The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes (4 page)

As I wandered in hopelessness back toward his Alpine-stock, I discovered two distinct traces of tobacco ash, and was rather shocked to conclude that the two great rivals had enjoyed one last cigarette together. I stood and contemplated Holmes's rather singular frame of mind, and could not help but be in a confused awe of his character. I picked up his belongings and turned to leave; but such is the nature of my great friend, I was destined to hear from him one last time.

From a nearby boulder came an unnatural glint of light, and raising my hand, I discovered the source was Holmes's silver cigarette case. I intended to slip this token into my pocket and depart as readily as possible, but a small square of paper glided to the ground and stopped me in my tracks. Unfolding it, I discovered it was three pages torn from Holmes's notebook. The dictation was clear, calm and precise. He may well have been writing from his study.

“My dear Watson,” said he. “I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to you, however, that my career had reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeon-hole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed ‘Moriarty'. I made every disposition of my property before leaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow,

“Very sincerely yours,

“Sherlock Holmes.”

A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each others arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation.

Chapter II - A Most Singular Occurrence

For years I have tried to fill that void in my life: to turn hollow words back into poetry, the endless droning of orchestras into soft melodies. A bellowing silence grasped the Continent, which still bore the deep invisible scars of the conflict which had taken place between the late Sherlock Holmes and Professor James Moriarty. A great state of mourning had seemingly descended across every nation, yet none appeared aware of the cause behind their sombre disposition. I took to travelling upon the Continent in the hope of discovering some form of salvation. I cannot recall how much time I spent lifelessly drifting from country to country: I could muster no admiration of Vienna; no love or sentiment for the great stream of bridges and waterways in Venice; no sense of grandeur in Rome. All I could see were petty thieves, incapable roughs and despicable orchestrators.

I often mused to myself which I considered more hateful: a public under the control of Moriarty, or under the brutish control of the inept. For what seemed like an age, I considered the similarities to be found amongst Europe's criminally mundane, but it was not until I engaged in the study of the faculty that I truly appreciated the outstanding. Although Sherlock Holmes was no longer able to demonstrate those powers which so often astounded me, I decided to imitate his methods to broaden my understandings of the criminal mentality: I observed, I analysed and I deduced the subtleties which set certain crimes apart. Most, of course, were quite un-extraordinary; their lack of imagination and craft merely reflected the tedious routine of the authorities. Both factions had ostensibly agreed to enter into some form of uneasy armistice; neither had the guile or the craftsmanship to continue the struggle which had consumed the lives of the two great adversaries.

Though I had always admired Holmes' abilities, I could not help but be struck by the brilliance of
Moriarty
. To weave such a web, to build such an empire out of almost completely hapless material was an achievement of the ages. As I delved further into the underworld, I wandered in horror as his successors tarnished his once-great empire with their shameful banality.

I therefore decided to honour the legacy of both men by the best means at my disposal. I made it my purpose to demonstrate the incompetence of both the criminal and the authorities. Why simply rob a person when you can manipulate them: toy with their emotions and find a way to incriminate
them
. Why must the criminal always be the villain? Perhaps now that I have rebalanced the scales and left the official-forces perplexed in so many of Europe's great countries, they will finally bow to the wisdom of Sherlock Holmes and seek to broaden their tragically narrow horizons.

It was in the dawn of 1894 that I found myself embroiled in a case of particular intrigue. My travels had taken me to Montpellier, the capital of the Languedoc-Roussillon region in southern France. It was here,whilst enjoying light refreshment after a visit to the Cathédrale St-Pierre, that I had the misfortune to be introduced to a most ghastly gentleman, Henri de Saint-Hippolyte. His expression was keen yet dim, and his handsome features were somewhat diminished due to the blandness of their regularity. It soon became apparent that he possessed neither talent nor intellect; I have found more charm even from those hopelessly pretentious and insufferable fools found haunting the boulevards of Paris. But, despite my insistence upon the matter, he refused to leave me be until I had accepted an invitation to dine at his estate on Friday evening.

I could imagine no more dismal an affair, and had no intention of fulfilling such a commitment; that is, until I discovered that Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte was soon expected to inherit a rather fine collection of
objets de vertu
. Such were the rumours surrounding this collection that I concluded that they were at least worthy of inspection, and though dreading the evening's events, I was at least pleasantly reminded of my fondness of dressing for such occasions. It had been a considerable time since I had allowed myself the indulgence of formal affairs.

I took a carriage from my lodgings and noted the disgruntled look upon the driver's face as I gave him my destination. After a relatively brief journey, I found myself travelling through a great archway of trees, the moonlight shining through the steady swaying of the bare branches providing me with a dance of shadow and graceful percussion. I was entertained by this performance of rhythm and silhouette for a considerable time before arriving at the entrance to a grand house. It was an impressive sight, but served only to increase my contempt for Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte; who, to my surprise, welcomed me himself.

“Madam, even our most beautiful of regions pale in comparison to your elegance,” said he, taking my hand. “I do not believe I have ever seen such beauty.”

“You are most kind, Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte.”

“Ah please, Henri.”

“Very well, Henri. You have a truly remarkable home; rarely have I seen such magnificence. If you would be so kind, perhaps later in the evening I could have the grand tour? Unless of course you are busy with your
other
guests.”

“Of course not, my flower. I am sure we can slip away for a time, but first we must at least
appear
to be sociable. Please, come this way and meet my guests.”

I can scarcely recall a more tortuous endeavour. I have been guest to many such occasions, but never had I the misfortune to suffer such company. Arrogant men with their tales of prosperity, conveniently ignoring how they owed their entire livelihood to their fathers; cackling women who married into such lives purely because they have no other worthwhile gifts themselves, other than weak and often insufficient attempts at benevolence.

It is fortunate that most men are such simple animals: as little as a dainty smile, a quick glance, or the batting of an eyelid is sufficient to turn their customary stonewall guards instantly to dust. It was therefore with relative ease that, after the formalities of dining and entertaining had been attended too, I managed to pry Henri away from his guests and procure the previously agreed upon tour.

As we travelled down the many passageways, I glided along with flirtatious grace, and occasionally allowed a suggestive, yet subtly accidental brush of finger upon glove. One day men may learn to guard themselves against such behaviour, for upon my gentle insistence I viewed every downstairs room. Fortunately, I did not have to worry myself with any excuse for abstaining from a tour of the upstairs: such a course of action would have been most improper. The undeniable evidence of prints in dust was the only complication which I would have to contend with, for each adequate escape route was covered in the powder of the burglar's downfall.

“Henri,” said I, in a sickeningly soft sweet tone. “I have heard such
wonderful
things about your Aunt's collection, and it would be such an awful omission to miss it, having admired the rest of your home. May we see it before the night is through?”

“We shall see it soon enough, my dear,” said he, a slightly surprised, though predictably satisfied resonance to his tone. “We must wait for her to retire first.”

I must confess that I was rather taken by the splendour of the
objets de vertu
; such was the contrast between possession and likely inheritor that it was clear the apple had indeed fallen very far from the tree. The pride of the collection was a chased-gold snuffbox, crafted by the fabulous Jean Ducrollay, intricately enamelled in the style of a fanned peacock's tail. To the annoyance of my host, however, I was not infatuated by his most prized possession, but by the startling beauty of a gold, Parisian bodice ornament. I was instantly mesmerised by five rose-cut diamonds, accompanied by the further five drops of the bow pendant: its elegance accentuated its modesty. There was also a pair of girandole earrings, styled in the form of a bow, both with three drops decorated with faceted point-cut diamonds, which sparkled irresistibly when caught in the light. Amongst these objects were also a variety of other items, miniatures and jewels. I could not quite comprehend the notion that a man of no conceivable worth could possibly inherit such magnificence. It appeared that he was taken, not by the splendour of the craftsmanship, but by the wealth of compliments from those similarly naïve, who commented purely on behalf of decorum and assumption.

Thankfully the hour was growing late, and I did not have to waste my time with anymore banal socialising when we returned to the main hall, and swiftly began making my apologies. Henri's face was a mixture of disappointment and intrigue as he closed the door of my carriage, but showed no signs of suspicion.

I allowed myself a few days' reflection upon the matter, but had still to ascertain whether Henri was a worthy enough candidate for my next exploitation. Though his case was by no means a rarity, I could not waste my time upon every undeserving and contemptible man with whom I had the misfortune to cross paths. That is, until I began to hear some rather disturbing rumours.

Under the guise of hospitality and generosity, Henri had insisted his aunt take up residence on the estate, in the hope that the peaceful and comfortable conditions would aid in the recovery of her health. I soon came to learn, however, that she was being held against her will: as Henri threatened to reveal a most scandalous secret of her late husband, for whom he still harboured a fearsome hatred. Having already seen her lucrative estate pass onto his despised cousin, he was determined not to allow such a rare collection escape his evil grasp.

Disgusted though I was with such a notion, I contacted Henri, and allowed myself to be courted for several weeks. I insisted that he should write to me under the pretence of decorum, but in reality so I could learn to duplicate his script. Being a hapless fool, he remained oblivious as arrangements were being made in his name for the shipment and sale of his most beloved collection. It is regrettable that I will not be present to witness his dim expression as the authorities, already in possession of the stolen items, hand over a perfect replication of his script upon a ticket addressed to London for later that week.

In matters of delicacy, it is often advisable to function alone, for it is a great detriment when reliance is placed upon another, particularly in cases of the utmost subtlety. But, despite my trepidation, I would require a confederate to drive my carriage to the estate and rendezvous with me at an exact time and location. Fortunately, I had become acquainted with a suitable accomplice during my time spent in Montpellier. Franck was not a gentleman by any means, and would have been completely out of his depth in a discussion upon more cultural topics; but never had I seen a man more accomplished behind the reigns. Though I was not anticipating the need for such skill, it is always safer to cater for such eventualities, and had therefore arranged to meet him in a rather distasteful drinking establishment the following evening.

My profession often takes me to places of ill repute, but the threshold I found myself upon was of such notable depravity that it had to be ranked with some of the worst in Europe. The heavy wooden door reluctantly swung on its hinges to unveil a repugnant smell that instantly stained the nostrils.

I stepped inside; the light offered no inkling as to the cause of such unpleasantness, and my eyes struggled to adjust to the thick swirling haze of smoke and despair. It was a dark, dank, squalid environment, one where only the lowliest creatures descend upon having been spat out from the very dregs of society. The civilised ignore the existence of such dwellings; but if you are in the business of exploiting their misfortune, you will find no place more suitable.

I went to purchase a glass of beer from the bar, and was served by a giant bear of a man in a tattered white apron. His enormous arms were thatched with thick dark hair, and his ruddy face bore all the signs of copious alcohol consumption. I accepted my drink, but found its resemblance to ale was not in taste, but in its effect upon the mind.

Rather than keeping company with the collection of tortured souls found filling the majority of the room, I opted for a more private booth upon the periphery. But, as I awaited the arrival of my confederate, I experienced a strange occurrence, an inexplicable sensation which I could not explain.

There was a man sitting at the bar who I had seen upon arrival: he had wild, unkempt hair covering both his head and face; his clothes could have once been described as fashionable, had they not been tattered and frayed beyond comprehension. Though his attire was regular for such an establishment, the way in which this man smoked was most peculiar. He had a faraway gaze, as if he was not really present at all. The room was filled with vacant expressions; but this did not appear to be the regular glaze caused by substance.

I remained momentarily paralysed as a sense of bewilderment transformed my expression into one of dull duplication. Never in all my exploits can I recall such a distraction. The man captivated me.

To my embarrassment, I was in such a trance that I had not even registered the arrival of my associate, who was now holding out his hand, a questioning look across his brow. I half-rose from my seat and accepted the offered greeting, apologising for my apparent snub. He began to talk, but I confess that my attention had drifted back over to the bar, where the mysterious stranger had since disappeared.

Unnerved that I was becoming as mundane as the company I had been keeping, I decided that Montpellier was no longer a desirable place to reside. I therefore concluded my business and descended back into the cover of darkness to my nearby lodgings.

I was sure that I had not been recognised by the mystifying smoker, but I was unnerved by the possibility of having been too carefree with my appearance, and so avoided that particular establishment for several days. I spent the remaining time in a state of tedium, ensuring that I had not neglected any minor detail in my design. Franck would meet me outside my lodgings at seven, drive me to the de Saint-Hippolyte estate, and await my return. He would then take me to the port, where I would sail immediately for Palermo, and then to Athens. Such diligence is absolutely crucial to a successful operation: like an artist sketching a masterpiece, it is the often unappreciated craft of my profession.