Chapter X Back To Baker Street
The two men followed the bank clerk into the vault. It was a scene they had played out several times in the past week.
“If you will kindly sign the ledger, Colonel Moriarty.”
“Of course,” he replied.
He picked up the quill pen with his long thin fingers and signed the authorization form for the release of his safe deposit box. The forged signature was perfect.
In the past few days Holmes and Wiggins, in the guise of Colonel Moriarty and his assistant, had effectively looted the wealth of the crime syndicate. The valise that they had captured from the Colonel as he fell to his death contained all the keys they needed: keys to safe deposit boxes; listings of secret numbered accounts; a map of the Colonel’s private study showing which floorboards to remove in order to find the funds concealed in his home for emergency purposes; and, most important of all, records of payments made to corrupt officials in the employ of the Moriarty organization. This is what Holmes wanted most of all. This would be his major weapon in his attempt to remove from society all remaining influences of the Moriarty’s.
I had received a telegram from Holmes instructing me to meet him in Dieppe. It was the first word I’d had from my friend since his departure after the shooting of John Clay. The previous ten days had been filled with wonder and anxiety as I awaited news of Holmes’ escapades on the Continent. His message, however, shed very little light on the subject. It read as follows;
Watson, you are needed. Meet me in Dieppe at once.
S.H.
I wasted no time in following Holmes’ instructions. After throwing a few things in my traveling bag I was on my way to France. I made excellent connections with the boat-train and within a matter of hours I was docking on the shores of Dieppe. As I departed the boat with an eye open for Holmes, I was approached by a decrepit-looking Italian priest who seemed very familiar to me. He smiled and spoke a few words in Italian as he casually took me by the arm and led me to his carriage. His coachman opened the door for me and I entered the passenger compartment of the carriage accompanied by the clergyman. Why Holmes and Wiggins were masquerading about in this fashion was beyond my knowledge, but I knew enough about Holmes’ methods to just play along. Once inside the coach my friend abandoned his foreign tongue.
“You’re looking quite fit, Doctor. Returning to our rooms at Baker Street seems to have been the perfect tonic for you. I trust you will forgive my current attire but I desire to keep my presence here a secret. The job is almost done.”
I prepared to bombard my friend with an array of questions but before I could do so he stopped me.
“Let us enjoy this peaceful ride together, Watson. I promise to explain everything when we reach our rooms.”
He smiled at me and then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. I fought back my desire to quiz him further and accepted his wishes to ride on in silence. As I stared into his face, I saw the same benevolent smile that I had noticed on that New Year’s Eve in Baker Street. Holmes looked more contented than I could ever remember. I put my mind to rest as the expression on his brow told me that his mission had been a success.
In a short while we had reached the entrance to a small inn which was the current residence of my two companions. Wiggins alighted from the coach and handed the reins to a stable-boy waiting at the gate. We then adjourned to our quarters. Once inside, Holmes and Wiggins quickly reverted to their true personas.
“We can relax our guard in here,” Holmes spoke as he closed the door to the room.
“Are we in some danger?” I inquired.
“The world is a dangerous place, my dear Doctor. But I trust it is a little less dangerous than it was a week ago.”
Holmes shot a quick smile at Wiggins who grinned back at him in return. They quickly noticed my look of dismay at not knowing what had occurred since I had seen them last.
“We do owe you a bit of an explanation, Doctor Watson,” Wiggins said in sympathy of my situation. “Let me pour us a round of drinks and we’ll bring you up to date. I daresay that the events of the last week will provide you with a wealth of literary material.”
He still had that same grin on his face as he spoke to me. My curiosity had never been more aroused as I accepted my drink and sat back to hear their story. Holmes lit his pipe and began to speak.
“Where shall I begin?” he asked aloud.
“Your departure for Switzerland might be a good starting point,” I suggested. “Or perhaps you could begin by explaining Wiggins’ sudden disappearance from the hospital.”
“An excellent idea, Watson,” he said as he paused to inhale deeply on his pipe. “My, but it has been an extraordinary week.”
With that, he went on to relate the incredible series of adventures that he and Wiggins had experienced since I had seen them last. I sat listening, captivated by his every word. My hand moved as quickly as possible as I attempted to preserve the tale in my notebook. The boat trip, their travels across Europe, their meeting with Moriarty at the falls and the gruesome account of his death filled the pages of my book as I sat and absorbed this remarkable story.
Holmes then went on to tell me of the travels to the various financial institutions that he and Wiggins had undertaken in the week past. He recounted their systematic plundering of the wealth of the Moriarty empire.
“This is why we need your help, Watson,” he said as he concluded his account and walked over to a small closet containing six large suitcases. Taking one of the apparently very heavy cases in hand, Holmes carried it to the bed and laid it open for my inspection. It was a sight that was difficult to believe. Staring back at me from the case was more money, in more denominations and currencies, than I ever dreamt existed in this world. British pounds, German Deutsche marks, French and Swiss francs, Italian lira, gold and silver coins from all over the globe and a varied assortment of jewels filled the overstuffed suitcase. I was totally speechless.
“Quite a sight, is it not Doctor?” Wiggins asked.
I could not answer him nor could I take my eyes off this immense treasure.
“As near as we have been able to figure,” the young inspector went on to say, “it adds up to about one hundred and seventy million British pounds.”
“Give or take a farthing,” added Holmes with a chuckle.
“Good Lord,” I stated, “This treasure should be protected by an army of armed guards.”
“You’re missing the point of your venture here, Watson,” Holmes pointed out to me. “We are the sole guardians of this fortune. It is now up to us to get it back to England safely. No one must know of it’s existence or origin. Remember that we are operating under a pledge of secrecy to the Prime Minister.”
“You mean that the three of us are going to carry this fortune back to England?”
“Exactly,” answered the great detective.
I shuddered at the thought.
“Traveling in the guises of a clergyman, his valet, and his trusted friend, we three will nonchalantly escort the wealth of the Moriarty organization back home. We will then return it to the proper authorities.”
I listened intently as Holmes spoke but could still not take my eyes off the suitcase and it’s contents. For all I had learned of the breadth and scope of the Moriarty crime family, it was not until I saw this fortune sitting before me that I fully comprehended the enormity of their power.
“We shall relax here this evening and begin our journey home in the morning. And now, Watson, as we have been out of touch for some ten days, perhaps you would be so kind as to bring us up to date on events back home since our departure.”
“Of course,” I responded, finally forcing myself to look away from the treasure before me. “I have brought with me some of the newspapers from the past few days. Although most of the details surrounding the case are still under wraps, the events of the gunfight with John Clay are now public knowledge. The Prime Minister has also gone public with the fact that you and I, along with Inspector Wiggins, were working secretly with the government on a sensitive mission. Our names have been cleared and the false report of the death of Wiggins has been explained. The Queen has also issued a statement extending her gratitude to us all. Letters and telegrams have been pouring in to Baker Street at an incredible rate and I daresay that this adventure has made your name more famous than ever before, if that is possible.”
Holmes did not seem the least bit gratified by this fact, but Wiggins appeared quite taken with the idea of being labeled a hero by his Queen. He had an ear to ear smile on his face as he listened to my story.
“Has there been any mention of Colonel Moriarty?”
“As far as I know, he has not been connected with the case in any way.”
“What about the woman?” Holmes inquired.
“Clay’s mistress? She was taken into custody and placed in the Bow Street gaol to await her trial on charges of conspiring with Clay. However, her health was in question as the shock of Clay’s death has had a profound effect on her mental state, as might be expected. She has since been transferred to St. Bart’s. The police doctor felt that it was best to keep her there, especially when he found out she was with child.”
Sherlock Holmes turned white at the mention of this bit of news. The contented look that I had earlier noted disappeared completely from his face and was replaced by an expression of intense dismay. He did not utter another word the entire evening and when Wiggins and I awoke in the morning to begin our trip home, we found Holmes still sitting in the chair that we had left him in on the previous night.
Holmes had turned a potential disaster into the crowning victory of his career but, to look at him as we prepared to depart for home, it was quite clear that he was deeply troubled. He remained silent and morose during our entire trip. The news of Alexandria’s situation had drained all the joy from his achievement.
Our journey back to London was quiet and uneventful. Although we carried with us the enormous fortune that Holmes and Wiggins had confiscated, no one but ourselves was aware of it’s existence. Hence, we calmly made our way back to Baker Street.
Upon arriving at the threshold of 221B, we ascended the stairs, greeted Mrs. Hudson and were soon situated in the comfort of our rooms. The tranquility of our humble surroundings filled me with a sense of delight; a feeling that always accompanied my returning home. It was clear, however, that my friend did not share this feeling of contentment. He slumped into his favourite chair and sat silently smoking his pipe. The look in his eyes was quite distant.
“Holmes, please,” I implored, “tell us what it is that has you so troubled.”
“I cannot live with it,” he replied.
“Live with what?” I questioned.
“The guilt that I feel for what I have done to that poor woman,” said he.
“We saw that `poor woman’ shoot Charles Milverton right before our eyes,” I stated firmly. “Do you not remember the coldness with which she stared at us as we sat in our gaol cell. Do you not recall the hatred she expressed toward us? What is it that causes you such feelings of guilt?”
“Her misfortune is my creation,” Holmes said. “Without meaning to, I have destroyed her life. First, I put her lover in prison and by so doing forced her into a life of misery. She spends years waiting and trying to free the man she loves. She sacrifices everything and dedicates herself to that end. Although her choice in men and methods is somewhat questionable, her loyalty is not. Now, for the second time, I have deprived her of the love in her life, and in so doing I have deprived her child of it’s father. If she is convicted of the charges currently against her, the child will be taken away from her at birth. I cannot live with it.”
Wiggins and I sat quietly for a moment reflecting on Holmes’ words. Despite the life that Alexandria Drake had led, one could not help but feel sorry for her current situation. Indeed, she was truly a victim of cruel circumstances.
“I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Holmes,” Wiggins spoke after a moment, “but you can’t blame yourself.”
“He’s right, Holmes,” I interrupted, “you were doing your job, and now, I’m afraid that the matter is out of our hands.”
Holmes gazed at me and then at Wiggins. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. We both realized what was coming next.
“I shall require your help one more time before we can write the conclusion to this story. Are you still with me, gentlemen?”
“There’s no need to ask us that, Mr. Holmes,” Wiggins stated, “What is it that you have in mind?”
The corridors of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital were nearly deserted: only the small nighttime staff was on duty. Wiggins approached the main desk, flashed his Scotland Yard badge and requested to know the whereabouts of Miss Alexandria Drake. He was told her room number and was informed that he should go speak to the guard stationed outside of her door. We followed him through the halls of the hospital and made our way to her room.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” the uniformed officer on duty in the hallway asked us.
“We are here to transport the lady to her new location,” Wiggins answered.
“New location?” the guard quizzed, “I have not been informed of any plans to move the patient. May I see your proper identification?”
Wiggins again produced his inspector’s badge and displayed it for the guard to see. The officer’s eyes opened wide when he read the name on the badge.
“Inspector Wiggins, I am very honoured to make your acquaintance, sir. These gentlemen must be Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson- How may I help you?”
“We are under the most confidential orders to move the lady to an undisclosed destination with all possible haste,” Wiggins informed the man. “I’d like you to wait here and make sure that we are not disturbed as we help her prepare for her journey.”
“Yes sir,” snapped the officer, raising his hand to salute the rising young star of Scotland Yard.
Wiggins opened the door to the hospital room and the three of us entered the lady’s quarters. The sound of our voices outside of her door had awakened her and she was sitting up in bed as we set foot inside of her room. Holmes walked up to the side of her bed and it was evident the she instantly recognized him.
“May I speak with you for a moment?” he asked in a most gentle voice.
Alexandria stared up at the famous detective for several moments before answering. The coldness and hatred that I remembered from our previous encounter were no longer evident on her facial features. She looked at Holmes with sadness and fear in her eyes before nodding her head `yes’ in response to his question.
“Madame, it was never my intention to cause you pain or to harm you in any way. However, through the strange twists of fate and circumstance, I have deeply wounded you on several occasions. I am aware of your current situation and, if you will permit me, I am prepared to make amends.”
She gazed up at him with a look of wonder and helplessness. She said nothing but the slightest movement of her eyes implored Holmes to continue.
“I have made arrangements to get you out of here and have booked passage on a ship sailing in the morning for America. I have acquired all the necessary papers that you will need to assume a new identity. I have also come into possession of the bulk of John Clay’s funds which I am turning over to you.”
He placed a brown-leather briefcase on the side of her bed, opening it to show that it contained a substantial sum of money within.
“You will be free to begin a new life in a new country: no one will ever look for you. Do you feel strong enough for such a journey?”
Tears formed in the corners of Alexandria’s eyes. She looked at Holmes in disbelief. “Yes,” was the only word she was able to get out.
“Then let us begin at once.”
We helped her gather the few possessions that she had in her room and then went out into the hallway to wait for her to dress. In a few minutes she emerged from the door. Wiggins instructed the officer assigned to guard her room to continue his vigil and to say nothing of the woman’s leaving. We then departed for the docks.
As we pulled up at the gate for arriving passengers, Holmes instructed Wiggins to escort the lady to the entrance.
“It is best that we are not seen together,” Holmes said to Alexandria as she prepared to exit the carriage.
“I...I don’t know what to say to you, Mr. Holmes,” she spoke as she looked into the face of the master detective.
“You need say nothing,” he answered her. “May you find peace and contentment in your new life.”
“Thank you and good-bye,” she responded as she left the coach and followed Inspector Wiggins to the gate.
I watched the face of my friend as he gazed out of the coach’s window. The look of dismay lifted from his features as he watched the lady depart.
“You’ve done a noble thing, Holmes,” I stated to my friend.
“I’ve done what I had to do,” he answered.
“And bent a few more laws in the process,” came the voice of Wiggins as he returned to the carriage.
“I have been setting a rather bad example for a young inspector to follow, haven’t I?” Holmes asked as a smile began to form on his lips.
“No, Mr. Holmes,” Wiggins replied, “your example of kindness and compassion is one that I shall always remember.”
“Thank you, Wiggins,” Holmes answered, obviously moved by the young man’s statement. “And now I think it best that we return home and try to get the remainder of a good night’s sleep. In the morning we will meet with the Prime Minister and then once and for all we shall be able to write an end to the Moriarty chronicle.”
On the following morning, just after breakfast, we were joined in our Baker Street rooms by Lord Salisbury, Mycroft Holmes and Chief Superintendent Lestrade. We sat about enjoying coffee and cigars as Holmes once more recounted his adventures with Colonel Moriarty. The three men sat enthralled by Holmes’ tale, just as I had when it was first told to me. I sat taking notes, filling in any details that I had missed in my previous session. As I sat listening, I waited in delightful anticipation of Holmes getting to the point where he would show his audience the treasure he had confiscated. As he reached that part of his narrative, Wiggins walked over and brought one of the suitcases over to show the listeners it’s contents. Upon gazing at the vastness of the fortune the three men were struck silent.
“This is unbelievable,” Lord Salisbury finally spoke.
“As near as we have been able to figure,” Holmes went on to say, “it adds up to about one hundred and sixty-nine million British pounds.”
My head turned suddenly as I observed the one million pound discrepancy between the figure that Holmes had just announced and the original sum that he had reported to me. The astonishment that registered on my face did not go unnoticed by the other men in the room and I found all eyes looking in my direction. I quickly composed myself and stated, “Give or take a farthing.” This drew a round of chuckles from our guests and Holmes quickly recaptured their attention.
To my great surprise, and also that of Wiggins, he went on to tell them of our release of Alexandria Drake and of our sending her out of harm’s way. The only thing that was more startling to me than Holmes’ disclosure of this fact was the reaction of the Prime Minister.
“You have acted wisely, Mr. Holmes,” Lord Salisbury went on to say. “You know of my desire to keep this affair as secretive as possible. That would have been a difficult thing to do if the woman had been brought to trial. You have done a masterful job in all directions. The Queen, myself and indeed all of England owe you a great debt.”
“I am gratified that you feel that way, Your Lordship,” Holmes retorted. “It has been an interesting affair to say the least. I trust that when this vast sum of money is added to the nation’s treasury, some of it will be marked for prison reforms. Watson and I would be glad to come and testify as to the need for this action.”
“You have my word on it, sir,” was Lord Salisbury’s reply. “And more importantly, we shall begin at once to ferret out all those corrupted individuals who are incriminated in the Colonel’s ledger.”
The Prime Minister rose from his chair, walked over to Holmes and extended his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for everything.”
Holmes nodded his head in response as he shook the man’s hand. To my surprise, Lord Salisbury then turned toward me.
“I’m afraid that it may be quite some time before the details of this affair may be safely published in the pages of the `Strand’. I trust that we may rely on your discretion.”
“Of course, your Lordship. You have my word,” I replied.
With that, he turned and made his way to the door of our rooms. Mycroft and Lestrade followed.
“Well done, Mr. Holmes, and it’s no good saying it ain’t,” announced Lestrade. “I’ll make arrangements for transporting this fortune to a safe place. Oh, Inspector Wiggins, I trust that I’ll see you at the Yard tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
“Congratulations, little brother,” Mycroft added as he made his departure. “You’ve done it quite completely.”
We said our good-byes and they were off. They barely had time to make their way down the stairs when Holmes and Wiggins turned to look in my direction.
“You almost gave us away, dear Doctor,” Holmes said to me with a smile.
“Are you referring to the trifling matter of the missing one million pounds?” I inquired.
“Surely you don’t think that Wiggins or myself has any idea of personally making use of the Colonel’s funds, do you?”
“I’m sure that I don’t know what to think,” I responded. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten me as to your intentions.”
“My dear Watson, I really don’t know what it is that causes me to abuse you so. You truly are the most suffering of fellows. Wiggins, would you be so kind as to explain to the good Doctor exactly what our intentions are?” Holmes said as he fought to keep his laughter in check.
“I’d be delighted,” Wiggins replied. “You see, Doctor Watson, we have divided the `missing’ one million pounds into three equal parts.”
He turned toward Holmes and flashed him a devilish grin. Then he turned back facing me and waited a few moments before continuing. This produced the effect of causing my mind to engage in a rapid series of imaginary scenarios.
He continued, “Of course, we will take no further action unless you are in complete agreement with our intentions.”
“I’m listening,” I answered as I caught another exchange of playful grins between the two men.
“Well then, we have already given one third of the money to Miss Drake for her trip and future life in America. We also plan to use one third of the money to set up a trust fund for the family of Athelney-Jones.”
I breathed a large sigh of relief. Wiggins went on.
“The final third will be used to set up a similar trust fund for the family of James Phillimore. Does this meet with your satisfaction?”
I felt a tightness form in my throat as I tried to answer.
“Gentlemen, it is truly an honour to be associated with the two of you,” I was finally able to speak.
“And I feel the same way,” Wiggins interjected.
“Well then, permit me to be an equally appreciative member of this mutual admiration society,” Holmes added. “This case has made for an interesting few weeks. I believe that I’m already beginning to miss the challenge of battling with the Colonel. True, he was not quite up to his brother’s standard, but an interesting adversary nonetheless.”
Wiggins and I looked at each other and smiled. For the next few minutes, we all sat silently as each of us reflected on the events that had taken place since that New Year’s Eve. The turn of the century had caught us in a whirlwind; now we had finally landed.
“I think it’s time for me be getting home,” Wiggins said, breaking the quiet that had descended over our rooms. “You heard my boss; it’s back to work tomorrow. But before I go, I have something for you, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes and I watched inquisitively as the young inspector reached into his vest pocket.
“It’s your emerald tie-pin,” he stated. “I took it from Clay’s body the night of the shooting. I thought I’d wait for the proper moment to return it to you.”
The great detective was genuinely surprised. He took the tie-pin from Wiggins’ hand and held it tightly in his own.
“None of this would have been possible without you, Wendel. I am at a loss for words to express my gratitude and....”
There was a tear in his eye as he reached forward and embraced Wiggins as a proud father would his son. It was one of the rare moments when Holmes allowed his most intimate feelings to rise to the surface. At that moment, the thought ran through my mind that it had been worth everything I had been through these past several weeks, just to be able to observe this touching scene before my eyes.
After Wiggins departed, Holmes sat back in his lounge chair and began to light his pipe.
“Well, Watson, if I recall correctly, the last time we were sitting in these rooms together you were about to give me a discourse on the movement of the planets. Shall we pick it up from there?”
For the next several months I buried myself away in Baker Street working on the account of this most singular affair. Despite knowing that any publication of my works would have to be delayed until the political climate was right, I was anxious to get the facts down on paper while the events were still fresh in my mind. The case, however, continued to develop as I worked.
The C.I.D., armed with the weapon of Moriarty’s ledger, began a systematic purge of those the Colonel had corrupted. One by one the guilty were confronted with the proof of their misdeeds and were given the choice of resigning or facing criminal prosecution. Most chose resignation over disgrace and the scandal that the Prime Minister had feared was avoided. This weeding-out process took many months but it proved to be very effective.
It was an early spring day when Holmes came up from behind me and laid upon my writing desk the latest copy of the ‘Times’. He had folded the paper to an article about the recent sickness that had befallen Mr. Justice William Fitzjames Stephenson. It seemed that his Honour had succumbed to what was being described as a ‘brain-fever’ and that he had been taken to live in a convalescent home for the mentally disturbed.
Holmes had what I can only describe as a wicked grin on his face as he said but one word to me on the subject;
“Justice.”
It was a few weeks later that we re-played the exact same scene. This time the article in the newspaper described how one of the Crown’s prosecutors, a Mr. Edmund Montague, had been found in his flat, an apparent suicide victim. He had hanged himself. No further details were presently available.
This time Holmes did not utter the word ‘justice’. He didn’t have to: the message was clearly legible in his eyes.
In June of the same year, a few days after concluding the business of the ‘Six Napoleons’, Holmes had spent the entire morning lying on the couch in our parlour reading my account of the Colonel Moriarty affair. He had shown an unusual interest in my writing of this case. Indeed, I usually had to prod him into reading my stories. This tale, however, had captivated his curiosity. As I worked, he had asked me several times, how I was progressing. Again, this was quite atypical of his usual involvement in my writings.
As he lay on the sofa reading, I was subjected to a never ending series of grunts, chuckles, humms and ah-ha’s. This bit of literary criticism was difficult to decipher, but I must admit I found it quite amusing. I found myself trying to imagine the segment of the manuscript that he was currently reading. I was anxiously awaiting his response to a particular section of my work.
“My blushes, Watson! This time you have truly gone too far.”
He had reached the section.
“Whatever do you mean, Holmes?” I asked in my most innocent voice.
“This- this embracing in excited desire; this sea of passion that Clay and the woman are enveloped in. Really, Watson! Besides being wholly a work of your now-questionable imagination, this borders on the far edge of poor taste. I fear that it will not be the pledge of secrecy to Lord Salisbury that will keep this account from being published, but rather it will be the editors at the Strand Magazine; for fear of losing their readership. What facts do you have to back up these allegations? Where did you conceive of such an idea?”
“It was conceived in a place where I have been told many of the greatest works of literature are born- in prison.”
Holmes smiled as he realized how he had played into my hands.
“I believe that you have purposely included this interlude in the book just to set up this scene today. Well, my dear Watson, I hope that I am long retired to my Sussex bee farm before this account of my work sees the light of day.”
On the 22nd of January, 1901, all of England was saddened by the death of Queen Victoria. We knew the end was coming for the past few months but her passing was, nevertheless, a shock to us all. Holmes grew particularly despondent at the news of her death and spent several days lounging in his bed, neither dressing nor eating with any regularity. He spent endless hours just holding and staring at the emerald tie-pin that had been a gift from Her Majesty. He also spent some time staring at a four-word note that the Queen had sent to him shortly before her death. It was her acknowledgement of his accomplishments in the handling of the Colonel Moriarty affair. She had written it in her own somewhat shaky hand and had it hand-delivered to Holmes by one of her Royal messengers. It read as follows;
God Save Sherlock Holmes
Holmes received a second four-word note in that same week. The message conveyed in this communication, however, was of an entirely different sentiment. Holmes instantly identified the envelope and paper as belonging to one of the railroad companies. The postmark was from the west of England. This note read;
It’s not over yet!
As I looked at the signature at the bottom of the page, I was again struck by one in a series of many shocks that accompanied being a friend of the world’s only consulting detective. The note was signed: Jonathan Moriarty.
