George Mann - Associates of Sherlock Holmes

“As matters stand, sir, there would seem to be little alternative to conflict before long. And as to the matter of the War Office’s interest in you – an office, might I add, against whose methods Mycroft stands vehemently opposed – why, surely that is obvious.”

“It is not obvious to me.”

“The serum, Professor. The serum! Do you not see its potential?”

“For the lending of additional vigour, perhaps, in elder males…”

“No, sir! Do you not see its possible military application?”

I gaped at the man for this wild flight of fancy. Yet was he persistent.

“Do you not see? They are experimenting upon you! They are testing your endurance, testing the effects of this new substance upon the only man in Europe to have regularly imbibed the drug. Imagine it, Professor. Imagine the scene. Battlefields swarming with soldiers who are more than human. More feral, more savage, more lethal than their Teutonic counterparts. Legions, sir! Legions upon legions of creeping men!”

With this barrage of lurid melodrama, the doctor had at last gone too far. I rose to my feet and said, with all necessary sombreness: “this, sir, is now intolerable. You do me and Miss Lowenstein a grave disservice.”

“Professor, I speak only the truth.”

“You speak slander and, I fancy, something very near to treason. Now, you have delivered your warning. I should ask you now to leave. Under normal circumstances I would request also that you bear my felicitations to your master, Mr Mycroft Holmes, yet so unworthy has been your conduct and so vile have been your insinuations, I cannot find it in my heart to do so. Dr Watson, sir, it is high time for you to depart.”

The old doctor stood up, looked sorrowfully at me, smoothed his moustache once again in that distinctive gesture and walked, slowly and wordlessly, towards the door. Once there, he turned back.

“As a scientist, Professor, you will know well what the next and final stage of their unnatural experiment will surely be.”

“And what, sir, is that?”

“They will test a thing to its very limits. To the point of its destruction. And beyond.”

I scowled in disbelief at the continuance of such folly.

“Good day, Professor Presbury. I should recommend immediate flight yet I fear you are now deaf to reason. Instead, I shall have to content myself merely by wishing you the very best of luck.”

And then he turned once more and he was gone, back to his dreams of the past, to wish himself resident again in that vanished epoch of gaslight and hansom cab.

Although certain of his more pungent fantasies have, naturally enough, lingered in my imagination, I have pushed the great majority of them aside. For I am quite certain that there can be no truth in any of it. Indeed, I am to see Scheherazade later today and to her I shall say nothing at all of this queer visitation. She will, I am certain, secure for me alternative accommodation and she has promised to take me once again upon the town. That she will have supplies about her person is to be expected.

Only pleasure lies before me now. I cannot – I will not – believe anything else. The story of the rest of my life will be one of pleasure and delight, of excess and of deep, dark, trembling joy.

It is a tragic fact that such discoveries as the one that was made in the early hours of this morning by the banks of the Thames in the vicinity of Waterloo are commonplace. A body was found, which appeared at first sight to be that of an elderly gentleman – another victim, it was thought, of old age, want, despair and that illusory comfort which is surely suggested to the desperate by the deep cold waters of our great river. Further inspection, however, revealed a more curious element to this seemingly well-worn tale.

The deceased was profoundly deformed, bent almost double even in death and possessing great and unnatural quantities of hair, as of those sported by certain simian denizens of the animal kingdom. That there is something freakish and abnormal in the business surely lies beyond all reasonable doubt, and the discovery of this ill-fated “Monkey Man” has already excited all manner of speculation.

Detective Inspector Arnold Blakeley, who is investigating the mystery on behalf of Scotland Yard, professed to this correspondent that his investigation is in its earliest stages. He considers the likeliest suspects to be found in the worlds of the circus and the carnival. It is in these disreputable quarters, he says, that all his energies shall be expended and he is confident that a plausible solution shall in time emerge.

Sent: 30th January 1913

From: Mycroft Holmes

To: Panjandrum

Noted with interest thorough failure of your Presbury project. I expect to learn shortly of its total cessation.

Sent: 30th January 1913

From: Panjandrum

To: Mycroft Holmes

Expectation unfounded. New alternatives soon to be explored. Suggest you consider retirement at earliest possible opportunity.

Sent: 30th January 1913

From: Mycroft Holmes

To: Panjandrum

Retirement impossible while such men as you defame good name of Empire.

Sent: 30th January 1913

From: Panjandrum

To: Mycroft Holmes

Not defamation; rather necessary protection. Project ongoing. Will brook no opposition.

Sent: 30th January 1913

From: Mycroft Holmes

To: Panjandrum

Useful phrase, much used by younger brother: Game is afoot.

Shinwell “Porky” Johnsonis a former criminal who appears in “The Adventure of the Illustrious Client”, in which he protects Kitty from Baron Grüner’s henchmen and provides Holmes information on the best way to get into Grüner’s secure residence. He is muscle for hire, and when I was asked to write for this anthology, the image of him standing at the door of a music hall as Holmes and Watson ascended the steps came to me almost immediately – from there the story came to me all at once, and I had a lot of fun writing it.

They call me Porky Shinwell around town on account of me carrying a bit too much meat on my bones – at least most people do. But there is one gentleman that doesn’t – one that has always treated me as if I mattered, and I shall never forget that kindness. I was at the door, making sure no undesirables got inside, and it had been a while since I had seen him, so I almost didn’t recognise him in his tall hat and frock coat. I had only ever met him on the job before, but it was him right enough – Mr Sherlock Holmes himself, coming up the steps to the Gaiety Theatre for the evening show, with the doctor at his side.

“Mr Johnson,” he said. “It is good to see you in gainful employment for a change. And I note you have been following Watson’s advice. A bit more lime in the mixture though – you will see better colour in your gums.”

Holmes was the main reason I decided to go straight several years back. Having seen how he could just look at a man and see the history of his misdeeds writ large, I knew that I would never feel safe on a job after that – the old nerves would not take it. And here he was, at it again – how in blazes he could tell from where he was stood what manner of antiscorbutic I had been using for the scurvy I shall never know. But, damn him to hell, he was right. Mr Sherlock Holmes is always right, even when you think he is wrong.