The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes Page 5

  “Yet you became involved in my affairs. May I ask why you wished to aid that most deplorable of creatures?”

  “Having taken an interest in your case, I began to observe your movements. It struck me as rather odd that letters from Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte were being delivered to someone who I had previously believed to be a man. I therefore followed you upon your next outing, and discovered your design to sell the offending gentleman’s rather prized collection of valuables to one Charles Augustus Milverton. I concluded that you had duplicated the script of your admirer and were simply going to rob him of his inheritance. Had you opted for a different buyer, Miss Adler, I may not have involved myself with the case at all, but I could not allow the collection to be sold to such a fiend. He is the most despicable man in London. But now that I have heard of your disdain, I cannot help but wonder whether your motives were a little more unselfish, and infinitely more devious.”

  I had no desire to provide Holmes with the praise he was searching for, and so merely smiled noncommittally at his theory and rose from my chair.

  Over the next few months, I became rather well acquainted with Sherlock Holmes. Though we had to maintain our disguises in public, we removed our facial disguises when in the safety of his lodgings. It is a cruel twist of fate to be consistently flattered by the mundane, yet ignored by the extraordinary. Ever since our first brief encounter, I had been captivated by the great detective: yet only through my tales of triumph and frustration over Europe’s many authorities was I successful in eliciting from him a response of genuine merriment.

  “Oh, how superb your talents are, Miss Adler,” he remarked as he paced up and down the small room. “You have an extraordinary gift for crime; not only do you succeed, but you leave the authorities infuriated and utterly perplexed. I have been telling Watson for years that the official force has many qualities, but their insistence upon routine, accompanied by their distinct lack of imagination, will be their downfall. How wonderfully you have proven my theory!”

  “I thank you, Mr Holmes,” I replied. “But I cannot help but ask; why is it that you spend your time with Dr Watson? He appears to me to be quite un-extraordinary.”

  I instantly regretted my remark for the first genuine flicker of irritation shot across Holmes’s expression, and he abruptly ceased pacing.

  “My friend is, despite your misguided impressions, Miss Adler, a distinctly remarkable fellow,” said he, staring, as he so often did, into the distance. “I assume your conclusions come from his publications? But I can assure you that despite my numerous requests upon the matter, he modestly depicts himself in such a way for dramatic purposes; he seems to think the public respond more favourably to such a technique.”

  “I apologise, I should have realised that you would not befriend such a man if he was completely devoid of interest.”

  “No need for apologies, Miss Adler,” said he, returning from his trance to face me. “Watson himself is often guilty of remarks that I react, perhaps a trifle too hastily to.”

  I had found myself fascinated by the tales of Sherlock Holmes; but in response to this unexpected note of kindness, I broke out into my first true smile since I had read Dr Watson’s account of Reichenbach.

  “The Doctor may portray himself in a slightly modest demeanour, but he certainly seems to enjoy painting pictures of women in his narratives,” I nervously enquired.

  “I am told he possesses quite a talent for it; and I must admit, a slightly curious change does come over him during such cases, I have often found it rather irritating. His mind loses its keen edge when it is required most.”

  “You would not speak highly of a woman in such a way, then, Mr Holmes?”

  “That would depend upon the woman, Miss Adler.”

  “The Doctor painted a rather flattering image of myself in his story, ‘A Scandal in Bohemia.’ What did you make of his description?”

  “Quite accurate; though if it were myself writing, I would have focused upon your much more intriguing deviance.”

  I confess that my feelings for Sherlock Holmes developed after only a few days of our re-acquaintance, but despite my subtle inquiries into the matter, I was always greeted with an uninterested response. I believe he cared for me only as a companion. At first I could not help but feel slightly crestfallen, but when I considered how few companions he had, I was greatly uplifted. Though I harboured certain feelings, I refused to allow myself to suffer the embarrassment of mindless admiration. I have had the misfortune to encounter many such pitiful women, and the notion of joining their insufferable ranks was distasteful, not only to myself, but also clearly to Holmes.

  I had sensed in recent days that his patience was beginning to wear thin, and though we had grown close, I was becoming increasingly apprehensive. The thick layer of smoke that now filled the lodgings surely reflected the storm clouds brewing in his mind: for such a man to remain idle for so long was dangerous. I therefore decided to engage him with what he would consider a captivating issue, for it was one of profound notoriety.

  “Sherlock,” I said, as he sat in his customary silence, eyes closed and fingers drawn beneath his chin, by the cold ashes of the fire. “You talk of Dr Watson as a chivalrous man who would be disturbed by any crime against a woman. But one cannot help notice a rather prominent omission in his publications regarding those most terrible of crimes only a few years past.”

  “You are referring to Jack the Ripper? That is a most delicate situation, Miss Adler, which it would be imprudent to comment upon publicly.”

  “But we are not in public,” I pressed. “Can’t you divulge your tale to me? My imitations of Dr Watson’s chronicles are, of course, for no one’s eyes but my own.”

  “I see no harm; the matter has run its course and one day the truth will be published. The only logical conclusion that one can reach when presented with the facts is that Jack the Ripper was none other than Professor James Moriarty.”

  “I do not doubt your answer, for I have suffered the misfortune of crossing paths with Professor Moriarty. Not in person, of course; his game was to always remain in the shadows, allowing others to dirty their hands. But pray, can’t you explain how you can be certain as to your conclusions, and why must they remain unknown?”

  “Not all truths are suitable in a court of law, Miss Adler. You speak of Moriarty as belonging to the shadow: that is not quite an apt description. Spiders dwell in the dark, await their prey, they adapt to their environment. Moriarty crafted his own environment, he created the shadows and dictated the movement of those inside. Does such an explanation suffice?”

  “Only slightly. Surely even Moriarty did not control all crime. Could there not have been one knife-wielding savage who escaped his grasp?”

  “Quite, but you miss the point. The Ripper was never caught: we therefore must assume that he is blessed with considerable intellect. But, if we follow my hypothesis, then the outcome dictates that Jack the Ripper was able to avoid capture precisely because he controlled almost the entire criminal underworld. Picture Moriarty as a spider at the centre of a great web, controlling hundreds of threads; a vibration on but a single strand would be felt in the nucleus. But if the vibration is determined by the spider, not the prey, then the spider knows exactly which of its threads are quiet.”

  “You mean Moriarty created crime elsewhere in order to carry out these atrocities?”

  “Precisely,” said Sherlock Holmes. “The spider creates a distraction, attacks its prey and then scuttles back into the shadow. Moriarty would have ensured that the main focus of the authorities was elsewhere by orchestrating decoy crimes, so that he could carry out the atrocities of Jack the Ripper. They were sufficient to draw the attention of the police, but never so formulaic that they aroused suspicion of any ulterior motive. The usual system of agents and buffers would have been in place; and it is fairly safe to assume that diff
erent agents were employed each time. Moriarty avoided any patterns, fooling the authorities, as well as to ensure that this most delicate of secrets was kept safe, even from his most loyal supporters.”

  “Forgive me Sherlock but your reasoning appears to be rather flimsy. I do not doubt Moriarty controlled the majority of crime in London, but that by no means conclusively proves he was Jack the Ripper.”

  “It does not, however I must point out Miss Adler that were it possible to prove such, we would not be having this discussion about possibilities, for the case would be closed. As it is, the case is open, and therefore we must remain in the realm of hypothesis. Do you remember the three rather disturbing murders which took place shortly before my death?”

  “Of course.”

  “They were orchestrated by Professor Moriarty, and were entirely motivated by his hatred for me, and desire to halt my pursuit of him. They were meticulously executed, fiendishly violent, and yet to the public, entirely unmotivated. Do such motivations resemble anyone familiar?”

  “I can understand why Moriarty would wish to murder such well-renowned figures, Sherlock, but why would he bother committing such crimes against common prostitutes?”

  “The majority of our population is made up of honest men and women, Miss Adler. Murder a politician or a social reformer, and there is great scandal, but why should a man who can barely afford to feed his family and cannot vote for such people care? Brutally slaughter a helpless woman, for seemingly no reason, and everyone feels threatened. Through different methods, Moriarty terrorised all the population.”

  “Your logic is as concise as always, but I still do not understand why Moriarty would openly risk revealing himself by killing those women. It is so out of keeping with his other exploits that it makes me question the notion altogether.”

  “I need say no more than ask you to repeat your last sentence.”

  “It is so out of keeping with his other exploits that it makes me question the notion altogether. You use the anomaly of his actions as a basis of his guilt?”

  “You are not the first person to share such sceptical sentiments, nor will you be the last; that was the beauty of Moriarty’s game. His station in society as a renowned mathematician and foremost intellect was a calculated cocoon of infallibility. Such is the foolish attitude toward social order in our country that the officials would not even entertain Moriarty as a criminal, let alone being both the Napoleon of crime and Jack the Ripper. I can only point to the circumstantial evidence, that as I closed in upon Jack the Ripper, his activities ceased. The further one advances, the further the other retreats. This was the time I began to slowly advance upon the late Professor, and he knew his game of openly taunting me was up.”

  “But you could not prove it was he?”

  “No, I could not. Perhaps I could, had it been my true purpose.”

  “I do not understand. Capturing Jack the Ripper was not your purpose? What were you doing?”

  “My purpose was to stop Moriarty, Miss Adler, not capture Jack the Ripper,” said Holmes. “The Ripper was only one, although fairly substantial crime. I strove to bring Moriarty’s criminal empire in its entirety crashing down upon him. You must understand that it was a great game being played between the Professor and I. Jack the Ripper was a classic case of diversion, and my role was to play along. I allowed Moriarty to make his move, and would then follow with the appropriate amount of intensity, whilst my attention was actually focused elsewhere.”

  “You mean to say that not only did you not try to capture the monster, but you were not even trying to prevent the murders?” I exclaimed.

  “I was not engaged upon the case from the start, an error in judgment that I cannot be held accountable for. But no, I did not try to prevent them.”

  “But Sherlock, that is despicable!” I cried, scarcely believing this cruellest of revelations.

  “Despicable? Try to recall my portrayal of Moriarty, Miss Adler; he was impregnable! Any sniff of me close to a single thread, and poof! The resolute strand of the vast web threatening to suffocate all of London would vanish, leaving me stumbling, blindfolded in the dark.”

  “You mean to say even the great Sherlock Holmes was consistently thwarted by Professor Moriarty?”

  “I cannot win every battle, Miss Adler, and I will not deny that Moriarty was the closest thing that I have ever had to an equal. As for the Ripper, he was the Professor’s greatest achievement and his greatest mistake. The shocking nature of the crimes and the ease of his escape were designed to poison the London air with a terrible, all-consuming fear. It was also a message to myself. However, for all the Professor’s cunning, his deviance and his organisation, he harboured the same flaw of all dictators; he was arrogant. The ruse of the Ripper was an obsession, and I am sure Moriarty took great amusement in consistently thwarting me in the public eye. But at last, he had provided me with an opportunity to grasp one of his great threads. Before he realised his mistake, I was striving from within, relentlessly working toward his demise. And though people may not approve of my methods, I succeeded in ridding London of both Jack the Ripper and eventually Professor Moriarty.”

  “But why was this not in Dr Watson’s account? His publications have never so much as mentioned Jack the Ripper.”

  “There are numerous unpublished cases of my works. It is impossible to publish such an account at this point in time. To proclaim such statements about one of our most respected scholars and citizens, with no conclusive evidence, would be distinctly unwise.”

  I cannot deny that despite my initial disdain for Sherlock Holmes’s ruthless nature during that fateful period in 1888, I could not help but feel an admiration toward his purely logical reasoning. Without doubt, he had defeated two of the greatest criminals the world has ever known. Remnants still remained: Moriarty’s empire was in decay but still yet to collapse, while Jack the Ripper remained a symbol to all those who strove to terrorise the citizens of England’s great capital. It was therefore with a heavy heart that one morning I brought news of such shocking profanity, I knew it must mean the departure of Sherlock Holmes back into the mortal world.

  As I entered Sherlock’s room, he was relentlessly pacing up and down, smoking his pipe at a frantic rate. The room was covered in the scattering of English newspapers, all cast upon the floor in frustration.

  “He must make a move soon! I am not sure how much longer I can remain idle,” he cried.

  “To whom do you refer, Sherlock?” I enquired, rather warily.

  “Moran, Miss Adler, Moran! I have heard so little of his exploits that I am beginning to think that he has simply retired!”

  I briefly allowed Holmes to continue in his habitual nature of muttering to himself, his manner suggestive that he was either unaware or totally unfazed by my attempted communication.

  “Sherlock,” I said, surprised at the forcefulness of my tone.

  “What is it?” he retorted.

  “I think you may find it easier to locate the Colonel in this morning’s newspaper,” I said somewhat tartly.

  The unusual tone of my remark was at least sufficient to interrupt his train of thought, as he reluctantly slumped into a chair to examine the paper. One of the main articles told of a great panic which had arisen in London. It originated from a letter sent to the Central News Ltd; it read as follows:

  ‘Holmes is gone in a watery grave

  For the rest of time, no more can he save.

  They thought me Moriarty, a raging Professor,

  I’ll prove them all wrong, when I undress her.

  I’ll do it again, stifle their cries,

  Back from hell…

  Jack the Ripper will rise.’

  For a long period of time, Sherlock sat transfixed. His eyes did not so much as blink as he continued to smoke his pipe and stare at the article, as if he were
willing the identity of the author to leap suddenly from the pages. It is the only instance, in my limited experience, that I can recall having seen him wear such an expression.

  “Intriguing,” he finally muttered.

  “I thought you said Professor Moriarty and Jack the Ripper were one and the same?” I enquired cautiously.

  “They could still be so. I would have assumed it to be yet another imitator trying to strike terror into the citizens of London, but his mention of Moriarty suggests otherwise.”

  “It could be Moran setting a trap?” I offered.

  “That is a most distinct possibility,” he replied. “London was, of course, the playground of Jack the Ripper, but the publication does suggest that he is unaware of my whereabouts, or indeed if I am truly alive. Nonetheless, my hand has been forced, and the only way to deduce any form of satisfactory conclusion is my slightly premature, yet long overdue return to London. Moran will not know of my disguise, and fortunately there are many different entrances to our great island.”

  It would be some time before I could return to England, and I was reluctant to lose the company of Holmes. Though our time together had occasionally been fraught, he was still the most captivating man I have known.

  “I will visit my brother, Mycroft, to see if he can shed any light upon this most peculiar of events,” said he, briskly gathering any item of significance. “Should you ever require my services, Mycroft has been kind enough to maintain my rooms at Baker Street. I would urge caution and send some kind of message first; they will undoubtedly be being watched, and I do not know how long it will be before I can reclaim them safely as my own. But rest assured, I will be in touch.”

  Chapter III - An Interview and a Letter