My Dearest Holmes Page 11

  He shook his head urgently. 'No. Not yet. Wire her tomorrow from the Continent. We cannot run the risk of its being intercepted.'

  'Very well,'I acquiesced. I had not thought of that.

  It was in vain that I pleaded with him to remain for the night. It was evident that his fears for me as well as for himself were the motive which compelled him to go. After a few more words he rose and came out with me into the garden, clambering over the wall which led into Mortimer Street, and immediately whistling for a hansom, in which I heard him drive away.

  --III--

  I HAVE WRITTEN elsewhere of the complicated sequence of events which led up to our sojourn on the Continent and our eventual arrival at the little village of Meiringen on the 3rd of May, and I do not intend to repeat myself here; the purpose of this account is not to reiterate what has already been said, but to supplement it with what I was forced, at the time, to leave unsaid.

  I will therefore state here very briefly that we sailed for the Continent, not from Dover as we had intended, but from New-haven, having abandoned our scheduled train, and our luggage with it, at Canterbury to put Moriarty offour trail. Accordingly we arrived, not at Paris as Moriarty anticipated, but at Dieppe, whence we made our way to Brussels.

  There I despatched a telegram to Mary. I did not impart anything concerning the alarming circumstances of my departure; I merely stated: 'Have been whisked away to the Continent for a short holiday. Do prolong your visit if convenient. Will let you know how things progress. S.H. sends regards.' I deduced that, knowing whom I was with, she would be less likely to worry if my stay were prolonged or if there were any unexpected developments.

  After two days in Brussels we moved on to Strasbourg. There Holmes received a telegram informing him that Moriarty had slipped the net. The police had secured the whole gang with the exception of him. Holmes was furious.

  'Of course, when I had left the country, there was no one left to cope with him,' he snapped, hurling the telegram into the grate, nuch to the astonishment of our fellow diners in the hotel salle-a-manger. 'But I did think I had put the game in their hands.'

  I watched him anxiously, crumbling a piece of bread roll between my finger and thumb. He had been as tense as a coiled spring for the last three days, and I feared an extreme reaction.

  'Where do you think he is?' I asked.

  'On our trail. It will only be a matter of time before he catches up with me. And with you. I think that you had better return to England, Watson.'

  'Why? I thought you wanted me to stay here until after the trial. I thought you said I would be safer over here.'

  'And so you would, if Moriarty were in police custody. Then his only channel of revenge would be the attempted ruin of your reputation from the witness box. As it is, however, he is after bigger fish; he will devote his whole energies to revenging himself on me. He said as much in our short interview, and I fancy he meant it. I think, my dear friend, that you would be safer away from my company.'

  I stared at him across the table. He avoided my gaze.

  'How could you think that I would leave you in danger?' I whispered.

  Holmes looked sideways at the approaching waiter.

  'Now Watson, be logical, there's a good fellow. Let us discuss this seriously over dinner. It looks as if they keep an excellent cellar here; what would you say to a bottle of Chateau Lafite?'

  We argued the question over dinner for nearly two hours. I was determined that nothing would persuade me to leave him. I cannot for the life of me recall what we ate, but I vividly remember the mingled taste in my mouth of wine and panic. The claret was very red; I remember turning the thin stem of the glass in my hand. Holmes was logical and gentle; he did not try to bully me. I think--I am sure--that my devotion touched him, in spite of himself. He said that he regretted ever having involved me in the business; he said that he would have me on his conscience if I did not leave for England immediately; that my presence would in any case hinder him from achieving the only goal left to him. But I remained adamant, and the same night we had resumed our journey and were well on the way to Geneva. There was a fanatical look in his eyes, however, and an edge to his voice when he spoke of the only goal left to him', which disturbed me more than his danger, or mine.

  I need hardly say that I will never forget the week we spent wandering up the valley of the Rhone, over the Gemmi Pass and on through Interlaken. 'A charming week', I think I called it in my published account. The beauty of our surroundings made an idyllic setting for a leisurely walking holiday; the little hotels that we patronised were clean, friendly and discreet. How often had I dreamed of such a week with Holmes, such leisure, such privacy, such scenery. We wandered among vineyards and orchards, with the slopes of the mountain rising almost sheer above us, the snow-capped heights dappled with sunlight and shadow as the clouds moved over across the sky. In the evenings we would dine quietly, usually in a small hotel salle-a-manger overlooking the river. At night we would lie awake and talk into the small hours; in the morning we would breakfast on coffee and hot croissants, and then set off once more into the fresh delight of a spring day. I was of course painfully aware that the circumstances were far from ideal; and Holmes' constant references to the fact that he would cheerfully bring his career to a conclusion, if he could be assured that society was free of Professor Moriarty, both alarmed and puzzled me. Behind his single-minded eagerness I sensed an element of self-destruction.

  I tried to make light of his obsession and to encourage him to do the same. 'You are so vain, Holmes,' I remarked one night, when he had concluded a little speech to the effect that the air of London was the sweeter for his presence, and that if his record were closed that night he would be able to survey it with equanimity. 'I think you have a tendency to view yourself in an almost Messianic light. You just want to go out in a blaze of glory. What good will that do for us ordinary mortals? You seem to think that Moriarty is unique, but I would be willing to wager that his chair will not remain vacant for so very long; and then, shy and self-effacing as you are, I think you would be coaxed out of retirement with very little persuasion.'

  I spoke into the darkness, gazing up at the faint pallor of the ceiling. I heard the creak of his bedsprings as he made a quick, annoyed movement, and turning my head could dimly see his outline, propped upon one elbow, looking across at me.

  'You refuse to grasp the reality of the situation, Watson,' he said. 'Moriarty is unique, because of his genius.'

  'Ah yes, a genius that is matched only by your own. You are vain, Holmes.'

  'I am not vain,' he snapped. 'I am merely stating the facts. There is no virtue in false modesty, Watson. I know that I am the only man alive who can match him. I am being quite truthful when I say that to overcome him would be the pinnacle of my career; and that I would count not only my career, but my life well spent in the process.'

  I felt my throat constrict.

  'Don't be ridiculous, Holmes. Supposing you were to lose your life and he to keep his? You said he was your equal. There is no need to take senseless risks.'

  'But for the good of society, Watson. And there are always risks.'

  'Society can go to hell,' I said with a ferocity that surprised us both. 'This is a personal contest between you and him, and you couldn't care less what happens to society or to--anyone else. You are just obsessed with the need to best him. It's transparent.'

  'Absolute rubbish, Watson,' he snapped, and turned away from me, pulling the sheets up over his ears. I stared, as I often stared, across the space between our two beds, at the outline of the hump he made under the blankets and the shock of black hair upon the pillow; and took several deep breaths to calm myself.

  'Holmes, can't you grasp the simple fact that I fear for your safety?' I said as steadily as I could into the darkness.

  'I am quite capable of looking after myself,' came the muffled, dignified reply.

  'No, you are not. You are under too much mental strain. You are not well, Holmes.
I can see it. You are just in the state to throw yourself into unnecessary danger.'

  'Don't try to nursemaid me, Doctor. I can assure you that I neither need nor want it.'

  The words hung between us in the silence that followed. I spoke again as soon as I could.

  'I need you, though. Don't you ever think about me, Holmes? Or has Moriarty eclipsed everything?'

  I heard him turn over. I remained staring at the ceiling.

  'You don't need me, Watson. You are doing perfectly well without me.'

  After the briefest of pauses, I said quietly, 'What makes you think that?'

  'I deduce it,' he said, 'from your style of living.'

  'What do you mean?'

  He did not reply. His silence made me angry.

  'You know perfectly well,' I said bitterly, 'that I married for convenience, and to protect your reputation as well as mine.'

  'My reputation can speak for itself, thank you.'

  I sat up angrily in bed and turned towards him. I spoke clearly and painfully into the space between us.

  'All right, then,' I said, 'I married to protect you from me. Is that satisfactory? I married because I could not go on as we were. And you act as if I deserted you unreasonably. You talk as if I were wallowing in domestic bliss. You are surely aware that Mary and I enjoy a purely friendly relationship. Is that the way of life that you so much object to? Do you deduce from this that I have no need for your friendship?'

  I waited, counting the seconds. Not since before my marriage had I spoken so frankly. His reply, when it came, took me completely by surprise.

  'I was not referring,' he said, 'to your marriage.'

  I let myself fall back onto the pillow, and lay quite still. I felt the room spin in the darkness. It was a long time before I could think of anything to say.

  'You are mad,' I said at last.

  'On the contrary, it is a perfectly logical deduction.'

  'You think that I keep other company because I prefer it to yours?'

  'I think that you have chosen according to your priorities.'

  I gasped and turned to look at him once more. He was still staring at the ceiling.

  'And what incentive can you offer me, to change this way of living that you despise so much? Do you think that your own is any more healthy? Cocaine, ambition, obsession?'

  He was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, 'You ask the impossible.'

  'And so do you!'

  I turned my face away from him. My cheek was wet against the pillow. His selfishness, his childishness overwhelmed me. His twisting of the facts convinced me that he was in an unbalanced and paranoid state of mind. I heard him settle down to sleep. There was nothing more to say, it seemed. All the same, I had to have the last word.

  'I don't know why we continue to torture each other,' I said. 'I sometimes think that it would be better if we never saw each other again.'

  There was no reply, only the steady sound of his breathing. It was too late to bite out my tongue.

  --IV--

  THE NEXT MORNING found me sluggish and dazed. Neither of us referred to the conversation of the night before. I tried to indicate by my penitent and solicitous manner that I was sorry for what I had said, but he was angry and this made it difficult. I watched helplessly as he reached into the inner recesses of his coat and extracted his morocco case and cocaine bottle. Deftly he rolled back his left sleeve and I saw the puncture marks which scarred the white skin of his arm. I wondered vaguely how much cocaine he had brought with him, and what he would do if we were far from a druggist when it ran out.

  That day we crossed over the Gemmi Pass. For this we needed a guide, and his presence made it even more difficult for me to apologise to Holmes, or to ask him to speak further of the resentment he had betrayed, which I still thought to be unreasonable. I brooded silently on the matter as we walked in single file along the narrow pathway. To our right was the steep, dangerous incline of the mountain; the grey-green of the moss and the short, tufty grass, the gleaming slabs of bare rock, relieved by dustings of small, star-like flowers. To our left was a steep drop to the green waters of the melancholy Daubensee. The sun shone thinly and the air was cold. I kept my eyes fixed on the path and mentally rehearsed our angry exchange and its implications.

  Surely it was insane and cruel of Holmes to apply his own standards of behaviour to me in the very area in which he himself was confused, defensive and frigid; how could he expect me to live in self-imposed celibacy just because he did? When he knew that I loved him, and that it was his decree that forbade me from expressing that love? However, I could not avoid the knowledge that things might seem different from his point of view; that he saw me as undisciplined, self-indulgent, placing the pleasures of the flesh above the ties of friendship, leaving him in favour of a life of reckless hedonism because he had refused me one thing. It was an unpleasant thought, and I tried to reason it away. But it had taken root, had implanted itself in the wall of my mind, and I could not get rid of it.

  Suddenly there was a loud rumble above us, and we all three instinctively lurched forward just in time to avoid a large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge upon our right. It clattered down and roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It was in vain that our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in springtime at that spot. He descended the slope and gave me a slow, grim smile, as if to say that this was nothing more than the fulfilment of what he had expected.

  I scanned the ridge with anxious eyes but could see nothing. I did not know what to believe; the guide was insistent, and Holmes was undoubtedly paranoid. And yet--if Moriarty were indeed on our trail, he could well have caught up with us by now. I turned back to Holmes with a questioning expression, and opened my mouth to speak; but he shook his head quickly to silence me, and we resumed our journey.

  It was a fatal mixture of pride and humility which prevented me from referring to our argument again. I was thinking the matter over; and did not want to offer any apologies or promises until my own mind was clearer on the subject. Holmes meanwhile appeared to recover his equanimity, though he spoke less on the subject of Moriarty, and brooded more. His words, expression and actions all took on a determined quality which was in itself a defence against intrusion on my part.

  On the 3rd of May, we reached the little village of Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the elder; a large, jovial man who spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. He appeared to take a liking to us, and joined us at our table after dinner when the few other guests had retired, insisting that we accept his offer of liqueurs on the house. Holmes, usually so morose in uninvited company (unless it were a client), appeared to be in an excellent mood, and regaled our host with tales of London, even managing to exhume a mutual acquaintance or two. The easy, humorous atmosphere was infectious, and I was on the point of naming an acquaintance or two of my own in connection with the Grosvenor, when Holmes abruptly changed the subject.

  'So, we are your first English visitors of the season?' he enquired of Steiler, offering him a cigarette from his silver case, which the latter accepted with pleasure.

  'The first, yes. But in the summer usually we have many English here. Ah, Herr Holmes, you should see how busy is my little hotel in the summer! But the spring is nicer for you. Not so crowded. Two gentlemen like yourself and the Doctor do not wish to be crowded. And you will see, the falls of Reichenbach are so beautiful in the spring. So--majestic, Herr Holmes, and solemn also. But beauty! Ah, you must certainly go, and yourself, Dr Watson, it is a sight not to be missed! In the summer, they all come for it.'

  'Well, yes, we shall certainly take a look at the Falls, eh Watson? Perhaps we can make a little detour, en route to Rosenlaui tomorrow.'

  'Tomorrow? You go to Rosenlaui tomorrow?' Herr Steiler
seemed quite upset at the thought. 'Ah, it is much too soon, you do not have the time to relax and enjoy our charming village. You will stay here, rest, it is so quiet, much rest and privacy for you both, you will enjoy much better.'

  I regarded our host with some alarm. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he imagined us to be indulging in some sort of romantic idyll; he winked at me as he poured yet another measure of his clear, scented and extremely potent liqueur into my unresisting glass. Already flushed with alcohol, I felt my cheeks grow even hotter, and cast a look of helpless appeal at Holmes. The smile remained on his lips, but not in his eyes. He refused to meet my gaze.

  'Indeed, you are most kind and persuasive, Herr Steiler,' he said, in sweet, icy tones. 'But I fear we must keep to our plans. There is so much of your beautiful country to see, and time, alas, is pressing.'

  Herr Steiler, by now much the worse for drink, seemed totally oblivious to the warning note in my friend's voice. Heartily and fulsomely he expressed his regret, and turned his attention back to the subject of the Grosvenor and, unfortunately, to me. He obviously felt that he had neglected me during the earlier part of the conversation, and attempted to make up for it now by a barrage of questions and innuendos with which I felt totally unable to deal. He mentioned people I knew, and seeing me blush, he actually leaned over and pinched my arm. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Holmes flinch, but any comfort I might have derived from that reaction was drowned in my confusion. I tried to laugh the matter off, and claimed to be too tired and too much the worse for wine, to be able to embark on any reminiscences. Holmes had pushed his liqueur away from him, and sat leaning back in his chair, regarding us both with a cool, sardonic gaze that made me feel quite sick with anxiety.

  Eventually he appeared to take pity on me, and proclaimed that it really was time for us to retire. He bade Herr Steiler a polite farewell and thanked him for his hospitality.

  The room which our host had allotted us was furnished in heavy oak, and boasted of one large bedstead placed conspicuously in the middle of it.