have known that whatever evidence he had gathered would be useless – indeed perhaps meaningless – to anyone but himself. He had simply staked all on his ability to outwit the Professor and return in person to conclude the case no one else was equipped to prosecute. But what if he had miscalculated? Supposing Moriarty came off best after all? What was I to do if Holmes did not appear by nine o’clock the following evening? What was I to tell Lestrade? I knew virtually nothing definite about Moriarty, for Holmes had been decidedly reticent when it came to details. He had omitted to say
which university the Professor had resigned from, for instance, or where he had been living in London. I hardly even knew what he was supposed to look like! Holmes had described him as tall and thin, with deeply sunken eyes and rounded shoulders, pale and ascetic in appearance. It was a striking sketch, but it was hardly a basis for identifying an otherwise unknown man. In short, it was evident that the possibility of failure had never occurred to Holmes, or if it had he had refused to entertain it. All he had gained, and all we stood to lose, he had hazarded on the chance of his returning from Wiltshire in time to forestall Moriarty in the streets of Whitechapel. I could only pray that his confidence might not prove to have been mistaken.

  But by dinner hour on Thursday night there was still no sign of my friend. With a heavy heart I ordered Mrs Hudson to send up the roast, of which I partook sparingly. I had no more appetite than a man on the eve of his execution. As the clock struck nine I was toying disconsolately with my pudding when the faintest sound alerted all my senses. I was sitting in my usual place, facing the windows, and the sound I had heard was behind me. Someone was in Holmes’s room! I sprang up from my chair and turned to face the intruder. I do not know whom I expected to see there – Moriarty, perhaps, with Holmes’s blood on his hands and his eyes full of murder. But the sight that greeted me was very different. Lounging against the jamb, resplendent in evening dress, was the man over whose fate I had been agonising for the past ten days.

  ‘Sorry to startle you, Watson.’

  ‘Holmes! I thought you would never get here!’

  ‘Yes, I fear I have made rather a fetish of punctuality on this occasion. I meant to be with you sooner, but the catch on my window proved unexpectedly intransigent.’

  ‘But won’t you eat something? You must be famished.’

  ‘No, thank you. I had a late lunch at the Diogenes Club. But I’ll smoke a cigar with you, while we wait for Lestrade.’

  ‘Lestrade! But he has refused to work with you again. He as good as said so last week!’

  My friend settled himself before the fire.

  ‘My dear Watson, Inspector Lestrade may fancy himself a free agent, but in practice he is a paid employee and does exactly what his superiors tell him to do. On this occasion he has been ordered to assist me in any way I direct. I sent him his instructions late last night and I expect our good George here in person on the stroke of ten.’

  ‘Last night? But surely then you were –’

  ‘If you insist on the Socratic method,’ said Holmes, as he lit his cigar, ‘this is going to take an intolerable time. Will you not settle for a simple narrative, with a period for questions at the end?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I suppose I should begin by apologising for my abrupt departure from the theatre on Monday night. To be honest, my real motive in going there was to facilitate my departure from London. I should have liked to tell you what I was about, but it would never have done. You cannot dissemble, my dear fellow! It is one of your chief charms. Moriarty would have known at once that something was afoot, and with such a pugilist one cannot afford to telegraph one’s punches. He followed us to the Oxford, of course, but I was able to lose him in the crowd, though one of his agents must have spotted me at the door. I left at a quarter to nine, taking a cab to Paddington, where I was just in time to catch the last train to the West of England. Moriarty was not to be put off so easily, however. He immediately commanded a special, which was speedily prepared, the lines being clear at that hour. My train made but four or five stops, and Moriarty observed the same itinerary, enquiring at each station whether a man of my description had alighted there. By this simple process he soon discovered that my destination had been Chippenham. He was barely an hour behind me.

  ‘Chippenham does not offer such a wealth of options to the weary traveller that Moriarty had much trouble in determining at which inn I had put up. But fortunately for myself, and the other inhabitants of that historic pile, the landlord is not used to receiving guests in the small hours. It was only by long and loud resort to the bell that Moriarty gained entrance, and by then both I and my suspicions had been aroused. I dressed hurriedly and left by way of the roof. That incident set the style for all our subsequent encounters. For eight days, Watson, we have played at cat and mouse over Salisbury Plain and the Vale of Pewsey. Imagine if you can a chess game between two masters, such that each must not only plan his every move but execute it too, in person, and on a board the size of an English county. Such is the game with which Moriarty and I have been passing the time since you last saw me. It has proved highly diverting. For instance, if you have been wondering why I chose to climb in through my bedroom window this evening, instead of making a more conventional entrance, the answer is that I wished first to satisfy myself that you were indeed Dr Watson.’

  I must have given Holmes a very strange look at this, for he smiled wryly.

  ‘Don’t worry, old fellow, the strain of the past week has not unbalanced my mind. But that inn at Chippenham is not the only one I have been obliged to quit at short notice. There was also the occasion of your interesting appearance in the little village of West Lavington.’

  ‘But this is absurd!’ I cried. ‘I have not been out of London all week!’

  ‘Therein lies the interest. I was awakened at dawn with the news that a Dr Watson was come from London with an urgent communication from Scotland Yard. I was naturally suspicious, and positioned myself so as to have a clear view of the stairway. Down went the boy, and a moment later who should appear but – you! I was surprised and delighted, and my immediate impulse, of course, was to go and greet you. Had I yielded, it is very doubtful whether I should ever have left that picturesque hamlet, save perhaps in a coffin.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘It was Moriarty. But he had you to the life, my dear Watson! In fact I should assuredly be gathered to the collective bosom of my forebears by now, had he not made one trivial error.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your gammy leg.’

  ‘My leg!’

  ‘Yes, Watson, if you are ever again tempted to curse the jezail bullet which shattered your heel, ended your military career, and can seriously incommode you even today – pause and consider that but for that wound Sherlock Holmes would be no more.’

  ‘But I don’t see how –’

  ‘You do not need me to remind you that it was your left heel which the bullet struck. The Watson who came to meet me at that village inn limped to perfection, but it was his right leg he favoured. I spotted it just in time, and slammed the door in his face. I then leapt from the window and melted away into the twilight of the Plain. But you will appreciate that after that I have become somewhat sceptical of appearances.’

  ‘By Jove, Holmes! If the fellow had got away with his dastardly plot, I would have been charged with your murder!’

  ‘Precisely. Professor Moriarty is by no means devoid of a certain macabre sense of humour, although it is only to be had at a price most people would consider too dear by half.’

  The bell sounded below-stairs, and Holmes leapt to his feet. He rushed over to the door and turned the key in the lock.

  ‘Fetch your revolver, Watson!’ he whispered urgently. ‘This may well be another of his jests.’

  I had barely time to get the weapon out of my desk when someone rapped loudly on the panel of the door.

  ‘Who’s there?’ cried Holmes, standing well to one side.

  ‘Inspector Lestrade.’

  Hearing the familiar nasal voice, I at once relaxed. Holmes, however, made no move to unlock the door.

  ‘Do you recall the St Simon wedding case, Lestrade?’

  There was a brief silence before the official answered.

  ‘Mr Holmes, I haven’t come all this way to play at –’

  ‘Now, now! Do you recall it or not?’

  ‘Of course I recall it. It was only last month.’

  ‘Then you will remember discovering the bride’s clothing in the Serpentine, and
informing me that you were dragging for her body.’

  ‘I do, but what the devil ‘

  ‘Now listen carefully, for this is very important. Can you recall my reply?’

  Once again there was a brief silence. Holmes tensed perceptibly.

  ‘I’m not likely to forget any of your little jibes, Mr Holmes,’ the voice returned bleakly. ‘I believe you said that I would do as well to drag the basin of the Trafalgar Square fountain.’

  My friend at once stepped forward and threw open the door.

  ‘Come in, Lestrade. I must apologise for the challenge, but it was a necessary precaution. We have had a bad case of foes posing as friends just recently.’

  ‘Trouble with imposters, is it?’ enquired the policeman, stepping warily into the room. ‘It sounds to me as if you need protection, Mr Holmes. I should get in touch with the police if I were you.’

  Holmes smiled thinly.

  ‘I fear I am totally incapable of conceiving any circumstances in which you might be me, Inspector. Besides, I have every hope that following our operations tonight the problem will cease to exist.’

  Lestrade raised his eyebrows and returned Holmes’s smile.

  ‘So you still believe the murderer is going to show up, eh? Regular as the almanac, eh Mr Holmes?’

  ‘If you were slightly less obtuse you would be able to see it yourself. That latest letter of his explicitly admits what I stated at the time – that he had been on the point of committing another outrage when he was disturbed by our patrols. What were his words? “Just as I was going to draw me knife along her blooming throat them curses of coppers spoilt the game.” It is over a month since our man last tasted blood. He will be at work tonight, you may be sure of that. The only question is, will we be ready for him? I take it, Lestrade, that the arrangements you were instructed to make have in fact been seen to?’