Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

The coming of the now-dead agent, Cruthers, to our chambers had been the beginning, of course, and his mention of the name of our arch-enemy had been the first alert. The additional information supplied by Mycroft Holmes had sketched the outlines on the canvas of the case, and then Deets's appearance at our door had added revealing brush strokes. Holmes, with his usual brilliance, had joined the two cases into one, but from that point it was as though we had been led by the noses. He had anticipated the taking of the Sacred Sword but, to my astonishment, had allowed the theft to be committed, and now this religious relic was in the hands of the enemy.

We had preceded Chu San Fu to Venice but had allowed him to depart from the Jewel of the Adriatic with his accomplice, Memory Max, whilst we followed a will-of-the-wisp to Berlin. Holmes had outdone himself again by deducing the unknown grave in the Valley of the Kings, and we had routed Chu's henchmen guarding the place. But again we had vacated the field, none the better, as far as I could see, for our triumph. Holmes had indicated on the train back from Luxor that he had finally secured whatever information he had been seeking but, upon our return, had not availed himself of the considerable forces at his beck and call but had instead taken off with none but me at his side, walking full tilt into a trap. Was this the work of he who was hailed as the finest mind in England?

The Anglo-Saxon has been accused of insatiable curiosity and sometimes of flights of fancy, but at this moment it was the practicality inherited from my staunch forbearers that intruded itself forcibly on my thoughts.

Watson, I thought, you are naught but Boobus Brittanicus. For years, your claim to fame has been that of biographer, and has your inimitable friend ever let you down? It is he who is the master of logic, not you. If, as Holmes has generously stated, it has been your faith that has spurred him on then stand fast. Remember Wellington's men at Waterloo. What of Nelson's sailors at Trafalgar? Did they lack faith as that immortal seadog got himself shot to ribbons on the road to glory? Stand fast!

My eyes opened in more ways than one. I was lying on a pallet and looking at the slats of what was evidently a bed above me. It was a double bunk, singularly an arrangement much used on a man-of-war. Aside from a slight giddiness, my principal feeling was that of guilt at the path my thoughts had been following. Logic, indeed! I had been drugged in some manner and had been suffering mental aberrations as an aftereffect. Any doctor could diagnose that.

With a groan I swung my feet to the floor and assumed a sitting position.

"Ah, Watson, you have rejoined the land of the living."

How welcome were the familiar tones of my friend, and my bleary eyes located him beside a barred window that, along with a door mounted on metal hasps, seemed the only openings to the limited area that surrounded us.

"Where are we, Holmes?"

"In a cell, considerably removed from the ground level."

As he spoke, Holmes was actively engaged in some manner at the window, and I stumbled to my feet to lend what assistance I could.

"Rest easy, ol' friend, until you regain your equilibrium," said the sleuth.

He had a piece of timber between two of the bars and was using it as a lever. There was a strained sound to his voice, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders were tight under his jacket. I well recalled that day in '83 when my friend had straightened out the steel poker, bent into a curve by the villainous Grimesby Roylott, with one sudden effort. I knew the strength he was exerting. Suddenly, he relaxed with a smile.

"This is an ancient structure and I sense that I'm making some progress with these bars. But a moment, Watson, and we shall try together."

"Where did you—?"

"One of the slats on the bed," he replied, anticipating my question and gesturing with the wooden piece in his hand. "Whereas the passage of years decreases the strength of masonry, seasoning increases that of wood. I judge this slat has supported the backs of many prisoners in years long gone."

I was looking out of the window now and could see that we were four stories up, at the top of the building. I noted Holmes's scarf attached to one of the bars and saw that it fluttered limply in the occasional wind that fanned our place of captivity. Suddenly my eyes blurred, and I had to rub them for a moment and shake my head before they came back into focus.

"When I saw Chu San Fu and his infernal phial of crystals, I was able to gasp some untainted air and did not receive the full shock of the gas he subjected us to," explained Holmes.

"What did the beggar use?"

"Haven't the faintest. The Chinese are an ancient race, and I imagine they have a few tricks that our pharmacies, for all their modern developments, might find of interest. Our laboratories as well."

Holmes was rubbing his thin, amazingly strong arms, and his manner, to anyone not used to his calm acceptance of adversity, would have been infuriating. I found it reassuring.

"Look here, if you think we can budge one of those bars, I'm ready for action. But considering our height from the ground, it seems like labor lost."

"A possible exit of any kind could be helpful. Here, ol' chap, let us give it a go."

I was able to position my hands over Holmes's and we put our backs to it. I could feel the iron bar shifting slightly. Then the veins in my friend's forehead stood out for a brief moment, and there was a grating sound. "Enough, Watson. We have it!"

I was puffing and gasping, but the lower part of one bar was disengaged from its long resting place and was free. A moment more and Holmes had the top of the round metal piece loose as well and was hefting it in his hand.

"Iron is a formidable weapon. The age of copper and brass was the golden one for Egypt. When the Hittites appeared with iron weapons, the great decline set in."

"You have some plan for our escape?"

"At the moment, no. Our incarceration came as a surprise. I was counting on Chu San Fu's overweening ego to keep us on the scene if only to tell us how clever he is."

"Then you expected to be captured?"

"Always a possibility, Watson. One that occurred to you as well, but you followed my misguided footsteps nonetheless. Dear, loyal friend."

For a brief moment Holmes regarded me with that half-smile that in others might have seemed supercilious, but I divined his thoughts and was deeply touched by them.

"Well," I said with buoyed spirits, "if we can remove one bar, two should not be beyond our capabilities."

But it took us another five minutes, and hard labor it was before we had the second bar out of the window. "What now?" I asked, taking in deep breaths of air. "We would need wings to go out the window, so we have little choice but to await what fate has in store for us. However, it is not such a terrible situation. Obviously, Chu had us removed to this cell because other matters claimed his undivided attention. I suspect that sooner or later he will order us brought to his presence to gloat a bit before he gives his henchmen the high sign to do us in. The Chinaman has all the instincts of an Oriental despot and, if born in another time, would wish himself to be no less than a Mandarin."

Holmes indicated the door to our cubicle. "You will note the barred grate, Watson. I tested that while you were still unconscious. Should a guard drop by to check on our behavior, I've a thought in mind. You might be attempting to maneuver your way through the window. If he were to enter to prevent an escape and I were behind the door, I could certainly cosh him with one of these iron bars."

I was gazing at him in astonishment, entranced by the ingenious escape plan that he had rattled off in his matter-of-fact manner. Then he shook his head.