Barry Day - Sherlock Holmes and the Alice in Wonderland Murders

I turned to my old friend. If we had been in tighter corners, I could not for the life of me remember what they might have been.

“What are we to do, Holmes?”

“I think it is time we called in reinforcements, old fellow.”

“Reinforcements? What reinforcements? No one else knows we are here.”

“Watson,” Holmes murmured almost under his breath, “how often must I remind you of my old maxim that, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And Truth, said Jesting Pilate …”

With that he raised his voice and called out — “This way, men. Over here and the rest of you cover the other exits!”

I was rendered speechless by his effrontery but, to his undying credit, our new young friend picked up the thread immediately and cried — “Right behind you, Mr. Holmes … come on, lads. Rogers, Harris, you take that way …”

The effect on Moriarty’s men was instantaneous. They dropped the cable as if it were red hot and scuttled off down the far corridor, leaving Moriarty alone but far from finished. Raising his revolver and maintaining his grip on Alicia, he pointed it unwaveringly at the nearest barrel of explosive.

“A neat trick, Holmes, but I’m afraid it won’t work. One bullet and the whole place will blow sky high. Personally, I’ve always enjoyed playing for high stakes but I wonder whether you feel you have the right to risk so many lives on a bluff? Miss Creighton and I are going to take a little walk and if any of you try to follow us, I should perhaps remind you that I am an expert shot and a barrel is — how shall I put it? — a sitting target. A bientôt , gentlemen.”

As he began inching backwards down the passage his companions had used I fingered my service revolver, trying to decide whether I could get off a clean shot. Fear of hitting Alicia was balanced by the thought that I might well cause Moriarty to fire instinctively into the explosives. While I remained indecisive the man was getting away from us!

Then out of the corner of my eye I sensed a rapid movement. I turned to see the young man running straight at Moriarty and his prisoner. The manoeuvre was so unexpected that Moriarty was momentarily nonplussed. And then Alicia played a master stroke that only a woman could think of. Twisting in her captor’s grip, she screamed into his face with all her might. I could see Moriarty flinch at the noise and at that very moment our young friend threw himself bodily at Alicia in a sort of improvised rugby tackle and bore her to the ground out of Moriarty’s arms, leaving him standing there disoriented and temporarily defenceless.

I heard Holmes cry — “Now , Watson!” and I loosed off a couple of rounds, one of which took Moriarty in the shoulder, causing him to drop his gun. Before I had the chance to fire again, he had spun on his heel and disappeared into the darkness of the passage behind him.

“Give me your revolver, old fellow, and look after Alicia and the young man. I must finish this alone.” And with that Holmes began to run down the passage after his old nemesis.

By the time I reached them they were both on their feet, shaken but apparently little the worse for their ordeal. The first thing I did was to shake Alicia’s saviour warmly by the hand. “That was one of the bravest acts I’ve seen on the battle field or off it,” I said. “I’d like to think I’d have had the presence of mind — let alone the courage — to do the same at your age but I’m not so sure that I would.”

“I know you would, John,” said Alicia, reasserting a woman’s true priorities by doing her best to rearrange a dress that was looking distinctly the worse for wear, “I have not the slightest doubt about it.” Which made me feel distinctly better.

Our mutual admiration society was cut short by two other gun shots echoing back down the corridor. Without exchanging another word, we all three began to run.

How far we ran I have no idea. Like the corridors in Alice this one seemed endless. Around the corners, down steps and through doors that had been left ajar we ran. We passed the discarded cable Moriarty’s men had flung aside in their flight. At one point we came across the surrealistic sight of Lestrade’s coat and bowler hat. By the accident of the way they had fallen, it looked as though the Inspector had fallen face forward on the ground and then somehow deflated.

At regular intervals there were splashes of blood, confirming my feeling that at least one of my bullets had found its mark. But what of the other shots we had heard? Did the Professor have another weapon? Had his associates waited and had Holmes found himself in an ambush? Were the Houses of Parliament to be a substitute for the Reichenbach Falls?

We burst out of this seemingly endless corridor through one last door and found ourselves on a river walkway. There was the great city, bathed in moonlight, going about its nocturnal business quite unaware of how close it had been to disaster. It was a vista fit for the brush of a Turner but I had eyes only for the tall figure poised on the river wall and looking down into the dark water below.

“Holmes,” I cried, “thank God you’re safe!” A moment later we were all at his side, as he climbed down to the safety of the path.

“Yes, old fellow, safe to fight another day. Though let us hope this particular battle is over at last.”

Then he told us of the events that had taken place after that pursuit beneath the seat of Government.

“As I have mentioned to you more than once in the past, old fellow, I have often observed that there is a perverse streak in the greatest criminals, amounting almost to a need to be caught. They are almost begging for someone to put an end to their crimes. And as Moriarty and I were alone in that dark passage way, I had the strongest sense that it scarcely mattered which of us was in pursuit of the other. We were locked, as ever, in some pre-determined struggle over which neither of us had any control and the whole outcome was somehow already determined. There must come a time when the fox wishes to be caught and the whole bloody business over with. Until then it is forced to run and run.”

“And what happened to the fox?” I asked gently, for I could sense he was in a strange and highly charged mood.

“It was the most curious thing, Watson,” he replied pensively. “I burst out of that door just as you did, having seen the trail of blood along the way. And then I saw him. Realising that the path led nowhere but to those iron gates which, in his weakened condition, he could not possibly scale, he had climbed on to the parapet where you found me …”

He indicated the spot. In my mind’s eye I could see that baleful figure, backlit by the lights of the metropolis, clutching his shoulder but still dignified in defeat.

“‘Come, Holmes,’ my friend was speaking again and I could hear the voice of Moriarty, ‘surely you are enough of a gentleman to administer the coup de grâce? ’ I raised your revolver — the revolver I have so often bidden you carry — and fired — twice. But I freely confess I could not bring myself to fire at him. Then, as if on cue, Big Ben began to toll midnight. He stood there for a moment longer and then he said quietly, almost sadly — ‘The question is which is to be master — that’s all. Humpty Dumpty, Holmes — Humpty Dumpty.’ Then he seemed to let himself fall. By the time I reached the spot there was no sign of him.”

“Humpty Dumpty had a great fall …”

It was our young friend speaking the words that were in all our minds. Alicia looked down into the dark swirling waters carried in on the evening tide. “And I doubt whether all the King’s horses and all the King’s men could put him together again.”