The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
watching you, however, and that is what has brought Moriarty to
Victoria. You could not have made any slip in coming?”
“I did exactly what you advised.”
“Did you find your brougham?”
“Yes, it was waiting.”
“Did you recognise your coachman?”
“No.”
“It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in
such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But
we must plan what we are to do about Moriarty now.”
“As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with
it, I should think we have shaken him off very effectively.”
“My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when I
said that this man may be taken as being quite on the same
intellectual plane as myself. You do not imagine that if I were
the pursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so slight an
obstacle. Why, then, should you think so meanly of him?”
“What will he do?”
“What I should do?”
“What would you do, then?”
“Engage a special.”
“But it must be late.”
“By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always
at least a quarter of an hour’s delay at the boat. He will catch
us there.”
“One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him
arrested on his arrival.”
“It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the
big fish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the
net. On Monday we should have them all. No, an arrest is
inadmissible.”
“What then?”
“We shall get out at Canterbury.”
“And then?”
“Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and
so over to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He
will get on to Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two
days at the depôt. In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a
couple of carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the
countries through which we travel, and make our way at our
leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle.”
At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we
should have to wait an hour before we could get a train to
Newhaven.
I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly
disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes
pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line.
“Already, you see,” said he.
Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of
smoke. A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying
along the open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly
time to take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed
with a rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our
faces.
“There he goes,” said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing
and rock over the points. “There are limits, you see, to our
friend’s intelligence. It would have been a _coup-de-maître_ had
he deduced what I would deduce and acted accordingly.”
“And what would he have done had he overtaken us?”
“There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a
murderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may
play. The question now is whether we should take a premature
lunch here, or run our chance of starving before we reach the
buffet at Newhaven.”
We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there,
moving on upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday
morning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and in the
evening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore
it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it into the grate.
“I might have known it!” he groaned. “He has escaped!”
“Moriarty?”
“They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He
has given them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country
there was no one to cope with him. But I did think that I had put
the game in their hands. I think that you had better return to
England, Watson.”
“Why?”
“Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man’s
occupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read
his character right he will devote his whole energies to
revenging himself upon me. He said as much in our short
interview, and I fancy that he meant it. I should certainly
recommend you to return to your practice.”
It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an old
campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasburg
_salle-à-manger_ arguing the question for half an hour, but the
same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to
Geneva.
For a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the Rhone, and
then, branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass,
still deep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen.
It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the
virgin white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that
never for one instant did Holmes forget the shadow which lay
across him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely
mountain passes, I could tell by his quick glancing eyes and his
sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well
convinced that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves
clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps.
Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along
the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had
been dislodged from the ridge upon our right 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 the spring-time
at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air
of a man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected.
And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the
contrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant
spirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could
be assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he
would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.
“I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not
lived wholly in vain,” he remarked. “If my record were closed
to-night I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of
London is the sweeter for my presence. In over a thousand cases I
am not aware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side.
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. Your memoirs will
draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by
the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable
criminal in Europe.”
I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for
me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell,
and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no
detail.
It was on the 3rd of May that we reached the little village of
Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by
Peter Steiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and
spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter
at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. At his advice, on the afternoon
of the 4th we set off together, with the intention of crossing
the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui. We
had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the falls
of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without
making a small détour to see them.
It is indeed, 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 upward, turn a man giddy with their
constant whirl and clamour. We stood near the edge peering down
at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black
rocks, and listening to the half-human shout which came booming
up with the spray out of the abyss.
The path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a
complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to
return as he came. We had turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss
lad come running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the
mark of the hotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me
by the landlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of
our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the last
stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was
journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden
hemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could
hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to
her to see an English doctor, and, if I would only return, etc.
The good Steiler assured me in a postscript that he would himself
look upon my compliance as a very great favour, since the lady
absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not but
feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.
The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible
to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange
land. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally
agreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss messenger
with him as guide and companion while I returned to Meiringen. My
friend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and
would then walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to
rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with
his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the
rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined to
see of him in this world.
When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was
impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see
the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and
leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, 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 on upon my errand.
It may have been a little over an hour before I reached
Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.
“Well,” said I, as I came hurrying up, “I trust that she is no
worse?”