Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

"Hmm, this is opportune, Watson. An alleyway running on the far side of the establishment. That will provide us with the opportunity of viewing it from another angle."

I was about to remonstrate but instead was forced to follow my friend's long strides, which took him to the end of the block where we crossed the street and came back upon the place that so intrigued him. Again Holmes took refuge in the shadows of a doorway close by the alleyway.

"See here," I said, puffing a little, for our pace had been swift. "Doesn't this strike you as a bit too easy? Not a soul about. Not even the howl of a mongrel to disturb the silence."

"No mystery there, Watson, for the native population are long abed."

"But we haven't the foggiest about what may be within this former jail or whatever it was."

"Perhaps nothing at all, but we are duty-bound to find out, are we not?"

Guiding me with his hand, for the alleyway was dark, Holmes directed our footsteps within it. On our right was a continuation of the wall that fronted the house, and I noted that its crest was also guarded by broken glass, which would have made it difficult indeed for anyone trying to climb over it. My heart sank, for this had all the elements of a trap into which Holmes was marching with purpose and propelling me as well. Somehow my earlier heroic thoughts seemed dim though the passage of time had been a short one. Then it crossed my mind that if this strange building was so well designed to resist outsiders, it could hardly serve as an effective device to lure us within.

That comforting thought was promptly dissipated when Holmes came to a halt but a moment later.

"Here we have it, Watson. A gate through the wall, which in times past and perhaps even now serves as an entryway to the alley."

"Now listen, Holmes, if that gate happens to be unlocked I'm not taking another step. This whole matter bears too close a resemblance to that Watney Gas Chamber adventure."

The faint luminosity of the night sky allowed me to catch the flash of Holmes's teeth as they were revealed in a broad smile, not at all in keeping with the peril of the situation facing us.

"My dear chap, excitement has caused you to mix fact and fantasy. You know full well that my exploits in the Watney Gas Chamber, as heroic as they seemed to countless theater-goers, were but reflections of the ample imagination of that American dramatist."

"And besides," he added, "the gate is locked, which may allay your fears though I find it inconvenient."

As he searched in his pocket, I felt another stab of fear. Of course, Holmes had with him one of those efficient devices, possibly designed by Slim Gilligan, that would make short work of the lock facing us. But my friend's actions seemed to follow an irrational path. A mysterious building by its very dimensions certain to stand apart from its fellows, an area wherein Holmes's enemies were known to have been—the whole matter shrieked "Ambush!" Here was the master of deduction blithely being taken in by a deception like a youthful Inspector Hopkins rushing down a false trail. It just didn't make sense.

Holmes had a thin piece of steel in one hand and had already inserted it in the large keyhole of the door facing us.

"The lock is an old one, Watson, but I think we can force its secret from it."

"Without a doubt, Holmes, but is this not madness? The street entrance is an impossibility without a scaling ladder, but here we have a convenient alley gate dangling before our eyes like the enticing lure on a fisherman's line. Does it not strike you that we are about to be reeled in?"

"Come now, we must not overdramatize. Ah, I think I have it!"

There was a long, regretful-sounding click, and Holmes withdrew his picklock and tested the handle of the door, which turned, and I heard the creak of hinges. Then another sound intruded itself upon my ears. Footsteps at the far end of the alley. I moved closer to Holmes, in the protective shadow of the wall, and my anxious eyes searched the dim passage ahead of us. There were two ominous silhouettes in the distance, and the distance was not as far as I would have wished it to be. "Good heavens, Holmes, it is those two giant Manchurians."

The sleuth's thin face was cocked to one side. He had already spotted the shapes that were closing in on us and was registering on something else. There was the sound of stealthy footfalls behind us as well.

"Holmes, we've been lured here and now, like game-beaters, they are flushing us into the trap."

"Well, Watson, we have no alternative at the moment."

He had the gate open in a trice and we flitted through it with the haste of desperation. As Holmes closed the portal, I leaned my considerable weight against it and he worked his picklock feverishly. The sweetest sound I could imagine was the click that signaled that the door was secure, for a moment at least.

"Come, ol' fellow, if we have bought ourselves a bit of time, let us make use of it."

I followed on his coattails, for it was infernally dark within the grounds of this ancient place and I could but depend on Holmes's ability to operate with proven efficiency while under the blanket of night.

His half-trot took us in the direction of the building, which now loomed before us with all the ghostly charm of the House of Usher! Evidently he spied no exit from the grounds, and I of course could see little at all. As we circled round the building, I did note that the front was devoid of a veranda or porch, consistent with the architecture of the area. On the far side of the building there was a section where the darkness seemed deeper, and Holmes made for it. It was a recessed door, and again he resorted to his burglar tool. Now I heard sounds in the distance and assumed that the Manchurians and whoever else was with them had gained access to the yard area. If Holmes could open the door to the building, perhaps we could secrete ourselves within and avoid capture. This time there was no telltale sound of tumblers, but of a sudden the door came ajar and I thanked fate for the time Holmes had spent studying the techniques of various robbers, many of whom he had brought to justice.

We slipped into the completely black interior of this deserted pile that had led to our undoing. But the last card was not played, and Holmes and I had been in a few other fixes that were just as desperate. His long fingers were on my wrist guiding me forward when there was a sudden burst of blinding light. Then I heard a sibilant voice that was easy to identify.

"Good evening, gentlemen. How pleased I am that you chose to drop in."

Suddenly a weight struck me from above and I was borne helplessly to the ground, thrashing as I fell but to no avail. It was not human hands that had seized me but a netlike object, which I judged to be of some sort of metal. Its weight alone kept me pinned to the ground, and the shock of its impact certainly dulled my senses. But not so much that I was unable to screw my head round and, through the blaze of lights, I saw the wizened and yellow face of Chu San Fu standing above me. In his hand was a glass container that he emptied with a smile that was more contemptuous than humorous. From its narrow mouth came a flow of crystals that seemed to explode as they fell round me. Then there was a faint mist and a peculiar scent in my nostrils, and I lost consciousness.

Chapter Eighteen

Shadow on the Walls

My first thought was that my eyelids had been glued. I tried to open them but they resisted me. Then I accepted the fact that my lids were just too heavy. It was all too much of an effort. One's mind does exhibit strange quirks. I knew not where I was or how long I was slated to be anywhere, and at this low point of my existence I suddenly as though guided by a mystical power found myself following the path of logic. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong, and it had been from the beginning. Not our being taken by Chu San Fu, but before that.