The Criminal Mastermind of Baker Street

by Rob Nunn

  Holmes turned to face the couple watching from the doorway. “I am a man of my word, and my offer is still available. See that the jewelry is delivered to a man by the name of Redmond at the Waterloo station at nine tonight. I don’t ever want to lay eyes on you two wretched souls again. Now go!”

  Peters and his wife exited quickly and Holmes turned back to Watson. “How is she, doctor?”

  “She will recover, but will require someone to nurse her back to health.”

  “Of course, but it would not do for you and I to be here when she awakes. It could lead to uncomfortable questioning. Can she be left alone for an hour?”

  “She is safe for the short term. But her long-term recovery will need to be overseen,” Watson answered.

  “Then let us go then. On our way back, we will dispatch a telegram to Mr. Philip Green and let him know that although Lady Frances has been burgled by a nefarious foe who has fled London, she is alive and can be found at this address.”

  “And of Peters?”

  “I have given him my word, but I shall expect to hear of their capture soon in their future career. Now that we have finished our adventure with Lady Frances Carfax, I think that something nutritious at Simpson’s would not be out of place.”

  Chapter 18: The End of the Path

  In September of 1902, Holmes was hired by Colonel Sir James Damery to persuade a friend’s daughter out of marrying the murderous Baron Adelbert Gruner, with whom she had become entranced. After using Shinwell Johnson’s underworld contacts and a street fight with two of Gruner’s men, Holmes was able to acquire proof of the baron’s evil dealings and convince his bride-to-be to abandon her plans. Holmes’ client turned out to have an even higher rank than Colonel Sir Damery, and Holmes was rewarded very well for his adventure.

  As 1902 wound to a close and 1903 loomed on the horizon, Sherlock Holmes began to contemplate his retirement. Looking out the window at the passersby below one morning, he commented to Watson, “I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson that I have not lived wholly in vain.”

  Watson looked up from the Clark Russell sea story he was reading and nodded in acknowledgement.

  “If my record were to close soon, I could still survey it with equanimity. In over a thousand crimes I am not aware that I have ever given less than my personal best. Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial ones for which our artificial state of society is responsible. Perhaps, it is time to draw to an end the time of the most capable criminal in Europe and I disappear into that little farm of my dreams.”

  “What has brought on this introspection, Holmes?”

  “From the point of view of the expert criminal, London has become a singularly uninteresting city since the death of the late-lamented Professor Moriarty. With that man in the field, one’s morning paper presented infinite possibilities against which to test my organization. Often it was only the smallest trace, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me that the great malignant brain was there. To the scientific criminal no capital in Europe offered the advantages which London then possessed. But now...” Holmes shrugged his shoulders and returned to his chair after this whimsical protest.

  “It has been over ten years since Moriarty perished. You can’t mean to say that there has been nothing to stimulate your interests in that time.”

  “Of course, the occasional challenge would arise; certainly, Baron Gruner is a most recent example. Small summons from Mycroft and our bout with Mr. Milverton were also high points, but they have become few and far between in the memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. Colonel Moran continues to make threats against me, but I am hardly interested in him as long as he is imprisoned. I am perhaps to blame for the state of things, for I have done so much to produce them myself. Our unrivaled history of unsolved crimes has caused law enforcement to advance to such a degree that the reward for a well-planned crime is hardly worth the risk. Increased scrutiny on suspicious figures has caused me to cut my ties with the Spencer John gang. And just last week the Pinkerton agency was in London, hot on the trail of a member of the Italian Red Circle syndicate. Why would I risk calling attention to myself when such an organization is in our midst?”

  “But your consulting business has picked up quite nicely in the past years. The Hammersmith and James Saunders commissions were both lengthy and engaging. Why, the Fairdale Hobbs matter...”

  “A simple matter. Hardly worth my time; although the payment was sufficient. My own little practice seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. And even you, Watson, my old friend, cannot say that our enterprises fully entertain your attention.”

  “Holmes! How can you say that?”

  “Watson, I’m sure it is no surprise to you that I am aware of your liaisons.”

  Watson blushed. “But I hadn’t said anything yet...”

  “You need not, my friend. It is evident. You have stopped playing billiards with Thurston and are spending much less time in your club, yet you are spending money at the same rate, if not more so, than before.”

  “How on earth did you know that?”

  “Your checkbook is locked in my drawer, and you continue to ask for the key on a steady basis. Clearly, something else has taken your time. You have twice returned with some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat. Had you sat in the center of a hansom you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical. Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion. These times, I also noticed a faint smell of white jessamine. After my studies in Montpellier, I am familiar with seventy-five perfumes, and this scent suggested the presence of a lady, and the other points, along with seven others too trivial to mention, pointed me to my conclusion.”

  “Splendid! It’s true, I have met a young lady.”

  And soon enough, the good Watson had deserted Holmes for a wife, leaving behind Baker Street with the scientific diagrams on the wall, the acid-stained bench of chemicals, the violin case leaning in the corner, the starting point of so many remarkable adventures.

  Sherlock Holmes was alone.

  But Holmes’ solitude did not last long. Although he lived alone, his time was soon taken up with one man: Colonel Sebastian Moran. Just days after Watson’s nuptials, Moran had escaped from prison, and Holmes knew that it was only a matter of time before they met again. Holmes spent the following weeks in fear of air guns, and exhumed the wax bust of himself that had worked so well in their previous meeting.

  He fully expected the tiger hunter to take up chase immediately, but when news of the theft of the great yellow Crown Diamond appeared, Holmes knew that Moran was the only man who could pull off such a heist without word of it leaking to Holmes through his informants. Apparently, Moran was not interested in just the death of Sherlock Holmes, as he had threatened over the years, but in resurrecting Moriarty’s crime syndicate that Holmes had thwarted so many years before.

  Once the underworld heard of the theft and that it was not orchestrated by Holmes, stirrings amongst its members began that he could not allow. Even though Holmes had resigned himself to retirement within a year, his pride would not let him tolerate a new criminal organization rising up while he still resided in London. And an organization headed by anyone associated with the Moriarty gang was deplorable.

  Knowing full well that this would be his last bow as the crime lord of London, Holmes decided that he would take down Moran on his own. Through low level contacts, Holmes was able to find out that Moran had been recruiting, and was quickly able to locate him. Dressed as an old woman, he spent the next day following Moran from his lodgings to the workshop of old Strubenzee, where the colonel exited with a very pretty air-gun. Holmes rushed back to
Baker Street, knowing that a showdown was eminent. He had just exhumed himself from his disguise when Billy the page boy appeared, announcing that Colonel Sebastian Moran was in the waiting room with another man.

  “Ah yes, Sam Merton, the boxer. Not a bad fellow, but the colonel will not hesitate to use him,” Holmes mused. After scribbling a short note, he turned to the page. “Show him up when I ring, Billy. And deliver this note to Mercer immediately afterwards.”

  “Yes sir,” the boy responded.

  “Oh, by the way, Billy, if I am not in the room show him in just the same.”

  Holmes moved to his bedroom, and Billy brought in Moran. After the page left, Moran advanced slowly into the room, jumping when he saw the dummy sitting with its back towards him. Thinking it to be Holmes, Moran advanced on tip toe and raised his heavy stick above his head for a strike.

  “Don’t break it Colonel, don’t break it!” Holmes greeted in a sardonic voice from the bedroom door.

  Moran staggered back, shocked.

  “It’s such a pretty little thing. Tavernier, the French modeler, made it. He is as good at waxwork as Straubenzee is at air-guns. You’d be surprised the history it has,” Holmes said coolly. “Pray, take a seat. Put your hat and stick on the side table. Would you care to put your revolver out also?”

  As Holmes drew a curtain around the statue, Moran sat down. “I wanted to have five minutes’ chat with you, Holmes. I won’t deny that I intended to assault you just now.”

  Holmes sat near Moran and crossed his legs. “It struck me that some idea of that sort had crossed your mind. But why this attention?”

  “You have gone out of your way to annoy me. You have put your creatures on my track. Yesterday there was an old sporting man. Today it was an elderly lady. They had me in view all day.”

  “Keeping an eye on the man who has repeatedly threatened my life is not necessarily out of line. But really sir, you compliment me! You give my little impersonations your kindly praise.”

  “It was you! You are not dogging me because of my threats from prison. Why are you doing this?”

  “I want that yellow Crown Diamond,” Holmes said matter-of-factly. “You knew that I was after you for that, and that was your intention when you stole it. The theft would not only shake my aging organization and make a name for yourself, but it would force us to face one another. And you are here tonight to find out how much I know about the matter. Well, you can take it that I know all about it, save one thing, which you are about to tell me.”

  Moran sneered at Holmes. “And, pray, what is that?”

  “Where the diamond is.”

  Moran barked out a short, ferocious laugh in reply.

  Holmes sighed and continued. “Now, Colonel, if you will be reasonable we can do business together. If not, you may get hurt. Do you know what I keep inside this book sitting next to me?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  “You. You’re all here. Every action of your vile and dangerous life. The real facts as to the death of Miss Minnie Warrender of Laburnum Grove. The story of young Arbothnot, who was found drowned in the Regents Canal just before his intended exposure of you for cheating at cards, not unlike Ronald Adair I might add. How about the robbery in the train deluxe to the Rivera? How about the forged check on the Credit Lyonnais the same year?”

  “No, you’re wrong there.”

  “Then I’m right on the others. Now, Colonel, you are a card player. Also a cheat, but a card player, still. When the other fellow holds all the trumps it saves time to throw down your hand. These crimes have all gone unreported because they never interfered with my organization and many were protected by Professor Moriarty. But he is dead and you are impinging on my territory. Now, if I touch this bell it means the police, and from that instant the matter is out of my hands. You are a wanted man, Colonel. Do you dare risk it?”

  Moran stared at his opponent, hatred burning in his eyes, but Holmes could also see that his words had had an effect on the man.

  “Now, consider. You’re going to be locked back up. So is Sam Merton. What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you let me know where it is... Well, I’ll grant you and Mr. Merton time to leave London for good.”

  “And if I refuse? I’m supposed to trust you? You murdered Moriarty.”

  “Come now, Colonel. It could hardly be called murder. It was self-defense. Perhaps I am growing soft in my old age, but I am willing you to go your way and I shall go mine. But if you make another peep or are seen anywhere near London or myself, then God help you.”

  Holmes rang the bell and Billy stepped in.

  “Billy, show up the large gentleman from the waiting room.” Turning back to Moran, he continued, “I think we had better have your friend at this conference. No good fingering your revolver. No, it didn’t go unnoticed that you sat on it earlier. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers. Better stick to air-guns.”

  Billy soon returned and showed Sam Merton in.

  “Good day, Mr. Merton. I should say it is all up.”

  Merton looked at Moran.”Is this cove tryin’ to be funny or what? I’m not in the funny mood.”

  “You’ll feel even less humorous as the evening advances, I can promise that. Now look here, Colonel, I’m a busy man and I can’t waste time. I’m going into the bedroom. Pray make yourselves at home. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies. I shall try over a piece on my violin. In five minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the alternative, don’t you? Give up the stone, sir.”

  With that, Holmes disappeared into his bedroom.

  Merton spun towards Moran. “What’s that? He knows about the stone?”

  Music began to play from behind the closed door to the bedroom as the Colonel and the boxer talked over their plight, Moran telling all the details of his conversation with Holmes.

  After looking at the shadow of the wax statue for a minute, Moran turned back to Merton. “Look, I’ve got the stone in my secret pocket. It can be out of England tonight, cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Saturday. Holmes won’t do anything to us until he knows where the stone is, which will give us enough time to get it out of the country. You run off to Van Seddor and give him the stone. I’ll fill up Holmes with a bogus confession. Here’s the diamond.”

  Moran took a small leather box from his pocket and extended his arm towards Merton.

  As if by magic, Holmes stood up quickly from the chair where the statue had been earlier. “I thank you.” Quickly, he snatched the box from Moran and stepped back. “No violence gentlemen, I beg of you. Consider the furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an impossible one.”

  “You devil!” Moran cried. “How did you get there?”

  “You are not aware that a second door from my room leads behind the curtain. And as for the music, these modern gramophones are a wonderful invention. No, Colonel, no. Don’t try anything. I am covering you with a .450 Derringer through the pocket of my dressing gown.”

  Holmes rang the bell for Billy again. When the boy entered, Holmes simply said, “Send them up.”

  A cadre of tough men came through the door moments later. Mercer, Holmes’ general utility man, led Hatherly, Redmond, McMurdo and Allard into the room.

  “Ready, Mr. Holmes?” Mercer asked.

  Holmes toyed with the box in his hand. “Yes, Mercer. Make sure that Colonel Moran is no longer a threat to me. Billy, will you show these gentlemen out and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner as soon as possible?”

  After the group had shut the door behind them, Holmes settled into his chair, lit his pipe with a burning coal from the fireplace, and decided once and for all that his time in Baker Street had come to an end.

  Chapter 19: A Life Led Far from the Fogs of Baker St
reet

  Sherlock Holmes did indeed retire after more than twenty years in criminal practice in London. Refusing to become like one of those popular tenors that are still tempted to make repeated farewell bows, even though they had outlived their time, Holmes said farewell to his rooms on Baker Street at the end of 1903. Five miles from Eastbourne upon the Sussex downs, he settled into a little villa with his housekeeper. After completing one last monograph upon the similarities between dogs and their owners, Holmes withdrew from public life. During this period of rest, some ambitious folk offered princely offers for him to plan or just consult on their schemes, but he always refused, determining that his retirement was to be a permanent one.

  Holmes had given himself entirely up to a soothing life of nature after years amid the gloom of London. He continued his studies in chemistry and took a passing interest in philosophy, but beekeeping became his passion. Holmes had become an omnivorous reader in his retirement of all things natural, and his book collection on bee culture boasted the most renowned and obscure volumes.

  Holmes, the housekeeper and his bees had the estate all to themselves. From his position upon the southern slope of the downs, his villa commanded a great view of the Channel. He found himself at the mercy of occasional attacks or rheumatism, but strolls among the chalk cliffs and the admirable beach in the exquisite air were a welcome relief to his aging body.

  Now that he was married again, Watson had passed almost beyond Holmes’ ken. An occasional weekend visit from Watson was all that Holmes ever saw of his old friend anymore. Watson had found a new career as an author of some fame. From his years of experience, Watson was able to take capers he had been privy to and turn them into stories of the consulting detective, Sheridan Hope. These stories proved to be wildly popular, and using the pseudonym Ormond Sacker, Watson published a number of them in the Strand magazine. Although Holmes chided Watson for his romantic flourishes and complained that Watson had degraded what should have been a course of lectures into a series of tales, he secretly enjoyed seeing his life’s work being shared with the public in a guarded manner.