The Adventure of the Tired Captain A Sherlock Holmes Case (2 page)

Leaving our messenger with Holmes to act as his guide and companion, I began the return journey to the hotel.

Upon reaching the bottom of the path I looked back to where I had left my friend. To my horror, far above me I could see the figure of a man outlined against the rocks which lined the path. The tall figure, lean and dressed in black emanated an almost palpable aura of malignancy, and could only have been that of Professor Moriarty. He must have been secreted somewhere further up the path, remaining hidden until Holmes and I had parted company.

There was no sign of the young Swiss boy who had delivered the summon
s and I feared that he had abandoned my friend. The thought of going back crossed my mind however my duties as a doctor took priority. If the stranger above was indeed Moriarty, Holmes with his keen senses would undoubtedly be aware of his presence and be prepared for whatever the Professor had in mind, however I redoubled my efforts to reach Meiringen.

It was almost an hour later that I found myself confronting our former host, who was standing in the doorway of his hotel.

“Well,” said I as I came hurrying up, “I trust that she is no worse?”

A look of surprise passed over his face.

“Whom do you mean, Doctor?”

“You did not write this?” I asked, showing him the letter. “There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?”

“Certainly not,” he cried. “But it has the hotel mark on it! Ha, there has only been one other Englishman at the hotel since you left and it must have been written by him. He was____”

But I had turned to go before he could finish uttering the sentence.

It had taken me an hour to reach the hotel from the falls, and being winded, the return trip uphill took nearly double that. Upon reaching the top I could see no sign of my friend save for his Alpine-stock which was leaning against a rock. I stood there for a moment or two in horror and it was to no avail that I shouted. Presently I regained my senses and attempted to use Holmes’ own methods which he had in vain tried to drill into my head.

Unfortunately the signs were only too plain to see. The black soil which lies upon the path is continually kept soft by the spray from the falls. There were two lines of footmarks leading away from me towards the path’s end and none returning. Comparing the footmarks to those which we had made on our ascent I knew one set to be that of Holmes while the other must have been that of Moriarty.

Slowly I made my way back to where my friend had left his stick and it was only then I saw his cigarette case glinting in the sun. As I picked up the case a small white square of paper fluttered to the ground. On it, written in Holmes’ precise hand were these lines....

“My Dear Watson,”
it began.

“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 from any further effects 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 in any case 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 will follow.

Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeon hole “M”, and done up in a blue envelope and inscribed “Moriarty.”

I have 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 my dear fellow,”

“Very sincerely yours”

“Sherlock Holmes”

I sat there poring over the words while the roar of the falls thundered in my ears. It was an hour before I gathered my senses and decided to return to Meiringen for assistance.

The local constable returned with a small search party for an official investigation, but as night was falling and the evidence seemed clear, he quickly reached the same conclusion as had I. He assured me that the bodies would quickly turn up in the Aare or more likely the Lake of Brienz into which the Aare flowed.

I ignored the constable’s suggestion that I leave with the group and with a shrug of indifference he handed me his
lantern. I turned my back on the retreating figures and stared into the dark chasm of the falls and thought fondly of my friendship with the best and wisest man whom I had ever known.

It was but a short while later that the sound of a boulder hitting the pathway not ten feet from me shook me out of my reverie. I stared up the side of the cliff face but it was too dark to see much of anything. For some time I listened but I could hear nothing more.

I began to make my way down the pathway when I again heard a noise from above. Fearing another boulder I pressed my back against the rocks but the sound had stopped again. Could I possibly have imagined it? But no, in a moment the noise began afresh, faint yet steady and unmistakably drawing closer. I pulled out my service revolver. I half expected to see one of the many goats which abound in the area and I strained to catch a glimpse of them however the darkness was impenetrable. Suddenly a steely grip fastened onto the hand which was holding the revolver while another hand covered my mouth. It was then that the black of the night was replaced by the stygian blackness of unconsciousness.

I awoke to the welcoming l
ight and warmth of a crackling fire and to the sight of my old friend Sherlock Holmes.

For a moment I felt as if I should pass out again.

The warning signs must have been evident as Holmes knelt down beside me and forced some brandy between my lips.

“Forgive the intrusion old fellow,” he said. “I took the liberty of relieving you of your brandy flask after you fell. The day has been a harrowing one and I felt we could both use a drink.

“You must also forgive the manner and suddenness of my appearance. For reasons which I will soon make clear I dare not show myself to you before this. I also did not wish you to practice that skill which you undoubtedly perfected during your army days and shoot me with the revolver which I remember you putting in your pocket this morning.”

“My God, Holmes I thought you were dead,” I said. I rubbed the rising welt on my head, where I had hit it, when startled by Holmes I had fallen. Luckily the wound appeared to be only superficial.

“It is exactly what I wanted you to think Watson.”

“But why
, Holmes?” I asked.

“As you know Watson, I had voiced the opinion earlier that this affair with Professor Moriarty would prove to be the climax of my career one way or another.
If I was fortunate enough to be able to rid the world of his vile presence I felt that I should have done a service to my country and to my fellow man and if he was to get the better of me, well then, I have done what I could to help balance the scales of justice. It was with this latter possibility in mind that I had left instructions with my brother Mycroft as to my affairs should anything untoward happen to me.”

“What of the note?” I asked.

“The note was quite genuine, I assure you. I truly believed that I would not return alive from the confrontation with Moriarty. He allowed me to write that message to you while awaiting me at the end of the trail. There was room for only one man at a time on the path and neither of us would trust the other at his back. Once I had finished my letter I advanced up the path to meet him. He came at me suddenly almost throwing me over the precipice. But as you know, Watson, I have knowledge of Baritsu, the Japanese system of wrestling and as I was younger and stronger I countered his attack. Although his assault was inspired, his rage made him careless and I was able to end our contest swiftly.

“He made no sound as he fell, but his eyes never left mine even as he was falling. With our struggle concluded and with no one to say any different, I thought that this might be a good opportunity for Sher
lock Holmes to disappear also.”

“To disappear?”

“Yes, Watson. With the death of Moriarty there would no doubt be any number of successors to the late Professor who would wish me dead. My life would not be worth a moment’s purchase and in any case it would make it impossible for me to continue to pursue my line of work. I thought it would thus be prudent to absent myself from London for a time until things died down. All these thoughts went through my head even before the Professor hit the rocks.”

“What would you have done away from your beloved London, Holmes?”

“Oh, travel the continent and study.”

“Study what?”

“Anything and everything. All disciplines are of importance to the criminologist.”

I took another drink from my flask. “Holmes,” I asked suddenly “what of the footprints?”

“Ah yes Watson, the footprints,” he said patiently. Throughout our long friendship he had become quite accustomed to my sometimes disjointed thoughts.

“Of course my footprints would have given me away had I retreated down the path. Fortunately an alternative was at hand. Although the cliff wall appears to be smooth there are sufficient hand holds, for an experienced climber, with which to scale the wall. Twenty feet up I found a small ledge where I spent eight uncomfortable hours while the local constabulary conducted their investigation in a thorough but unimaginative manner. The hardest part my dear
Watson, was not calling out to you after they had left. I had resigned myself to spending a cold and damp night on my perch when a falling boulder changed my plans.”

“Yes, one fell close to me,” I interjected.
“This is a most dangerous place; it is a wonder that there are not more accidents.”

“It is certainly
dangerous; however it was not an accident, Watson. After the rock fell past me I looked up and saw something which made my blood run cold.”

“I saw nothing.”

“The very outcrop upon which I was seated would have blocked your view, especially as the light was growing dim.”

“What was it you saw, Holmes?”

“Peering over the edge of the cliff top, not fifty feet above me was the face of Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

“Who is Colonel
Sebastian Moran?” I asked, warming my hands over the small fire.

“Sebastian
Moran was a Colonel in the Indian Army and is one of the finest big game hunters our country has ever produced. And he also,” he added as almost an afterthought, “happens to be the right-hand man of the late Professor Moriarty. If I was the perfect thinking machine you tend to depict me as in your little stories, I should have realized Moriarty would never confront me on his own. When I saw Moran I knew that my plans for an effective disappearance would not bear fruit, I also realized my life was in mortal danger. “I squeezed myself under a small outcrop of rock and waited the half hour or so until the night had deepened. Once darkness had descended I carefully made my way down the cliff side, by the same route which I had ascended, and the rest you know.”

“But why did you not call out to me Holmes, instead of accosting me in such a manner?”

“It would have only served to draw attention both to myself and to you, Watson. Moran would have had us both at the mercy of a further fusillade of rocks or even his deadly air gun.”

“You have mentioned this weapon
before, Holmes.”

“Yes,
Watson, Moran’s favorite weapon when not hunting big game is an air gun made by a blind German mechanic by the name of von Herder. It is noiseless and fires a .22 caliber projectile and in the hands of an expert such as Moran it is an extremely accurate and deadly weapon. Any precipitate move on my part would have drawn fire from such an eager hunter as he.”

“Then why did he try to smash our brains out with rocks instead of using his gun?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps he found it inconvenient to display such a thing in public.”

“But what
of this fire Holmes, does it not make us sitting targets?”

“
Put your mind at ease, Watson. This cavern which shelters us also protects us from attack, at least from any direction save the one. Moran can not be sure that we are not armed, as indeed you are, and he would not risk a frontal assault. He will wait to ambush us.”

“It is eleven now,” he said taking out his pocket watch and reading it by the glow of the fire. “We shall le
ave this place in four hours.”

“Why not wait until morning?”

“I do not believe that he will mount an attack in the dark while we possibly have the advantage, however by dawn we shall be in grave danger. To risk moving about in the light of day would be foolhardy indeed. I have also set some traps of my own. Colonel Sebastian Moran may soon discover there is a more experienced big game hunter in Switzerland than he. Get some sleep, Watson we shall need all of our wits about us on the morrow.”