My Dearest Holmes Page 12

  I regarded it with dismay, but Holmes seemed completely unmoved. He removed his coat, laid it on the bed and began to rummage for his cocaine. I sat down upon the hard mattress and gazed at him unhappily.

  'I'm sorry, Holmes,' I said.

  'Sorry for what, my dear fellow? It was not your fault. It was a misunderstanding on the part of Herr Steiler.'

  He placed his morocco case and bottle on the counterpane and avoided my eye. His voice was calm but I sensed anger in every syllable.

  'But why--?' I faltered, and swallowed hard. 'I don't understand how he could have gained such an impression.'

  'Appearances, my dear Watson,' said Holmes briefly.

  I watched him fill his syringe and inject. He was sickened by the whole situation, I could see. Sickened that a man like Steiler, recognising me for what I was, should make the same assumptions about him. Sickened by my way of life and all that it represented. Sickened by me.

  I sat silent, frozen with horror. I felt him turn to look at me.

  'Go to bed, Watson,' he said gently. 'You'll feel better in the morning.'

  Carefully he replaced the syringe in its case and stowed it away with the bottle. He rose from the bed and went to turn off the gas. He yawned and stretched like a cat, with animal grace, silhouetted against the window in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Moonlight streamed around him, onto the bed.

  'Aren't you ... going to sleep?' I asked.

  He ran a hand through his black hair, and half turned towards me.

  'I'm not tired. I'll sit up for a bit. It's a beautiful night, and I need time to think.' He picked up a chair from beside the dressing table and placed it by the window.

  'Holmes,' I said, 'you don't have to sit up in that. I'll ...'

  He silenced me with an impatient gesture, and we both froze. There was an unmistakeable creak on the stair outside; then another; then a third, as someone crossed the landing. Swiftly and silently, Holmes crossed the room, and slid the bolt into place. We both listened. Someone was breathing heavily on the other side of the door. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Herr Steiler.

  In the moonlight I could clearly see the anger and disgust on Holmes' face. He caught my glance and made a sign to me to get into bed. Then he crossed the room again and pulled the curtains to.

  I undressed as noiselessly as I could in the darkness, got into bed and lay quite still. I heard a grunt of disappointment from the other side of the door, and the creak of the stairs as our voyeur retreated.

  I turned my face to the window. My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and I could see Holmes sitting in the chair, his head bent forward and his fingertips together as though deep in concentration.

  'He's gone, Holmes,' I whispered.

  He grunted. 'Good night, Watson. Sleep well,' was all he said.

  --V--

  I AWOKE IN the morning to find Holmes bending over a breakfast tray, pouring out coffee. The curtains were drawn, and sunlight and birdsong streamed through the window.

  I blinked stupidly up at him as he held out a cup to me.

  'Sit up and drink this, Watson,' he said. 'I took the precaution of going downstairs to fetch it myself. I explained to our host that I am an early riser. He said that we should have let him know when we wanted to be called and he would have brought the coffee himself. But it was too late, and I insisted. Here.'

  I sat up in bed and sipped at the coffee. A glance at Holmes' face told me that he had hardly slept at all last night.

  'Did you get any sleep?' I asked, all the same.

  'A little. I feel perfectly refreshed. I suspect, from the colour of your eyes, that I feel better than you do, Watson.'

  I put my hand up to my head. Herr Steiler's liqueurs were wreaking their revenge. I looked at the other half of the bed. It was undisturbed. He had slept in the chair, then. The room was heavy with the acrid smell of tobacco.

  'You've been smoking all night again,' I said.

  Holmes chuckled and went to fling open the window.

  'There. Fresh air will soon clear the room and your head. Now, take time over your coffee and then come downstairs to breakfast. Mine host murmured something about the other guests breakfasting at nine, and I think it would be best if we did the same. I am just going for a brisk turn round the village.'

  I did as I was told. It was a beautiful morning, and my fragile state made me particularly sensitive to its freshness and transparent quality; but there was coiled in my stomach a small worm of fear, which nuzzled and ate at my inner parts; and the unpleasant taste of last night's episode was in my mouth.

  Holmes, too, seemed tense and worried; the shadows under his eyes gave him a look of one who is hunted; but his manner to me was particularly gentle, and he made no mention of the previous night.

  I was glad when we eventually set off in the early afternoon, up the hill which led to the famous Reichenbach Falls. Herr Steiler bid us a tender farewell, and we were more than glad to say goodbye to him. We had arranged for our bags to be sent on to the hotel at Rosenlaui, to await us that evening. The walk over the hills was not too arduous, and we had plenty of time.

  'It's a beautiful day, Holmes,' I said, making conversation as we climbed among the greens and yellows of the Alpine spring. The air was cool and seemed to glitter above and around us like crystal.

  Holmes gave a small, tight smile. 'Beautiful,' he agreed; but his mind was elsewhere.

  'Don't worry about Steiler,' I said timidly. 'We'll soon have him far behind, he can't do us any harm.'

  Holmes sighed. 'I suppose not.'

  I was sure now that the events of the previous evening still haunted him. I tried to sound sensible, to put things in perspective. 'At least there's no sign of Moriarty,' I said.

  Holmes turned to me. 'You think not? On the contrary, I sense that he is very close. He will catch up with us within the next few days. He will give our descriptions to Herr Steiler and trace us easily.'

  To my surprise he slowed and stopped in his tracks. He stood still for a while, then turned aside and sat down heavily on a boulder. We had not gone far, and he was not usually the first to flag; but he had the look of one who is utterly exhausted. I went to sit beside him.

  'Holmes, what is it?' I said gently. 'Have you heard something? Let me know what it is, for God's sake. You know I'll do anything I can to help. You don't trust Steiler, is that it? Well, even if he does let out that we've been here, we're no worse off than we were at every other hotel. What makes you think that Moriarty is so much closer today than he was yesterday?'

  Holmes sat silently, his head bent. When he turned to look at me, there was such a tired, hopeless look in his eyes that my heart gave a lurch of fear.

  'Nothing,' he answered. 'Nothing. But I sense it. It's not a logical deduction, I know. But I wish--I wish it were all over and done with, Watson. I just wish I could get it all over. I must have some peace,' he added in a very low voice.

  I was alarmed. It was as if the thread which had been taut inside him, drawing him on, his obsession with Moriarty and his determination to get the better of him, had suddenly snapped. As if the very bricks and mortar with which he had painstakingly built up his own personality were beginning to crumble; as if he had at last seen through what he had always believed to be his certainties, and found beyond them nothing but a grey and formless mist.

  I said quietly, 'What is it that you wish was over and done with? Are you sure it is just Moriarty? Holmes, you know you don't have to put yourself through this; there is no reason why it has to come to a personal contest between you and him. Would it not be more sensible to return to England, where you will have the protection of the law and the police? There is no need to worry about me. Even if my name does come up in some way, it can all be dealt with; it has been done before, by people far more eminent than I. Just forget that side of it; come back to England with me, and let the police deal with Moriarty. I think you have come to the end of your tether. You need rest and--a change. A prope
r holiday. Holmes, I will do anything to help you; I would even--I would do anything.'

  He was not listening to the last few words of my speech. He had raised his eyes and was gazing down the slope to the little village we had just left. The houses, the streets were tiny; it looked like a doll's village. Three figures were walking up the main street to the hotel. I imagined that I could reach down and pick one of them up between my thumb and forefinger.

  '--end of my tether,' he murmured. 'Ha! Dead end of the road, and turn round and go back--it's not possible. I must have been right. I have to be right. It was the only thing to do. I couldn't be like that.'

  I could not make sense of his mumbling, but it filled me with fear, and the small worm coiled in my stomach began to nuzzle again. I waited, in case he wanted to say more, but he lapsed into silence and stared fixedly and unblinkingly into space, twisting his Alpine-stock round and round in his hands.

  At last I laid a hand upon his shoulder, and he jumped as if he had been stung or bitten.

  'Holmes,' I said, hastily withdrawing my hand.

  'Sorry, Watson.' He was on his feet. 'Must have fallen into a daydream. Come on, or we'll be too late to look at these Falls.'

  I rose slowly, and we continued our climb. As we approached the Falls we became aware of the deep booming of the waters, echoing louder and louder, until it obliterated every trace of birdsong. The air became damp and green around us as we neared the place; the light was muted and took on an ominous, apocalyptic quality which added to our sense of awe.

  It is, as I described in my published account, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by glistening, coal-black rock and narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water, roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing forever upwards, turn one giddy with their constant whirl and clamour.

  We walked along the path which reaches half-way round the edge of the abyss. It had been cut from the rock, to afford the observer a complete view, but it curtails abruptly in a dead end, and the traveller has to turn back and retrace his steps in order to continue his journey. Holmes and I stood for some time peering down at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black rocks, and listening to the half-human cry which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss. For a while, neither of us spoke. In my weak and frightened state, I found myself quite overcome by the force and majesty of the place; it impressed me with a sense of age--age far greater than mankind; with a sense of animal wilfulness and impartial caprice. It was the abode of the ancient gods of stone and water; it engulfed our petty human concerns and flung them down into its depths.

  From beside me, I heard Holmes say quite clearly, 'So it makes no difference in the end, after all. Quite useless. It is intolerable.' How I managed to hear his quiet voice above the roar of the waters, I do not know. I do not think he meant me to hear.

  'Come along, Holmes,' I said loudly, after a few minutes' further silence. 'Let us go back now.'

  He looked at me blankly.

  'It is a dead end,' I shouted above the spray. 'We have to turn back and find the path again.'

  He looked about wildly, like one who has just woken from a dream, and then suddenly his gaze fixed upon something over my shoulder. I turned.

  A figure was running towards us, along the path, waving something in his hand. We waited, frozen.

  At last the boy reached us, red-faced and panting, holding out a folded piece of paper.

  'Herr Doktor? Votson?' he said between gasps.

  I stepped forward and took the paper. I unfolded it, and saw that it bore the mark of the Englischer Hof.

  'What is this?' I said sharply.

  'Ein Brief fur Ihnen, Herr Doktor. Herr Steiler hat mir gesagt, dass ich Ihnen zuriick bringen muss. Eine Dame, eine englische Dame, ist todkrank.'

  I looked confusedly at the piece of paper.

  'He says an English lady is dying,' translated Holmes unnecessarily, and leaned over my shoulder to read the letter with me.

  It appeared to be from Herr Steiler himself. An English lady had arrived at the hotel, he said, within a few minutes of our leaving. She was in the last stages of consumption, and was travelling from Davos Platz, where she had wintered, to join her friends at Lucerne. A sudden haemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could only live a few hours. She was in great distress, asking to see an English doctor. She would not let the Swiss doctor go near her. Herr Steiler did not know what to do. If I would only return, just briefly, perhaps it would calm her. He would look on it as the greatest of favours. He had said that he would try to find an English doctor. Please would I do him this favour, for it was so great a responsibility--and so on.

  Holmes and I stared at one another.

  'Don't go,' he said. I stared at him in amazement.

  'But I must! The lady is dying. Come with me.'

  'No.'

  'Come with me, Holmes. I don't want to leave you here. I must go to her; I can't refuse my services to a fellow countrywoman.'

  We had walked back to the main path. The water roared behind us.

  'I don't trust him,' said Holmes. 'How do you know this is not a trap?'

  'Don't be ridiculous, Holmes. Why should it be? The poor lady must be desperate.'

  'Moriarty is behind it.'

  Once again, I stared at him. Surely this was proof of his unstable state of mind.

  'How could he be?' I wailed over the din of the water. 'It is me they are asking for, not you. Look, I have to go, Holmes. I could not live with my conscience if I refused such a plea. You stay here, then, and wait for me. No--do not stay here'--for I had developed a nameless fear of the atmosphere of the place--'go on to Rosenlaui. Take this boy with you ... Will you--go on--with this gentleman--to Rosenlaui?' I shouted at the still breathless boy. He looked uncomprehendingly until I repeated the message with gestures, and then he seemed to understand and consent.

  'Ja. Ja. Rosenlaui. Gehen wir daruber, mein Herr. Ist nicht so weit.'

  He gestured to Holmes along the path. Holmes, whose German was far better than mine, did not offer to help at all with the conversation. He merely stood with folded arms, an indecipherable expression on his face. He made no effort to move.

  'Please, Holmes,' I said desperately. I was torn between worry for him, in his present state of mind, and the call of duty. But I could honestly see no reason to take the message at anything but face value. If Moriarty were at the hotel, surely it would be Holmes he would try to lure, and not me? In my confusion, no other possibility occurred to me.

  At last he shrugged, and nodded, as though he were past caring. He agreed to go on with the boy to Rosenlaui and wait for me there. I was sure to reach him by the evening. I told him we would have a good dinner.

  He took out his watch and checked the time. He smiled, and suddenly clasped my hand.

  'In Rosenlaui, then,' he said.

  I returned the pressure of his hand, pleased to see him sensible at last, and set off down the road along which we had come. I said to myself that once we were safely installed at Rosenlaui, I would seriously set about persuading him to return to England. I would emphasise to him that I was truly alarmed for his health. I would try to be masterful and take charge of the situation. The idea rather appealed to me. And once back in England, I would see if it could not be arranged that I did not have to leave him so alone. I would speak to Mary. It would be difficult, very difficult, but surely something could be arranged? And if it were my companions rather than my marriage that he objected to, why then I would give up my companions. Good heavens, his friendship was more important to me than anything. If I had known before ... if I had known that he minded, what might have happened? What might still be possible?
But no, that was dangerous and unnecessary. But I would speak to him about it. I would tell him that I understood, that I would change the way I lived. I would tell him this evening ...

  I turned back twice to look for him. The first time I saw him still standing with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. The second time I had descended too far to see either the Falls or Holmes, but I could see the curving path which wound over the shoulder of the hill. Along this path a man was walking very rapidly; I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behind him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked, but he passed from my mind again as I hurried upon my errand.

  It may have been a little over an hour before I reached Meiringen. Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel. His face brightened when he saw me, and he came forward to meet me.

  'Why, Dr Watson,' he said, 'what is this? Where is Herr Holmes?'

  'Well, I trust she is no worse?' I was saying simultaneously.

  We both stared at one another in surprise. At the first quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast. I pulled the letter from my pocket and held it out to him with a trembling hand.

  'You did not write this? There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?'

  'Certainly not.'

  He took the letter and glanced at it. 'But it has the hotel mark upon it!' he said slowly. He looked up at me in consternation. I caught an uneasy look in his eyes. 'The tall Englishman who came in after you had gone,' he said. 'He must have written it. He said--'

  I did not wait to hear what he had said. The explanations could wait. I ran, in a tingle of fear, back to the path which I had just descended.

  To run uphill, in fear and anxiety, when one is already exhausted, is not an experience I would wish on anyone. Several times I saw a red curtain shimmering before my eyes, and thought that my heart would burst, and shooting pains stabbed at my weak leg like red-hot needles. But the urgency, the absolute necessity of reaching Holmes before it was too late, drove me on beyond what would normally have been physically possible. It took me twice as long to run back to the Falls as it had taken me to run down.