The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes Page 4

“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 b
ewilderment 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.

  I left my lodgings on Friday evening with both relief and adrenaline coursing through my veins, the deep blood-red of the sun sank into the horizon, a great stream of crimson oozing across the sky. My associate awaited me upon the corner, his ever-growing shadow enticing me toward the carriage. I stepped in, thanking him for his generosity, when suddenly the door slammed shut with a definitive clunk. I began to bang furiously upon the window, when a haunting bodiless voice addressed me from outside the carriage.

  “I would not draw attention to yourself, Miss Adler, or you shall find yourself in considerable danger. I suggest you remain silent until we reach our destination, where I again urge discretion; you shall discover all the answers to your questions there. But for now, I shall merely say that it would not have required setting fire to Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte’s house, as I did to your lodgings so many years ago, to discover the location of your evening’s endeavours.”

  Such was the state of my agitation that I almost entirely ignored my abductor’s final remark, the repercussions of which caused me to almost faint with shock. The absurdity was almost too much to comprehend; having spent so many years longing for such a terrible truth to be false, here I was almost three years after his death, being kidnapped by Sherlock Holmes.

  I remained in a condition of nervous exhilaration until we finally reached our destination.

  “We must get you inside straightaway, Miss Adler,” said the voice. “Do not hesitate; it is now most dangerous for you to be recognised in public.”

  Following Holmes’s orders, as soon as my carriage was unbolted I followed him swiftly into a small rustic dwelling, doing my utmost to conceal my features. Holmes slammed the door and swooped around the room, plummeting us into near total darkness. I heard the soft scrape of a match as the dishevelled qualities of his disguise flickered into view.

  “I must leave you, Miss Adler. Disguise yourself using whatever attire you deem most fitting, and for the life of you, do not answer this door to anyone other than myself.”

  Without so much as a smile or hint of recognisable pleasure, Sherlock Holmes disappeared back into the night, as if he had materialised out of those dreadful mists of Reichenbach for only a second to save me from what appeared to have been imminent disaster.

  I awaited his return. The room was rather small, with a fireplace suitable for only a few logs, situated between two doors, which led to separate bedrooms. Before the fire were two unstable looking chairs, and a misshapen table, upon which was a great mass of press cuttings from across Europe, but mainly those which focused upon England or France. With little else to occupy my time, I took a seat by the unlit fire and began to muse as to how the evening’s events could have possibly taken such a bizarre turn. It appeared however, that I had been clearly affected by the excitement of recent events, for the sharpness of my thoughts merely reflected the feeble glow of my candle. I continued in this daze for some time, my eyes transfixed upon the slow descent of wax as it slipped silently toward the holder. Mercifully, I was eventually rescued from my limbo by the unmistakable grind of lock and key.

  “I must congratulate you, Mr Holmes,” I said, approaching him as he entered the room, stopping only inches before him. “I have never suffered the embarrassment of being caught off guard, even by you. Still, you have had many years practice since our last encounter, and I was at the distinct disadvantage in believing you to be dead, which is hardly fair. I assume you were to take me to the authorities? It was awfully kind of you to bring me here instead.”

  “I have been engaged on several cases,” said he, walking into the centre of the room in a rather unconvincing attempt to hide his discomfort. “So I admit to not giving yours my full attention. However, after I heard some rather curious murmurings, I investigated and discovered your designs for Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte’s inheritance, and acted accordingly. My original plan was to simply lock you in your carriage and drive you to the estate; where, as you correctly deduced, the authorities were waiting for you. It was not until I laid eyes upon you this very evening that I realised just whom I had been dealing with, and forcing me into rather abrupt evasive action.”

  “As brilliant in death as you were in life, Mr Holmes,” I said, walking past and taking a seat.

  “Quite,” said he, perching upon the chair opposite. “But, so we do not have to retrace this ground later on, I am dead. That is something which I wish you to bear in mind; it is of the utmost importance that this belief continues. So much as a whisper of my present earthly status would put you and I in considerable danger.”

  “Of course, Mr Holmes. But may I ask, how is it that you are still alive? I read Dr Watson’s touching account, and I, along with the rest of the world, believed you to be dead. It was so heartfelt that I could not believe it to be a falsehood.”

  “You are too kind, Miss Adler; but I am afraid to say dear Watson does truly believe that I have gone; that is the simple truth behind his, as you put it, rather touching account. I wish I could communicate with him, but it would place us both in a most unnecessary jeopardy” he remarked, taking the long poker from the fireplace and shifting the cold ash, as if it had some form of meditative affect upon his mind.

  “As for my survival, I recall that Watson described how the contest between Professor Moriarty and myself could end in only one way; clearly, as you have surely deduced, that is not true. The Professor was kind enough to allow me to write to Watson; but as soon as I had finished, he sprang a most murderous attack upon me. It was through my knowledge of baritsu, a Japanese form of wrestling, that I was able to gain an advantage over the Professor. It was a great struggle, Miss Adler, and there were several instances where Watson’s account could have become reality. But, in the end, it was I who remained on that perilous ledge, standing exhaustedly, listening to the sound of Moriarty’s terrible last cry, as it crashed and reverberated down that merciless shaft. I often wonder whether even those purest of waters would be sufficient to cleanse itself of the evil which now poisons its current.”

  “But Dr Watson commented that there were no returning footprints. In that terrain, it would have been impossible to have left undetected,” said I, consumed by his narrative.

  “Watson’s account was inaccurate in regard to only one description. He claimed that the cliff face was insurmountable; that was not so. I realised the advantageous position I was in; if I could simply climb to safety and allow events to unfold, then I would be free to pursue my career with all my foes believing that I had perished along with Profes
sor Moriarty. Alas, this was not to be the case. I saw Watson return to the scene of my supposed demise. I restrained myself from calling out to him, but once he was out of sight, I was attacked by Colonel Sebastian Moran. It was fortunate that it was almost completely dark, for against the cliff-face I was a difficult target. A barrage of bullets rained down around me, and I felt the deathly caress of metal shaving my flesh. Once the Colonel had exhausted his ammunition, he adapted his strategy to the rather cruder method of hurling large rocks. I had no choice but to descend back down onto the path from which I came. It was a perilous climb, Miss Adler; you can scarcely imagine the danger of the descent. On more than one occasion I believed I would be joining the late Professor; but when I did finally have the misfortune to fall, battered and bloody though I was, it was onto the path. I took flight into the night; not even Moran could be certain of my fate.”

  “But why remain hidden for so long if this Moran suspects you to be alive?” I asked.

  “Colonel Moran is now the leader of Moriarty’s former, and distinctly reduced criminal empire, but he is still capable of inflicting damage upon a rather large scale. I remain hidden to avoid the unwanted attention of the man, but also in the hope that one day he will allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Then, and only then, will I make my return.”

  “That is a truly remarkable account, Mr Holmes, but why are you in Montpellier of all places? It is far too mundane for the foremost champion of the law.”

  “I have travelled under many identities, as you can see,” said Holmes, casually waving his hand across his person. “I conducted some of my old activities in Norway, whose criminal has still at least some imagination, and provided me with a few cases of interest. I have also visited Tibet, Persia and Mecca. There is much to be said for visiting such places, but I confess, I am scarcely possessed with any great desire to return to but a single one. I was conducting some research into coal-tar derivatives in a laboratory the other side of Montpellier, but discovered all I wished to know and have since taken residence in this establishment. It offers simple comforts and the privacy which I desire; I try not to conduct many investigations, for I do not wish to attract any unwanted attention.”