Paul Gilbert - The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

By now Holmes was leaning back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing briefly around his thin lips.

‘This really is most excellent!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now, Watson, take your exposition one step further by revealing the inevitable conclusion as to who satisfies each of your criteria!’

This time I reached my conclusion in an instant. ‘Of course! It has to be Diego, Cassales’s servant!’

Holmes clapped gleefully and leapt to his feet, while the bemused inspector covered his desk with matches as he fumbled for a light for his pipe. Once alight the pipe helped him compose himself sufficiently to ask: ‘What steps do you suggest we take in order to apprehend this individual?’

‘We must presume upon his overwhelming desire for revenge. Doña Dolores told of his resentment at her affair with Persano that resulted in his intemperate ranting at her while she sat in her carriage at the site of the duel. To see his master betrayed was hard enough for him to endure, but then to witness his ritual slaughter at the hand of his cuckolder would have aroused in Diego this most vengeful of hatreds. The means of his revenge was not hard for a man from his background to arrange. I conclude he had discovered a means of extracting sufficient amounts of the poison to render the worm apparently harmless by the time I came to experiment upon it,’ Holmes concluded.

‘I understand, but how do you suggest we act upon our presumption of his revenge?’ I asked.

‘By letting it be known that Persano is now fully recovered and that his release is imminent. Inspector, I believe that a simple statement, released to all of the important newspapers, issued by the luminaries of Scotland Yard, would be sufficient, do you not think?’ Holmes suggested mischievously.

For a moment or two Morrison hesitated whilst he considered the ethical implications of this action. However, the opportunity of bringing a case to its successful conclusion at the side of Sherlock Holmes soon outweighed his initial reservations. He nodded his head emphatically.

‘You think that by making this Diego believe that all of the risks that he has taken and that all of his planning have come to nothing, you will provoke him into carrying out one final, desperate course of action against Persano?’ he asked.

‘Inspector, I am counting upon it. Irrational as his actions so far might appear to us, to leave matters unresolved would be more than he could bear. I intend to introduce myself at the asylum where I shall await Diego’s further attempt upon Persano’s life. I am certain that with the backing of a member of the police force and a respected medical practitioner, with their combined expertise and influence I shall be able to bring this to pass.’

Morrison and I both agreed that this was possible, although I had my own reservations regarding Holmes’s safety within such an institution.

‘Holmes, give this matter due consideration before you undertake this course of action. My own limited experience of such places are both harrowing and disturbing. They are not so enlightened and progressive as modern medical institutions.’ While I was speaking Morrison passed me a police report that listed Persano’s place of incarceration as St Jude’s Hospital, Hertfordshire, one of the oldest and certainly one of the worst of its kind. This was a consideration that I immediately indicated to Holmes, yet he remained undaunted.

I continued to bring my reservations to Holmes’s attention, only from a different perspective.

‘Holmes, how is it that you can be so certain of Diego’s guilt? After all, to travel halfway round the world and then to infiltrate one of the bastions of British gentility to avenge the untimely demise of his former employer, does appear to be something of an excessive reaction. Especially when you bear in mind the fact than he was only in Cassales’ employ for a relatively short period of time.’

‘Watson,’ Holmes’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. ‘There are many other forms of attachment between two men. The esteemed and now infamous Mr Wilde has most recently brought one of these under the public gaze.’

I fully understood Holmes’s meaning, yet could still not understand why he felt the need to take such drastic and unethical action merely to ensure the mental well-being of a man who had behaved so scurrilously in the first place. I soon regretted having voiced these concerns.

‘Questions! Questions!’ Holmes slammed the arm of his chair, while his eyes spat fire. ‘You both seem to have lost sight of the fact that our main objective is nothing less than the apprehension of an attempted murderer! Now unless you intend to search the length and breadth of our expanding metropolis for a single man who has already displayed much ingenuity, I strongly suggest that you both make the necessary arrangements.’

Holmes would evidently not be dissuaded, so Morrison and I had little choice but to do his bidding. I had maintained the acquaintance of two former colleagues of mine who had diversified into the relatively new science of psychology. The combination of Morrison’s influence and Holmes’s fame meant that the arrangements were soon in place.

Morrison was proving to be almost invaluable. He arranged for the press to be notified to Holmes’s total satisfaction and he saw to it that the constabulary, nearest to St Jude’s, would set aside a room for our use should Holmes issue an urgent summons.

We checked the papers in the morning and after a light breakfast proceeded to Hanwell via Scotland Yard. As Morrison joined us in our cab he was immediately struck, as I had been earlier, by the startling change in Holmes’s appearance. Gone was his normally dapper and customary black frock-coat, the shiny black shoes and the slicked-back hair. His hair was now in a dry, tousled state of disarray, his face was made up to appear older and more worn, while his garb was now the coarse light-blue uniform of a porter.

‘Good morning, Inspector!’ Holmes’s familiar voice cheerily greeted Morrison, perhaps to reassure him that he had climbed into the right cab.

‘I must say, Mr Holmes, that I really would not have known you!’

Holmes could barely suppress a self-satisfied snigger, but then composed himself long enough to light a cigarette and to reacquaint himself with the arrangements that had been put in place.

‘Dr Watson and I will be safely ensconced at the local constabulary, which we shall pass in a few moments and which is situated but a few hundred yards away from St Jude’s. At the very hint of danger the head porter, who is now alert to your reasons for being there, will immediately dispatch a messenger to fetch us,’ Morrison offered reassuringly.

‘That is indeed most gratifying, Inspector.’ Morrison was not quite sure how to accept this comment from Holmes and we all sank back into our seats, sitting in silence for the last few moments of our journey.

It was only as we drew closer to St Jude’s that I suddenly became aware of the charming rural landscapes that were unfolding all around us. Vast swathes of lush pastures, which were intermittently bordered by some magnificent birch and elm, were spread out before us, as far as the eye could see. The occasional farmhouse appeared at the summit of gentle rolling hills and small groups of cattle gathered around tiny pools of muddied water.

Then the Gothic wrought-iron gates of St Jude’s unkindly blemished this vista as it slowly came into view. Its dark austerity could not have created more of a contrast had it been the portals of Hades guarding the entrance to Nirvana. Yet this was our destination and my feelings of misgiving increased with each yard of our progress. The huge gateway appeared to be all-embracing.

Each one of its weatherworn, blood-red bricks seemed to have etched, upon its gnarled surface, a tale of fear and terror from within.