Sherlock Holmes: The Quality of Mercy and Other Stories

by William Meikle

  “Now, gentlemen,” Seton said once we were sure everything would stay quiet. “My cards are on the table. I know that I would like to take the attack to the bugger. How about you? Are you serious about returning to London and bearding the lion in his den?”

  “Perfectly serious,” Holmes replied. “I am tired of slinking in shadows. I would like to make a triumphant entrance if possible, but with Lord Crawford’s testimony hanging over our heads I do not see how it can be done.”

  Seton smiled. “That is something I may be able to help with.”

  Seton left us for several minutes and returned dragging some heavy manacles and chains behind him.

  “This old castle hasn’t needed these for many years,” he said. “But they may prove useful tonight.”

  He half-carried, half-dragged the chains over to the pentacle on the floor.

  “I have been experimenting with a means to take the fight to my attacker,” Seton said. “But I have been wary about trying it without someone here to help me in case it goes wrong. Tonight is the perfect opportunity and might be the only chance we get.”

  He stepped completely into the pentacle and locked himself into the manacles.

  “These chains will wrap twice around my body, if you would be so kind, Doctor?”

  I did as I was bidden, wrapping him in the chains, the weight of which almost buckled his knees. He sat down hard on the floor and nodded.

  “Perfect. Even if he gets control of my body he will be unable to do much about it.”

  “If who gets control?” I asked, but I already knew the answer to that. Seton ignored me and looked toward Holmes.

  “You knew the man. Will you be able to keep him talking for a while? If we can distract him, then I may be able to do some good at the other end in London.”

  Holmes nodded.

  “I see. You plan to give him an opening, so to speak—allow him into your body while you switch into Lord Crawford? I must admit to being baffled as to the how of this matter, but I shall take your word that it is possible. If it is Moriarty’s spirit that turns up, I am sure we shall find plenty to talk about,” Holmes said dryly.

  Seton laughed. He seemed to do that more than any other man I have ever met, so much so that I had started to wonder if he wasn’t actually quite mad.

  “I never said it was possible,” the Scotsman said. “I only said that I would try. I do not think the idea that I can emulate his trick has crossed Moriarty’s mind, but if it has, he might be prepared for it and all that will happen is that I will sit on this cold floor for a while. We shall see what we shall see. Help yourself to my uisque, gentlemen. This could prove to take a while, as we need to wait until he renews his attack.”

  With that he fell quiet, sitting inside the pentacle with his eyes closed.

  “I say, Holmes,” I whispered. “You are not taking any of this nonsense seriously are you?”

  Holmes took so long to reply I thought he might be ignoring the question, and when he did reply it was in deadly earnest.

  “I saw much on my travels in the East that has taught me never to underestimate the power inherent in the human will,” he said. “And if anyone had the strength of will to pierce the veil of death, then surely Moriarty is that man. At this point in the proceedings, I am keeping an open mind, and I suggest you do the same, Watson.”

  The absurdity of our situation did not escape me. We were somewhere deep under a Scottish keep, with Lestrade looking for us overhead, watching a man who claimed to be immortal sitting inside a pentagram, wrapped in chains.

  “We are rather far from the fireside in Baker Street,” I said to myself.

  Holmes chuckled. “But at least we can still have a smoke.”

  I rolled us a cigarette each. We smoked in silence, all the while having an occasional glance toward the pentagram. Seton had been so quiet I thought he might be asleep, but just as I reached the last puff of my cigarette, the Scotsman’s body started to twitch violently as if he was having a seizure. I got off the bench, thinking to go to his aid, but Holmes held me back.

  “No, Watson. I think it has begun. Let me do any talking that is required.”

  Seton started to struggle ever more violently, but the chains held and he was unable to move. His head came up slowly, and when he saw Holmes he smiled broadly.

  “You have come further than I thought,” he said. It was the same clipped English voice I had heard Crawford use back in Parliament, and it was quite a shock to the system to hear it again coming from the Scotsman’s mouth. “And I see you have made some preparations in the event of my success.”

  He rattled the chains theatrically. “What say you, Holmes? Is this not my most creative endeavor thus far?”

  Holmes made a long slow play of stubbing out his cigarette in the grate before replying.

  “It is certainly a very creative act, Mister Seton. You must have spent a long time in Moriarty’s company to be able to mimic the voice so accurately. I particularly like the way you have captured the slight Northern accent that the man himself struggled so hard to hide. Leeds, if I’m not mistaken?”

  The chained figure—I cannot bring myself to call him Moriarty—laughed.

  “Come, Holmes, that is beneath even you. What would Seton have to gain by such deception? And does Seton know that you had a glass of whisky in one hand and a pipe in the other when you allowed a peer of the realm to leap out of a window? What about you, Watson—did I not call you the faithful dog? Did you forget that?”

  Holmes waved a hand. “Parlor tricks do not impress me. Moriarty was a man of science. He would not stoop to the pretense of the existence of some kind of afterlife.”

  The sitting figure laughed again. “If it is proof you want, you only have to take your own life; it is the simplest thing. A touch too much morphine should do it painlessly enough—certainly with less drama than throwing yourself off a waterfall.”

  He rattled the chains again. “But come, Holmes. Surely you have questions of me? Will you not attempt to uncover my plans? Will there be no dramatic pronouncements of how I will be caught and brought to justice? I think you’ll find some difficulty in that area.”

  “If it is the matter in London of which you speak,” Holmes said. “Lestrade is already convinced of our innocence in any wrongdoing. It is a misunderstanding; that is all, Mister Seton. If you are seeking to profit from our discomfort I am afraid you will have a long wait.”

  The man in the pentacle laughed again.

  “You mean to keep up this pretense? Very well then, so be it. But remember this night, Holmes. There will come a time, and it will be soon, when you may wish you had asked more questions of me.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow.

  “I have learned all I need to know about you, Seton; you are a liar and a charlatan, merely trying to profit from our reduced circumstances.”

  The sitting man’s lips turned up in a snarl. “Admit it, Holmes: this time I have bested you.”

  It was Holmes’ turn to laugh. “And pray tell me,” he said. “Which of us is currently sitting in chains?”

  This time, the chain-rattling was not done for dramatic effect but was a serious attempt to test the strength of the bonds. It did not last long—the iron was old, but it was strong, and it held.

  Holmes laughed again. “Nice try, Mister Seton, but I am afraid you have not got the accent quite right. Besides, it has been several years since I killed Moriarty. Why would he return now?”

  The sitting figure went still, lifted his head and smiled. “Why indeed? Now we come to the question you really want to ask. But why should I help you with clues? No, Holmes, you have much work to do if you are to stop me this time. I have the upper hand, and you are a fugitive from justice. I will be there to watch you hang,” the sitting man said.

  Then, as if a switch had been thrown, his head fell forward and the body slumped. This time, when I moved to Seton’s aid, Holmes did not stop me.

  Seton’s eyes rolled up in their
sockets and he fell in a dead faint, his head hitting the stone floor hard. It took me far too long to get him out of the chains, and I had a bad moment or two when I thought he might have died on me, but when we got him over to the fire it became apparent he was still breathing. For how much longer that would be the case I was not entirely sure, for his heart was thudding so fast I thought his chest might burst. He breathed in short sharp gasps, and when he sat up suddenly and screamed I dashed near had a seizure myself.

  “Whisky,” he whispered. As a medical man I should have said no, but I had a feeling that my medical skills were not actually required. I was proved right seconds later when, after a slug of liquor that might have floored a horse, he was breathing regularly and his heartbeat had slowed to a walking pace. It took him several minutes after that, however, before he felt able to talk.

  “I will not be doing that again in a hurry,” he said. “But even if you did not learn anything at this end, I think you will find it was worthwhile when I tell you my tale.” With that he stood, shakily at first, then with more confidence. “But I shall have to make haste, for you need to get out of here. Our opponent now knows where you are and, given his position, will surely use the information sooner rather than later. You must be off, and quickly.”

  Holmes had said nothing since the man’s collapse in the pentacle, and he still did not speak, leaving it to me to voice my concerns.

  “I cannot leave you, man,” I said. “You may look as strong as an ox, but I know how close to death’s door you have just come.”

  Seton smiled. “I plan on being around a wee while longer, Doctor; you may have no fear on that score. But we must split up, for he may attack at any time, and now that he has had access once, it may be easier for him from now on. I cannot chance giving him your location each time.”

  Holmes finally spoke. “I can see the logic in that,” he said. “And I sense the urgency. So, quickly, Seton; tell me what you have learned.”

  “I do believe I was nearly lost completely,” Seton said while filling a pipe from a tobacco box on the mantel-piece. “I drifted somewhere in a black infinity that was almost peaceful. Shadows drifted with me and some even tried to speak, but the voices were faint and indistinct, like shouts heard from a distance through a strong wind. The feeling of kinship, of brotherhood with those shadows was almost overpowering.”

  He paused, and seemed almost wistful before getting back to the subject. “But that part can wait for more a more conducive time, after I have had time to think on the ramifications of what I experienced there. I shall attempt to stick to the important aspects of my experience. I was in that blackness for a long time. After what seemed an eternity, I opened my eyes to see a well-appointed office space. I realized that this must be Lord Crawford’s office in the Lords, a room that I believe the good Doctor here is familiar with?”

  He went on without waiting for a reply. “I knew that I might not have much time, and indeed, as it turnrd out, I only just managed to complete the tasks. But I did accomplish three things, all of which are pertinent. My first step was to write a letter to Inspector Lestrade, saying that I had recanted my previous statement and that Sherlock Holmes did not in fact kill anyone. It was scrawled rather hastily, and it will not get you off completely, of course, but it should sow sufficient confusion to buy you some time.

  “I sealed the letter and took it out into the corridor where I made sure the young policeman there knew both what its contents were and to whom it should be delivered. His testimony to our conversation should also lead to further confusion.”

  Seton had finally got his pipe lit to his satisfaction and was puffing away merrily. He showed no signs that he had been near death just minutes before. I still doubted he was immortal, but he did seem to have a truly remarkable constitution.

  “I have saved the last pieces of information for last,” he continued. “For I am unsure of their import. As I was acutely aware that my time might be short, I returned to the lord’s office and started to go through the items on his desk, in the hope that there might be some indication of his plans.

  “I found a note from the Home Secretary asking for recommendations on dealing with ‘the current Irish situation’, a large file which contained detailed diagrams and costing for the building of the new Central London underground line, and a railway timetable for the Fenchurch-Street-to-Southend line. Make of that what you will.”

  “Is there anything else you remember?” Holmes asked.

  Seton shook his head. “I was about to start on the desk drawers when I felt something tug at me. The next thing I knew I was back here, struggling for breath and in urgent need of uisque.”

  Holmes went quiet again and took on a look that I knew meant a long period of contemplation was looming; one that we scarce had time for. Seton had also spotted Holmes’ silence.

  “I was serious when I said you must leave … and quickly,” Seton reminded us. “I need to stay here, but I will do all I can to help. I may even be able to come to your aid at an opportune moment if the chance arises.”

  Seton suddenly seemed imbued with a sense of purpose. He led us back up out of the underground tunnels and made us wait in the shadows while he checked that the police were indeed gone. We then made our way quickly back into the small library where we had left Lestrade and the others—there was no sign of them bar some lengths of rope left lying on the floor. The shotgun was still leaning against the wall where Seton had left it earlier.

  Seton saw me looking at the weapon.

  “Do not even consider taking that with you,” he said with a grin. “You’ll do yourself a mischief before you get a hundred yards lugging that beast. Let’s get you something more useful, shall we?”

  Twenty minutes later we were on our way down the dark driveway. I carried the Gladstone bag; heavier now, having gained some food and ale to help us on the journey. Before leaving I tried to persuade Seton to reconsider and join us, but he had already retreated back into a muttering reverie and even as we said good-bye at the door of the keep he was reciting his litany.

  I turned and gave one last wave, but he did not acknowledge it and was soon lost from sight in the gloom.

  Chapter 4

  EF

  Dawn broke to find us walking along a high moorland road somewhere south of Comrie, on a path that Holmes informed me would eventually bring us to the outskirts of Dunblane and thence south to Kincardine, where we would finally be able to cross the Forth. I was glad to be with someone with knowledge of the geography for, apart from the salmon runs of the Tweed and the Dee, I had little sense of my way around Scotland outside the cities.

  Holmes seemed thoughtful but in good spirits, which is more than could be said for myself. I was finding it hard to come to terms with what I had witnessed in the chamber under the keep, and daylight brought with it a return to some kind of rational thinking on my part. The more the sun rose, the more the events took on a dream-like quality, and I began to suspect that we had been hoodwinked completely by a master illusionist.

  I explained my misgivings to Holmes, expecting the great rationalist himself to agree with me, but to my astonishment he held to a completely opposite viewpoint.

  “No, Watson,” he said. “I have no doubt at all that it was Moriarty I was speaking to, albeit from Seton’s mouth. There were certain nuances in his accent and patterns of speech that immediately identified him to me. He has indeed found a way to pierce the veil of death.”

  “But surely …”

  I was given no time to continue, as Holmes spoke over me, as if to himself. “Trust me, Watson, he has a bigger plan than just ruining you and me. We are merely a diversion, a way to keep Scotland Yard looking elsewhere while he puts his machinations into action.”

  I asked Holmes to halt for a while and we sat by the side of the track where we had been walking. I rolled fresh cigarettes and we smoked as Holmes continued.

  “It is not power he wants, Watson. With Moriarty it was never the power,
despite the fact that he could use his position in the House of Lords to many purposes. No, his criminal tendencies will out, even now. I suspect he has something big in mind, something that his new situation makes him uniquely qualified for. I just have not hit on the heart of the matter yet. But I will, Watson … I will.”

  When we set off again he let me in on the next part of the plan. “We must return to London,” he said, “and begin a surveillance on his Lordship. That is our only recourse now—foil his plan and we may be able to force a confrontation that will unmask the whole affair. We can only hope that Seton’s actions while in London last night will work in our favor.”

  I admit I was still skeptical of the whole affair. I could not bring myself to believe in the transfer of personality in such an esoteric fashion as had supposedly been shown to us. But it seemed that Holmes intended to proceed as if it were fact, and I decided that I must play along, and see the thing through to the conclusion. After all, I did not have many other options, as handing myself in at that point would have served no purpose at all now that we had burned our bridges with Lestrade.

  3

  We spent two more days getting as far as Edinburgh, thanks to a lot of walking on country pathways and some fortuitous carts of produce driven by farmers that happened to be going in our direction. There was also rather too much dodging through hedgerows and slogging through muddy fields to avoid being seen, so much so that I’m afraid our clothing took rather a beating in the process. By the time we arrived in the capital we were once more threadbare, mud-strewn, and bedraggled.

  Holmes, however, had an answer for that, and, as he had done in Glasgow, he led me straight to a bar. This one was in the Grassmarket, in the shadow of the Castle, and reaching it needed a degree of stealth and the luck of arriving during some heavy rain that kept the streets quiet. I felt somewhat like a drowned rat, however, when he led me into the bar’s doorway. He rapped three times and we were allowed entry into an empty bar.