Authors: Braven
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.
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 youâ?"
"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.
"It's a thin reed,
Watson, forced on me by the chill wind of desperation."
"But why? Sounds
like a capital idea to me."
"If the man or men
have any sense, they will not enter this cell without both of us
plainly visible. Possibly Chu San Fu is served by idiots, but I doubt
it. Like calls to like."
"That went past me,
Holmes."
"The Chinaman has
rallied the remnants of his once-considerable underworld empire in
this last-ditch effort. He must be using a considerable amount of
what we might call 'local talent.' I'll wager that from the bazaars
and low haunts of Cairo he has secured the most accomplished of the
scoundrels at hand. Possibly my scheme should be abandoned in the
hopes that we will be taken to Chu and can wreak some havoc in the
ranks of the ungodly then."
As my friend mused, I
had crossed to the door and was peering out of the narrow grating
into the dark corridor beyond. I never did learn if Holmes decided to
try his scheme or not, for suddenly there was a voice. It was close;
it did not come from the corridor; and I wheeled round as though I
had received an arrow in my posterior, half expecting to find some
form that had materialized in our cell. But there was only Holmes,
and I must say he looked as amazed as I felt.
"Holmes . . . you
iss in der?
Nicht war
?" The voice was low in tone, almost
a whisper, but its timber gave it a carrying quality. Wildly, I
looked round the cell for some flue or vent but could locate none.
"Come
verrunter
und help me get into dis here place." My friend had sprung
to his feet and rushed to the window. As I followed in his wake, he
cautioned me back.
"Watch the door,
Watson. An intrusion at this time would be inconvenient."
I obeyed him promptly,
my mind in a whirl. The voice came from outside the window. Holmes
had said we couldn't get out of there without wings. How then could
anyone get in? I stole a quick glance from my station at the grate
and saw Holmes pulling a thin, wiry form through the opening. There
was something strange about his appearance, and for the moment I
could not divine what it was. But help was at hand, and with
considerable effort I forced myself to gaze into the corridor and
listen intently so that I could warn Holmes if anyone approached.
"How is it without,
Watson?"
"No sign of light.
No sound either."
"Then I guess we're
safe for the moment."
Whether Holmes meant
that I could abandon my post or not I did not know, but I could not
help returning to the center of the room, such was my curiosity
regarding this most unusual happening.