Sherlock Holmes and 'The Kiss of Death' Copyright 2005 Peter C. Shumway

Chapter 8 – The Genius Mind

 

To Watson's knowledge, Sherlock Holmes did not have many close friends.  The doctor knew first hand how difficult it was to become intimate with Holmes.  There were occasions when Watson felt the bond of friendship and then there were times when Holmes seemed like an aloof stranger.  Sometimes Watson had to see past the detective's personal indifference and focus on the pure energy of his friend's genius.

From the Waterloo station Holmes and Watson boarded the nine-twenty train to upper Norwood.  When they arrived at the remote Sussex station they rented a dog-cart and drove to Professor Bell's house.  On the way, Holmes described his long time friend and college professor to Watson.

"I must tell you before we arrive that Professor Bell is quite the eccentric.  He is one of the most intelligent men I have ever met and certainly belongs in the genius category which you have been trying to define of late."

"In what way is he eccentric?" asked Watson.

"I told you the professor was my anatomy instructor at Oxford.  The college administrator once denied his request for a day leave-of-absence so he set a cadaver behind his desk to serve as his substitute professor.  He later remarked how not one of the students complained of being over-worked or under-taught."

The countryside became more and more beautiful as they made their way out of the centre of town.  The green rolling hillside surrounded them as they leisurely followed the quaint country road.  The sunlight cheerfully blinked through the budding trees as warblers entertained them in song.

"Professor Bell is a collector of sorts," continued Holmes.  "His collections vary considerably in size and in subject matter.  One of his most interesting collections is his puzzle-boxes.  He has friends from all over the world send him boxes that have hidden ways to open them.  The solution to which usually involves moving a sliding board or pulling a loose stud.  Some of the boxes are spring loaded with a drawer and others have a top that lifts off.  A few boxes in his collection are quite intricate and difficult to solve.  I bought him one a few years ago that took him six hours to open.

"Whenever I pay him a visit, he usually has me try to solve his latest puzzler.  I have to admit Watson, that I enjoy the challenge as much as he does.  It is an amusing test in observation and deduction.  Sometimes all that is visible is a small seam along the grain or a peg that doesn't fit as well as the rest.  Sometimes the craftsman will make a box more difficult to open by deliberately scratching a few boards or by including a panel that slides which does nothing except block the real method of opening."

Holmes stopped the dog-cart to let an old woman lead a distracted goat across the road.  As it was a fine day, the two men sat in the open two-wheeler and enjoyed the sunshine.  Once the old woman had made her way to the side of the road, Holmes gave a gentle snap on the reigns and they were again on their way.  Holmes continued his description of his old friend.

"The professor has written several excellent novels employing a strange type of fiction involving the sciences.  I have little use for such indulgence to the fanciful.  They are nevertheless masterfully written and I have no doubt they will become very popular once they are published."

"If they are completed then why does the professor not go to print and reap his rewards?" asked Watson.

"The professor believes that one should not be allowed to publish any creative literary work until one is deceased."

Watson gave Holmes an incredulous look.  Holmes chuckled at Watson's reaction.

"The professor explained to me once that he continually gets new ideas for his novels and constantly applies those ideas to his works.  Even though some of his novels were completed thirty years ago, they have been rewritten twenty times since.  He proposes that his writings continue to ripen with age - like a dusty bottle of fine wine.  Once he has departed from this world, the novels will be complete and the bottle can then be opened."

"Professor Bell seems to me to be more lunatic than genius."

"Be careful not to place all the intelligent people of the world in a narrow perspective Watson.  The American president Abraham Lincoln once stated that 'towering genius disdains a beaten path'.  The gifted mind is often a diverse one.  The professor, for example, is quite the inventor, although he often creates devices for which there are no obvious purposes."

Watson gave Holmes another puzzled look.  The detective explained.

"The professor is ahead of the times with his inventions.  Usually the current level of technology cannot yet support his ideas.  The world is not always ready for his work."

"I don't recall ever reading about him or any of his inventions," remarked the doctor.

"He has had some unfortunate experiences with making his inventions known to the public.  The German army to increase the accuracy of their air rifles, for example, misused one optical device he publicized a few years ago.  It was intended to be a telescopic sighting device for assisting astronomers in locating celestial objects.  Here we are."

They pulled up to a large, two-storied brick house with a high-pitched gable and a wooden canopy over the front steps.  There were a wild variety of trees planted all around the property.  Watson had never seen such a collection of exotic trees.  The most prominent and beautiful of all was a very old Japanese Red Maple in the centre of the front yard.  A spasmodically trimmed hedge bordered a crowded garden of perennials leading up to the front door.

According to Holmes, the professor taught Science courses part time at three separate universities.  However, Bell spent most of his time during the past couple of years working on his inventions.  Although he generally disliked medical work, the professor did pharmaceutical research at times to earn a living.

Holmes and Watson walked up to the poorly maintained, beech-wood front door and knocked.  The door opened and a small man jumped out.

"Sherlock!  What a wonderful surprise."

The little man shook his hand vigorously.  Watson thought Professor Bell looked ill-kempt and a bit frail yet the man obviously had tremendous strength and energy.  He had white, thin wispy hair, suspended in all directions, which waved in the air as he shook Watson's hand.  Watson noticed the professor had bony, stained hands, broken fingernails and wrinkled clothes.  He wore an un-ironed, white cotton shirt, sporting no tie and employed thin black braces to keep his grey trousers.  He had a gentle chin and one of the warmest smiles Watson had ever seen.

"It's good to see you Professor," started Holmes.  "This is my colleague Dr. Watson."

"A medical doctor?" asked Bell.

"Yes.  Army commissioned," boasted Watson.

"How unfortunate, I'll try not to hold it against you," chuckled the professor.

Watson's face dropped.  He wanted to make a good impression on Holmes' friend.

Bell sensed Watson's embarrassment and smiled warmly as he placed his hand on Watson's shoulder.

"I'm sorry Doctor.  I was only kidding."

Watson did not fully understand the professor's odd sense of humor but felt much better as he looked into the man's twinkling eyes.  Bell stepped back into the house and motioned for his guests to follow.

"Come in gentlemen, come in.  I haven't seen you in a long time Sherlock.  You should visit more often.  Please excuse the mess."

Holmes had understated the professor's fondness for collecting.  Bell's house was cluttered like an over-stocked museum.  Not only did the professor collect puzzle boxes, he also amassed other collections on a wide variety of subjects.  There were shelves filled from ceiling to floor in every room.

One room was dedicated to unusual musical instruments.  In the back of the room was a beautiful glass armonica hand-made by Benjamin Franklin in 1752.  It was slightly larger than a sewing machine table and had a steel rod running the length of it with nested glass bowls mounted on the spindle.  As the musician operated foot-pedals to turn the spindle, he would touch the rims of the bowls with his fingers to make the glass vibrate and sound out eerie notes to the listeners.  The haunting music from an armonica was so strange that many believed it to be the music of the dead and the instrument was banned from many European countries.  Next to Franklin's instrument were three other armonicas of cruder craftsmanship but of unique designs that Watson had never seen before.  He thought perhaps the professor had invented them.  Adorning the walls of the room were several seventeenth and eighteenth century stringed instruments.  As they walked through the room, Watson also noticed a magnificent black walnut harp with gold trim and mother-of-pearl inlay standing in one corner.  Holmes noted to Watson as they passed it that it was a gift from the King of France.

The next room they walked through was even more incredible.  Dozens of mechanical gadgets were set up all over the room.  Watson did not recognize even one of the contraptions.  After listening to Bell talk for a while, it became apparent that the man had invented all of them.  Each performed an original and unique function.  The professor introduced a couple of his more recent inventions to Holmes as they walked by them.  One device was a bi-directional piston for a steam engine and the other was a mechanical calculating machine.  There was also a beautiful device, which resembled a Chinese gravity clock sitting atop a pedestal to their left.

The professor stopped at a large evil looking contraption in the centre of the room.  He took a small screwdriver from his crowded shirt pocket and made an adjustment.  When he opened the front panel Watson could see a gold pendulum swinging back and forth.  Each time the pendulum passed the bottom of the cabinet Watson could hear a snapping sound.

"What does that one do?" asked Watson.

"This little beauty is an electrostatic particle eliminator of my own design.  It has a perpetual motion pendulum powered by the static electricity it removes from the air.  If the world ever capitalized on its secret, mankind would become the laziest animal on the planet."

Watson thought for a minute as he watched the obligatory pendulum swing slowly back and forth.  With each passing swing, an electrical arc formed at the base of the pendulum.

"Why on earth would you build such a device?"

The professor closed the door panel and smiled.  He was amused at Watson's frank curiosity.

"Electrostatic discharges play havoc on some of my experiments with highly sensitive magnetic fields.  Here is one for example."

Then he quickly walked over to a machine on a table by the hall door.  It looked like an ordinary typewriter except it had a spool of copper wires attached to the carriage.  Bell typed "Sherlock Holmes" and pressed a button on the side of the device.  Suddenly it started typing by it-self.  It reminded Watson of a player piano.  The professor pulled the paper from the roll, ripped it off and handed it to Holmes.  The detective read the note and then handed it to Watson.

 

Sherlock Holmes, Private Detective

221B Baker St. London, England

 

"I call it a 'Memory Typist'," explained the energetic man.

Holmes examined the contraption for a few seconds.

"Very impressive Professor.  How many addresses can the 'Typist' recall?"

"Presently only sixty four but I have plans to increase the storage capacity by a hundred fold by next year."

Watson handed the typed paper back to Holmes who carefully folded it in half before placing it into his coat pocket.  Watson wrinkled his brow as he addressed Bell.

"If you do not mind my saying so Professor, one could more easily keep the same information in an address book."

"Quite so Dr. Watson.  However, sometimes one must observe a drop of water and envision an ocean.  Can you imagine the names and addresses of every Londoner stored in a device smaller than a cigarette case?"

"No I must say I cannot."

Bell stepped a little closer to the doctor and smiled.

"I can."

The professor paused for a moment and then asked Holmes to stand behind a screen set up in the corner of the room.  In the next instant Watson saw Holmes standing on the other side of the room laughing.

"What is so funny Holmes and how the deuce did you get over there?" asked Watson.

Professor Bell started to chuckle.  Watson was at a loss and could not find any humor in his question.  He walked over to where Holmes stood but walked right into a glass panel and almost knocked it over.

"What in the devil is this all about?" grumbled Watson.

"I must apologize at having some fun at your expense Dr. Watson," started Bell.  "I needed an objective observer to test the latest version of my tele-optic device."

Holmes stepped back out from behind the screen in the corner of the room and walked over to where Watson was standing.  The detective snapped his finger against the glass panel where he had appeared to be standing a moment ago.

"This is remarkable professor.  You can transport three dimensional images?"

The little man beamed with pride as he explained.

"I capture moving images using a three-lens camera of my own design, separate the light stream into thousands of colours with a series of crystallized prisms, and send the stream through the air using a variation of an Edison projector to the glass panel.  The glass is chemically treated with a clear phosphorus solution, which absorbs each light beam like thousands of minute reflections."

Watson was over his embarrassment and was amazed at the complexity of the invention.  Bell gave new meaning to the term genius.

"I would have bet anything that Holmes was standing there in front of me!"

"Excellent Doctor.  I needed to test this latest version on an unbiased observer.  My first attempt at the tele-optic was stolen.  It has taken me five years to re-build it.  Growing the crystals for the prisms with precise angularity is a very slow and delicate process."

"Did you say it was stolen?" asked Watson.

"I was so excited about the tele-optic that I wanted to tell the world about it.  I gave a demonstration of the device one evening to a small group of scientists, university faculty and prominent businessmen at the Stamford lecture hall during the fall of '80.  The next morning the tele-optic device was gone."

Suddenly the professor turned to Holmes.

"I almost forgot!  I want to show you my latest energy experiment."

Holmes and Watson could barely keep up with the spirited man as he led them on a journey through the cluttered house.  Watson leaned over to Holmes and whispered.

"He is certainly ambitious."

"It takes ambition to dream Watson."

As they walked down a long hall Watson peeked into the rooms they passed.  Each room contained collections of unusual and beautiful objects.  One of the rooms displayed hundreds of ancient African, Egyptian and South American artifacts.  Finally they reached a locked door at the end of the hall.

"I must ask that you both swear to secrecy.  What I am about to show you must not leave this house until I have finished all the tests.  Also it is imperative that it does not fall into the wrong hands."

"You have my word," promised Holmes.

"My word as well," added Watson.

The professor unlocked the door and the three men stepped inside.  It was blinding.  Watson had never seen such a bright room in a house.  The ceiling was constructed of dozens of glass panels.  After Watson's eyes adjusted to the bright light, he realized the glass panels were actually enormous magnifying lenses.  As the sunlight beamed through the lenses, it was intensified and focused onto large mirrors that were placed in a circle around the walls of the room.  All the mirrors directed the light to a central cylinder shaped object that spun around on a parabolic base creating a loud whining sound.  The cylinder was somehow connected to a machine, which resembled a steam engine although it did not have a boiler.  Several wires ran from the engine to a large box in the corner of the room.  Another large wire ran from the box over to Bell's feet.

The professor put on a thick glove, picked up the end of the wire, which sported an unusual metal clamp and held it up to show Holmes.  He smiled wryly as he attached the wire to a series of fifty Edison lamps that were mounted on a table.  He then walked over to a chain hanging from the ceiling, and pulled the chain until large curtains were drawn across the windows making the room darker.

"As you are probably aware gentlemen, we are on the verge of a mechanical revolution.  Inventors such as Swan, Edison and myself are breaking new ground each year.  It is difficult to imagine what electro-mechanical wonders await discovery.  One thing is for certain; the machines of the future will need energy to power them.  Watch this."

Bell threw a switch on the table and the rows of lamps glowed brilliantly.

"Sun power?" inquired Watson.

The little man beamed with pride.

"I have converted the sun's energy to electricity young man.  It can power most any machine which man can invent.  The machine in this room generates enough electricity to light up every house on this street."

"What better power source than the sun.  This is excellent Professor," praised Holmes.  "An invention for all inventions."

The three men stood thoughtfully for a minute in the blinding light.

"What about nightfall and cloudy days?" asked Watson.

"I see why Sherlock keeps you around.  You are quick to scrutinize Doctor.  The power from the sun can be harnessed and stored for off-time use.  It is a crude technology that needs to be opened to the world to work on.  But first, I need to run a few more tests."

"It looks like it is ready now," offered Watson.

Bell leaned closer to Watson and looked him right in the eye.

"If an invention like this were misused it could severely damage the course of history.  Inventions which can contribute the most to our existence on this planet are the very ones which can destroy it."

Bell turned off the lights and led the men back down the hall.  At first it was difficult for Holmes and Watson to see where they were going.  Just as Watson's eyes were starting to adjust, they ducked into one of the rooms along the hall.  It contained the professor's puzzle-box collection.  Watson was impressed.  There were at least fifty boxes displayed on dusty glass tables.  Most of the boxes were made from the finest wood and were beautifully constructed.  Bell walked over to a black ebony box, picked it up and handed it to Holmes.

"I received this one from my sister last month.  She lives in Norwich with her husband.  The box was crafted in Germany and the ebony is Egyptian.  Those Germans sure make nice boxes.  It took me over an hour to open it."

Holmes walked over to the window to look at the box in the sunlight.  He turned it over in his hands a few times and studied it for a minute.  Then he pulled back a corner board, pulled a side peg, turned the bottom piece 180 degrees, and opened the lid.

"Nice box."

Bell jumped in the air and clapped his hands together.

"That's my Sherlock."

Watson was astonished.

"Sherlock is the only man I know who can do that," remarked the little man to Watson.  "He can also beat me at chess when I can pin him down for an afternoon."

Holmes handed the box back to the professor.

"You always let me win."

Professor Bell smiled like a little boy sharing a secret.  Then he set the ebony box back on its glass table and picked up a second box.

"I have another box here which I received a few days ago.  I assume it is from my brother since the package had a Blackwall postmark.  I do not believe it opens."

"Why would your brother send you a box that does not open?" asked Watson.

"My brother Walter has a sadistic sense of humor doctor.  Just last month, for instance, he sent me an electrified chess set.  Every time you remove an opponent's piece from the board you receive a high-voltage, low-amperage electrical shock.  Ironically, the player who wins the game is the one who receives the most punishment.  Walt has always been fascinated with gags.  Unfortunately, his sense of comedy is sometimes unusual or even grotesque."

"Like his brother using cadavers for substitute professors?" asked Holmes.

Bell just smiled and handed the puzzle box that did not open to Holmes.  It was a little smaller in size and lighter in color than the one Holmes had just solved.

"It has a drawer," remarked the detective.

"Yes I noticed.  But there is no way to open it.  I spent a full day upon it and could not find a single clue.  I enjoy a practical joke as much as the next man however I cannot spare any more time for it.  Take it with you and examine it at your leisure Sherlock.  Let me know if you make any progress."

Holmes placed the box in his coat pocket.

They left the collection of puzzle-boxes and made their way to the professor's study.  As Watson expected by now, the study proved to be another cluttered mess.  Bell cleared off a couple of chairs and invited his guests to sit.  Watson noticed at least ten different chess sets placed strategically around the room.  One board with wires running to all the chessmen lay thrown in the corner.

Holmes and Watson each sat in a chair facing the professor's desk.  Bell walked around the desk and sat in his chair.

"As you know Sherlock, I do not smoke but you and your friend are most welcome."

"Thank you professor.  I know your kindness is greater than your dislike for tobacco but my respect for you is greater yet."

Watson never knew Holmes to refuse an offer to smoke before.  Holmes' expression became serious as he stepped back into the role of investigator.

"We are here about Dr. Collins' murder," stated Holmes.

"I should have known you were here on business Sherlock."  The professor stared at his desk and sighed.  "I read about his death in the papers but I didn't know there was foul play."

"I am having a difficult time convincing Scotland Yard that he did not take his own life."

"Suicide?  William?  Never.  How can I help?"

"You were an acquaintance of his."

"Yes, William Collins and I were old friends.  We worked on several research projects together.  Just before he retired, we co-wrote an essay on herbal treatments for stomach disorders for the London Medical Journal."

"What other projects did you work on together?"

"Nothing the past year or so.  William retired and I have been working almost full-time on my inventions."

Holmes looked at Watson and sighed.  They were reaching a dead end.  Then he turned to Bell.

"Any other projects?  Perhaps some years past?"

"None that I want to talk about."

Professor Bell shamefully looked back down at his desk with an empty stare.

Holmes sat up a little and listened intently.

"About three years ago we worked on the infamous 'Venom Experiments'.  It's not something I discuss."

Watson felt a tingle on the back of his neck as Holmes leaned forward in his chair.

"Please go on."

"William and I were coerced into working on the project and then not allowed to control the conditions of the experiments so we finally left the team."

"I recall reading something in the papers about those experiments a few years ago," stated Holmes.  "Pray, continue professor."

"The newspapers made matters even worse.  The publicity was damaging to our careers.  We were commissioned by Parliament to find a cure for bone sarcoma.  It was a mediocre research attempt.  The governmental office that developed the project and formed the team had us try to combat the infection using mild doses of venomous poisons.  Several of the patients died during the treatments which created the controversy."

"Who else was on the team?" asked Holmes.

Bell pulled a folder from his desk drawer and opened it.  Then he picked up a fresh paper and talked as he wrote.

"There was Dr. Stephen Abel from Pulaski, Austria.  Abel was the toxicologist.  Dr. Nathan Kempler from the London Medical Institute.  I believe he now lives in Tunbridge Wells.  Kempler was the leader of the project.  He was stubborn and belligerent.  William and I exchanged harsh words with him on several occasions.  And there was Dr. Brian Sanders from St. Bartholomew's hospital.  Sanders was an intern at the hospital and kept all the records.  Dr. Theadore Hanner I recall performed the post-mortem examinations.  I believe he moved shortly after the affair to somewhere in Birlstone.  We also had a full-time day nurse.  Her name is Emily Lowerton.  Unfortunately, she had a severe nervous breakdown and left the team around the same time I did.  I believe she now lives in the Greenwich Home for Women."

Professor Bell set down his pen and looked up mournfully.

"Emily was the real victim in the whole tragedy.  What a loss Sherlock.  She was the brightest and most caring nurse I have ever met.  She was assigned to our team by the administration at St. Bartholomew's hospital where the experiments were conducted."

Bell paused to clear his throat a little for a moment before continuing.

"When Emily walked into a recovery room, every patient greeted her with a smile.  Whenever a patient was about to die, she would sit with them and hold their hand until the moment came.  She watched many of our venom experiment patients die a slow and painful death.  When she discovered we were experimenting with 'mild doses' of snake venom on her patients she violently objected.  She stormed the hospital offices and demanded that we discontinue the treatments.  She also partitioned Parliament to stop the program.  She even threatened the hospital administration and the medical academy with injections of 'mild doses' of venom.

"It tore her apart Sherlock.  Emily had to poison her patients and watch them die or she would have been disbarred from her profession.  She eventually broke down under the strain and lost her senses to a permanent brain-fever.  What a terrible fate for someone so sweet."

Watson slowly shook his head in sorrow.  Holmes put aside his emotions as he continued with his questioning.

"Who organized the funds for the project?  A member of Parliament?"

"Yes, it was Sir Walter Timms of Winchester."

A chill ran down Watson's spine as he remembered the 'Laughing Nobleman of Winchester' staring at his hands and laughing hysterically for hours.  Holmes gave Watson a quick glance then turned his attention back to the professor.  The little man continued.

"Sir Walter would have done better if he had let William and I control the project ourselves.  The poison he and Dr. Kempler insisted we use was much too toxic."

"The venom of the Australian death adder?" inquired Holmes.

"Why yes the venom was from the infamous Taipan, the deadliest and most aggressive snake in Australia.  How on earth did you know?"

"Dr. Collins was poisoned with a solution comprised mostly of the adder's venom.  Who ever killed Collins is apparently taking revenge on the members of the research team.  Your life is in immediate danger my friend."

"What should I do?"

"Leave at once and visit your sister in Norwich.  Tell no one where you are going.  Stay with her until I can find out who the venom murderer is."

"If you feel that is necessary."

"I do.  This man is extremely dangerous Professor.  Please do not delay your departure.  Leave as soon as possible."

"I can't leave immediately Sherlock.  I have to update my journals and shutdown several experiments before I go."

The little man leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper even though the three men were alone in the room.

"I have a chemical reaction in progress in my basement lab that will meltdown within the hour if I do not remove the regenerative fuel source.  If a military minded person were to discover the horrific effects of the emissions from the reaction on human tissue, I'm afraid wars would be fought on a whole different, and most hideous scale."

The professor straightened back up in his chair and spoke normally again.

"But I promise Sherlock I will leave as soon as possible.  I will stay with my sister until this affair is over.  I believe there is a four-thirty to Norwich."

Bell wrote down his sister's address on the same paper with the names of the medical team and handed it to Holmes.

"Send a wire at this address when it is safe for me to return."

The professor stood up and led his guests to the front door.

"It sure has been nice to see you again Sherlock.  And also a pleasure to meet you Dr Watson."

Bell shook Watson's hand vigorously and patted Holmes on the back.

 

 

"Well Holmes, I think you have a good friend in Professor Bell," stated Watson once they were back on the train headed for London.  "I also think you were correct in calling him a genius."

"Yes, he is quite a character," smiled Holmes.  Then in a more serious tone he added, "I am afraid for his life Watson.  To-morrow morning I am going to find out more about those venom experiments.  In all probability the murderer is someone revenging the death of one of the patients."

It was late afternoon when they reached Waterloo Station.  They stepped off the train and headed toward the street.

Suddenly Holmes slapped his neck and pulled a sliver of wood out of his skin.

"Holmes!" gasped Watson.

A woman screamed as Holmes spun around and fell to the ground.  Watson looked around but did not see anyone with a blowgun.  There were so many people gathering it was hard for him to focus on anyone.

Watson knelt down and checked Holmes' pulse.  It was still strong.  The doctor opened his bag and took out a scalpel, made a quick incision across the wound, and squeezed out some blood.  Then he reached in the bag and produced a small flask of brandy.  He put a few drops on his friend's lips and loosened his collar.  The doctor then pushed his way through the crowd over to a horse trough, dunked his handkerchief, pushed his way back to Holmes and placed the wet cloth on the detective's forehead.

"Telegram for Mr. Holmes.  Telegram for Mr. Holmes," paged a young man as he tried to make his way through the crowd.

Holmes started to come around.

"Telegram for Mr. Holmes."

"Here boy," said Holmes as he struggled to sit up.

Watson grabbed the dispatch and tipped the young man a half crown.  Holmes was still feeling groggy so Watson read the message.  It ran:

 

THIS TIME YOU SLEEP STOP NEXT TIME YOU DIE STOP

 

Watson was scared.  He could see Holmes felt beaten, embarrassed and dizzy.  Then all of a sudden the detective jumped up to his feet.

"Bell!  Watson, we must warn him at once!"  Holmes ran, half-stumbling, over to the station office to send a telegram.

"The wire is down sir," informed the telegraph officer.

"Your man just now delivered a message to me!"

"I am afraid that is impossible sir," explained the officer.  "The wire has been down for hours."

Holmes slammed his fist on the counter and spun around.  The Sussex train they had just arrived in was departing for its return trip.  Holmes ran after it.  Watson picked up his bag and ran after Holmes.

The train had already picked up some speed.  Holmes' head was foggy from the drug and Watson was trying to get his bag shut as they chased after the train.  They ran along side of the moving cars as fast as they could but they could not keep up.  They were losing ground and the cars were pulling away too quickly to jump safely.

They jumped anyway.

Watson could feel his heart pounding as he held on tightly to the side-rail of the boxcar.  He never realized before how quickly a train could get up to speed.

"Bravo Watson," shouted Holmes over the noise of the screaming steam engine and the clatter from the iron wheels as they crunched the tracks beneath them.  They held on for their lives as the freight car swayed back and forth.

Once the train cleared the station and started down a straight section of track, Holmes and Watson slowly maneuvered around the outside of the car and climbed up a service ladder to the roof.  From there they ran along the tops of the cars until they reached a coach.  Then they climbed down the ladder on the side of the car and entered the door at the rear.

Holmes and Watson looked as though they had just passed through a typhoon.  Their clothes were dirty and torn, their hair was messed and their faces were flushed.  Holmes' neck was still bleeding.  Watson breathed deeply as he tried to catch his breath.  From the stares they received from the other passengers they realized their dreadful state of attire.  They immediately brushed themselves off and straightened their ties before carefully going from car to car looking for the venom killer.  They didn't find anyone aboard whose features and build matched those of the man who had traveled through the swamp on stilts.  Watson was relieved.  Holmes, on the other hand, slumped into an empty seat and stared out of the window at the passing countryside.

Once they reached the Norwood station, they jumped on a flatbed wagon that was being loaded with bags of flour and snapped the reigns.  The man standing in the back of the flatbed tumbled out of the wagon and fell to the ground.  As they frantically raced to Bell's house, bags of flour fell from the flatbed, exploding as they hit the ground leaving a trail of white clouds behind them.  It was the same route they traveled a few hours earlier yet it was a different journey.  The pleasant country lane became a rough and dusty road.  The rolling hills, which charmed Watson earlier, became merely obstacles to travel around.  Ominous low-knit clouds rolled in and the sky darkened.

They pulled up to Bell's house, jumped off the stolen flatbed and ran up to the front door.  They knocked loudly but there was no answer so they forced the door open.

Professor Bell was sitting at his desk.  His body was twisted up in a grotesque knot.  His eyes bulged out and his purple tongue protruded from the side of his mouth.  It was a sight that neither man ever forgot.  The smiling, friendly man they left a few hours ago was now a hideous, twisted corpse.  Holmes turned away.  He pressed his hands against the wall and stared at the floor.  Watson sank into a hall chair and covered his eyes.  For several minutes neither man said a word.  Finally, Watson stood up and looked around.

The window behind the desk was open.  The venom killer had followed them from London that morning.  He then waited for Holmes and Watson to leave, made the shot through the open window and then took the same train back to Waterloo before shooting Holmes with a sedative.

Holmes continued to stare at the floor.

"Fetch the police Watson."

The doctor made no reply.  He grabbed his hat, which he had tossed onto a table and left to summon the police.  When he returned with the local constable, Holmes was standing in the road in front of the house.

Bell's house and property were on fire.

It was a tremendous blaze.  Flames roared out of the windows and torched many of the surrounding trees.  By the time the fire brigade arrived the house was completely destroyed.  All of the professor's inventions, collections and writings were lost forever.

The police constable, a middle aged and clean-shaven man with a nasty scar on his left cheek, addressed Holmes.

"What happened here?  How did the fire start?" asked the constable.

Holmes stood silently as he watched the flames.  Watson answered.

"I told you on the way here that Professor Bell had been murdered.  It seems the murderer must have set the fire."

Watson knew it might not have been the truth.  The truth was of little use.  Did Professor Bell's chemical experiment in the basement cause the fire?  Perhaps Holmes had a helping hand.  It mattered little.  The doctor was concerned more with his friend's state of mind.  Watson never saw Holmes in more emotional pain than during that tragic night in Norwood.

The three men stood in the middle of the road for several minutes and watched the terrible inferno.

"Looks like we lost everything," remarked the constable.

Holmes just stared into the fire.  The doctor could barely force himself to speak.

"More than you know," stated Watson.

  

 

Chapter 7 | Table of Contents | Chapter 9

Printer Friendly Version