Chapter 13 – The Kiss of Death
"What a fool I have been," stated Sherlock Holmes as he, Watson and Inspector
MacDonald stepped into the police wagon. Fisher grabbed the reins and they were
straight away heading towards Blackwall.
"Menton made sure he and his sister were seen driving past Kempler's house to
lure us to Tunbridge Wells. He misdirected our attentions and also anticipated
our course of action far in advance of the events. Then in a twisted act of
showmanship, he planted the sermon about revenge under the assumed name of a
Reverend Lowerton. What a slap in the face," lamented Holmes.
"A real tragedy," added Watson as he turned to Inspector MacDonald. "Emily
Lowerton was a gem of a woman and she didn't deserve such a fate."
"Aye, it's a bloody shame," remarked the inspector.
Holmes shook his head in grief.
"It's the 'Kiss of Death' Inspector," remarked Holmes.
"What is?"
"My overconfidence. I was so sure of my reasoning… so certain in my logic. I
did not believe Menton would attack a defenseless woman."
"You can't blame yourself for her death," argued Watson.
"I underestimated Menton's callous desire for revenge. As a result of my poor
judgment Emily Lowerton is now dead. Be certain Watson, as my chronicler, to
record the horrible truth. The shadow of her needless death shall darken the
rest of my days."
Inspector MacDonald leaned forward and tapped the hatch with his knuckles.
Varlander slid open the security panel and peered in.
"Ves Inspector?"
"Make the horses sweat."
Garth grabbed the reins from his senior officer, snapped them like Zeus throwing
lightning bolts from Mt. Olympus and shouted to the other drivers to make way.
They raced through the sunny streets of London and followed the river Thames as
they headed east. The wagon almost tipped over as they passed by the West India
docks. The horses were exhausted by the time they reached Blackwall. In less
than an hour of hard driving the five men found themselves standing in front of
the Brixton Avenue house.
It was a drab, two-story house, which sat between two similar houses of better
upkeep. Wide alleys of grass separated the houses and a short stonewall
followed the curve of the road. Holmes cautioned the other men that the house
standing in front of them might not be Menton's.
"A dock receipt from three months ago is not hard proof of the fiend's
residence," remarked the detective.
"Nevertheless we will proceed with care," instructed the inspector. "Fisher, ye
go through the alley and cover the back door. Be on ye'r guard."
The brother-in-law officer saluted, turned and ran across the street. Watson's
heart pounded with excitement and his palms became clammy. MacDonald watched
the young policeman open the gate and disappear down the alley.
"I say the best approach is the direct one Mr. Holmes," suggested the inspector.
"Under the circumstances I agree Mr. Mac. Let's see what a knock on the front
door brings."
The four men walked up to the front door. Holmes knocked. The door opened and
there before them stood Menton's sister Sandra.
"You!" she cried and quickly slammed the door shut. Holmes immediately tried to
force the door open with his shoulder but Sandra had already thrown the bolt.
"Stand aside," instructed Varlander. Garth threw his muscular body against the
door with all his might. The door gave way and Garth fell upon the entrance
hall floor. MacDonald helped him up as Holmes and Watson produced their
revolvers. They caught a glimpse of Sandra going through a door near the far
end of the hall. All four men chased after her.
On the other side of the door, a wooden stairway led down to a wine cellar. It
was a cold, dark room with a dirt floor. The only source of light was the open
door at the top of the stairs. The four men slowly made their way down the
dusty steps. Half way down Watson detected a repulsive odor. It was an
extremely pungent, rotting odor. He thought that perhaps it was a dead rat.
Just as Inspector MacDonald reached the bottom step, he pointed to the far
wall. Although barely visible, the scene before them was clearly horrifying.
The decayed body of Menton's wife sat upright in an old armchair. Her head,
right arm and left foot were missing. It was a hideous sight. Garth Varlander
was terrified for the first time in his life.
The light from the top of the stairs illuminated only a part of the room. The
four men looked about. To their left was an abandoned coal chute. Its door was
propped open and fragments of coal were all over the floor. To their right
stood several rows of tall wooden bottle racks. Holmes walked over and pulled
out one of the bottles and held it to the light from the doorway. It was
Australian brandy. He put the bottle back and peered into the darkness. Sandra
Menton could not be seen. However, she had nowhere else to go. She had to be
hiding in the dark corners of the wine racks.
Watson walked over to the body of Menton's wife and sighed. It was a terrible
sight. MacDonald and Varlander kept their distance and stayed at the bottom of
the stairs.
"We need more light," remarked the inspector. "Garth, find some candles."
Before the big Swede had a chance to turn back, Holmes noticed a little movement
by one of the racks. He fired one round from his revolver just above where he
figured Sandra's head to be. The shot rang out and shook the bottles. The
flash from his revolver exposed her exact position for just an instant.
"Please don't shoot!" cried the woman.
"If you value your life step out into the light now," ordered Holmes.
Sandra stepped out of the darkness and walked up to Holmes. She stood directly
in front of him with her shoulders held back and her eyes focused straight
ahead. She crossed her arms and tightened her lip.
Just then the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut. There was a distinct
click-click-clack sound as the bolt on the other side was thrown. They were
trapped in total darkness.
No one could see a thing. No one spoke. Varlander ran up the steps and threw
himself against the door. It did not give way in the least. He produced his
revolver and fired four shots into the latch. Then he threw himself against the
door several more times without success.
"No goot Inspector," remarked the officer as he felt his way back down the
stairs in total darkness.
Holmes produced a match from his pocket and lit it. Sandra was still standing
in front of him by the coal chute. Holmes noticed bruises on both of her
wrists. He grabbed her right arm with his free left hand and held her scarred
wrist closer to the light.
"Your brother is a dangerous man Sandra."
She looked the detective straight in the eye and smiled. Then she defiantly
pulled her hand back and re-crossed her arms.
"Drop dead Mr. Holmes."
"You are trapped down here too."
Sandra looked around her. The vesta that Holmes was holding burned down to his
fingers. He let it drop to the floor and quickly lit another. MacDonald and
Varlander walked over and stood behind Holmes. Sandra was still standing her
ground. Holmes held the match up to her face.
"Is there another way out?" asked he.
"Burn in Hell."
"If we do not get out, neither do you. Is there another door?"
Sandra Menton spat at Holmes' feet.
Suddenly a sliding, hissing sound came down the coal chute.
"Snakes!" cried Watson.
Thirty Australian death adders fell out of the chute at Sandra's feet. Several
snakes immediately struck her. The rest of the vipers started thrashing at
anything in their way as they quickly dispersed and slithered around the floor.
Holmes, MacDonald and Varlander jumped up on the racks of bottles behind them.
Watson, standing next to Menton's decayed wife, jumped up on the arm of her
chair and clung to the wall. Holmes dropped his match and they were again in
complete darkness.
They could not see what was happening however it was not difficult to imagine
the horror before them. Sandra screamed at the top of her lungs each time one
of the large brown snakes struck her.
"Charlie you bastard!"
After several more violent strikes from the adders she let out a last agonizing
cry and sank to the floor.
Watson could hear the frantic snakes moving around on the floor striking
everything in their paths. There was no escape. If any of the men were to jump
to the floor they would be bitten immediately. Even if they could see, they
would not be able to shoot all of the adders.
Holmes braced himself between two racks with his feet to free his hands. He
pulled out his shirttail, ripped it off, then wrapped it in a ball and set it on
the shelf to his right. He quickly grabbed one of the bottles of brandy, broke
off the top and poured it on the cloth. Then he carefully took out a match and
lit the brandy-soaked cloth. It burst into flames and produced just enough
light to see the body of Sandra Menton as it lay on the floor. Six or seven of
the fat snakes were still striking at her motionless body. Holmes could see
Watson was starting to lose his grip.
"Hold on Watson!" cried Holmes as he looked around. He took several more
bottles of brandy from the rack, broke off their tops and tossed them on
Sandra's body that lay next to the coal chute. It was not an easy task to
balance on the racks and toss broken bottles of ninety-proof across the room.
Holmes managed to get some of the brandy on Sandra's dress although much of it
spilled on the floor and some of it soaked his sleeve.
Snakes were everywhere. They lunged and struck at everything within their
reach. One of the adders even tried to bite a broken bottle that lay next to
Sandra's body.
Watson started to fall to the floor. Holmes picked up the burning ball of cloth
with his bare hand and threw it onto the lifeless body of Sandra Menton. It
caught Holmes' arm on fire but more importantly it also caught Sandra's brandy
soaked dress on fire. All the snakes immediately scattered to the sides of the
room away from the blaze. The flames quickly spread across the floor to the
rack where Holmes was perched. The spilled brandy led the fire directly to
him. He jumped to the centre of the room next to Sandra's burning body. The
others followed his lead and jumped as well. MacDonald lost his footing when he
landed and almost fell on the burning corpse. Holmes knelt down and rolled his
burning hand on the dirt floor. Watson threw dirt on his friend's sleeve.
"Der's no vay out!" cried Varlander.
Holmes pointed to the coal chute.
"Up there."
The four men looked at each other. They did not have much time. The wooden
rack on which Holmes had been perched was on fire and the room was filling with
smoke.
"How do vee know der are not more snakes up der?" asked Varlander.
"We don't," replied Holmes.
"I'll go first," volunteered Watson.
"No. I vill." Varlander pushed Watson aside and climbed up in the coal chute.
It proved to be barely wide enough for his shoulders.
Watson noticed the fire on Sandra's body was dwindling. The brandy had burned
off leaving her clothing still on fire. It produced more smoke than flame. The
large brown snakes started moving away from the burning racks and towards the
coal chute where the men were standing. Watson quickly shot several of the
adders, then followed Varlander up the chute. The coal shaft had been built in
sections and nails protruded inward at the top and sides of each junction. It
was completely black inside. Watson did not have time to carefully feel
around. He followed Varlander's lead and extended his arms and legs against the
sides and pulled himself upward.
Holmes began shooting the approaching snakes. The smoke from the burning racks
became dense. Many of the snakes started to panic and began striking each
other. As soon as Watson's feet were through the opening Holmes motioned
MacDonald to go next.
"Not on ye'r life Mr. Holmes," said he.
"This is no time for heroism Mac."
"I have me reputation to think of Mr. Holmes. Let's not stand here and quibble
about it!"
MacDonald turned to his right and shot another advancing adder. Holmes stepped
over Sandra's smoldering body and lifted himself up the chute. Smoke and coal
dust filled his lungs as he followed Watson. He heard MacDonald shoot twice
more and then felt a clattering beneath him as the inspector started up the
shaft.
Smoke completely filled the cellar. The open coal chute became a chimney
allowing the smoke to follow the men as they climbed upward. The black fumes
entirely filled the chute as the men clawed their way to the top. When
Varlander reached the end of the shaft he pushed open the wooden door to the
outside. The four men pulled themselves out into the bright sunlight coughing
and choking. Their clothes were torn, their hands and faces were bleeding and
they were covered with black soot.
Smoke rolled out of the coal chute entrance and crawled up the side of the
house. The men coughed and gasped for air for a full minute. Watson pointed to
the two empty wooden crates that lay next to them. The crates were perforated
with small air holes and were marked 'LABORATORY MICE'.
They reloaded their revolvers and ran around to the rear of the house. Fisher
was standing facing the rear entrance holding out his revolver with both hands.
The young officer was visibly shaking. When he saw MacDonald and the others
coming around the corner his mouth opened wide.
"I heard shots and I... what the devil happened to you?"
"Never ye mind Mike. Have ye seen anyone?" snapped the inspector.
"No sir."
"Follow us."
Alec MacDonald was still exhaling smoke as he talked. Coal dust fell from his
clothes as he kicked the back door open. He paused for a second then looked
over his shoulder at the others.
"Shoot to kill," he instructed.
They all nodded. MacDonald stepped through the door and the rest of the men
followed. They searched each room on the ground floor without results. They
could hear the fire crackling in the basement and smoke rolled out into the
hallway from the bottom of the basement door. The inspector led the way up the
stairs. He walked up to the first room on the first floor, threw open the door
and stepped in.
Menton was standing in front of the fireplace facing them. MacDonald quickly
fired three shots. The magician fell to the floor. Fisher ran to the body and
turned it over.
"Wax Inspector. Just like the one in the coffin."
It was not until then that they looked around the room. Six other life-size wax
replicas of the magician were set up in various positions around the room. The
figures were posed in an eerie scene as if frozen in time. Four Mentons were
seated at a round table playing cards, one Menton sat at a desk writing and
another Menton lay on the bed reading a book on magic.
"Search the other rooms", instructed MacDonald to his men. After they left the
room the inspector turned to Holmes.
"Some example I make."
Holmes smiled.
"It was an honest mistake," remarked Watson as he gave the wax figure laying on
the floor a short kick.
The inspector groaned at Watson's consoling and addressed Holmes who had begun
to examine the contents of the room.
"What do ye make of these wax dummies Mr. Holmes?"
"Most likely the work of Monsieur Meunier or perhaps one of his pupils. They
are obviously from the same mold as the one found in Menton's casket. I suspect
he used them in his illusions."
Holmes walked over to one wall where several lithographs of famous magicians
were framed and displayed. There was also one newspaper clipping framed and
hung on the wall. The newspaper article had a primitive photograph of Menton
standing in front of the old Strand Theater. It was an advertisement for what
was to be the last show in the old theater. The new Strand Theater opened two
weeks later. Holmes took the newspaper clipping off the wall and found it
curious that the wallpaper behind the frame was the same exact colour as the
paper around the frame. From the absence of fading he deduced the newspaper
article had recently been hung there. Perhaps it was exhibited for their
benefit.
"What ever became of the old opera house on Strand Watson?" asked Holmes.
Watson thought for a second before replying.
"Two years ago the papers said it was going to be torn down. Shortly thereafter
the Masters Investment Company purchased it. I do not believe they have made
any preparations public. As I recall it is still boarded up."
Holmes gave Watson and MacDonald a mischievous grin. "Did you say the
Masters Investment Company?"
"Yes, I believe they are an Australian Brokerage …Good Heavens Holmes. Could
Masters be an alias for Menton? After all, he used the name Masters when he
hired on as Sir Walter's cook.
Just then Varlander and Fisher returned. As they stepped through the door,
smoke from the basement fire rolled in behind them.
"No sign of Menton Inspector," reported Fisher. "And the fire has spread to the
kitchen on the ground floor."
"Ver coot he haf gone?" asked Varlander.
"Back to London we suspect. Fetch the local fire brigade Mike," instructed
MacDonald. "Garth, come with us."
In less than an hour later the four men, still covered with blood and soot,
stood in front of the abandoned Strand Theater.
"We must proceed with caution," instructed Holmes. "We may be walking into a
trap."
"A trap!" exclaimed Varlander. "Dee fool tinks vee are all dead!"
"Don't underestimate our adversary Garth. We may have surprised him in
Blackwall but I am sure he is aware of our every move now. If he is in there,
he will be waiting for us. Keep your eyes open and your necks covered."
Holmes looked around the front of the theater then led the others around to the
side of the building. There was a narrow alley between the old theater and a
pawnbroker's business next door. He stopped and knelt down to the soiled
pavement and examined some fresh markings.
"Menton's step alright... same as in Canton Marsh Watson. They lead around to
the rear."
Holmes stood back up and continued around the fire escape to the rear of the
building. The footprints guided them to a window with boards nailed across it.
"Not much of a back door," observed MacDonald.
After a quick inspection Holmes pulled on a loose hinge, turned it ninety
degrees and swung three of the boards to the left exposing a hidden entrance.
"Just a big puzzle box. Eh Holmes?" remarked Watson.
Holmes held his finger to his lips as a sign to keep silent. The four men
slipped through the opening and dropped inside. The interior was completely
dark save the few rays of light that peeked through the boarded windows.
They found themselves standing in a backstage dressing room. It was filled with
old costumes and dusty theatrical props. Two dressing tables with large mirrors
adorned the South and East walls. The other two walls each had a door. Holmes
had been backstage on two previous occasions. Once about four years ago he
visited a young violinist after a splendid performance and one other time he met
with a play actor during the case investigation of the 'Branded Actors of
Bridgebury'. Holmes was certain the door on the North wall led up a long narrow
passage to the front of the theater. The West door connected to a hall and then
to other dressing rooms. It eventually led to the back of the stage where the
curtain ropes were located.
"I recommend we split up," whispered Holmes. "Mac, you and Garth take the door
on the left. I believe it leads to the dressing rooms and the stage. Make sure
you check every room. Watson and I will circle around to the front lobby."
MacDonald nodded in agreement. He and Varlander slowly opened the West door and
stepped through. Holmes drew his revolver and checked the cylinders. He looked
over to Watson.
"Ready old friend?"
"You saved my life in Menton's basement. I want to thank you," said Watson.
"Now you have another chance to throw it away," said Holmes with a wry smile as
he turned and walked through the North door.
The theater had a musty, stagnant odor like that of an old damp rug. They
walked slowly up a long narrow corridor. There were no windows along the walls
so it was extremely dark. Watson thought it would be an ideal location for
Menton to ambush them. All he could think of was how Dr. Collins, Professor
Bell and Emily Lowerton appeared after they were shot with the venomous dart.
Watson tried to put the hideous images out of his mind as he nervously looked
around. No matter how much he moved his head or strained his eyes all he could
see was Holmes' dark figure walking in front of him. Holmes looked straight
ahead as he walked and tried to use his peripheral senses to perceive danger.
They reached the front lobby and quietly looked around the ticket booth.
Through the boarded windows of the lobby, thin, dusty streaks of late afternoon
sunlight slashed across the room. There was no sign of Menton. Holmes and
Watson turned and walked through the auditorium doors, into the darkened theater
hall and down to the stage. The curtain was open but the stage lights were off.
Suddenly a light appeared showing Menton standing centre stage holding a
blowgun.
"Take you best shot Holmes."
The magician raised the blowgun to his lips. Sherlock Holmes spun to his left
and shot three times into the side curtains on stage right. As the shots rang
out, there was a terrible scream, and Menton fell out of the curtains. He
dropped his blowgun as he fell to the floor. The magician gasped for breath and
kicked about in violent convulsions. Holmes and Watson made their way through
the orchestra pit and climbed up on the stage. Menton bled profusely as he
thrashed around on the floor in pain. MacDonald and Varlander came running from
behind stage left. Menton stretched his face and neck muscles and clenched his
fists. Watson made no attempt to treat his wounds.
"He must have swallowed his own dart," observed the doctor.
"Obviously," replied Holmes.
The magician gave one final gasp for air, contorted his whole body into a
hideous twisted knot and died. Holmes walked over to centre stage where Menton
appeared to be standing a minute ago. There was a large cabinet made of glass
with a life-size wax replica of Menton standing motionless in the centre of it.
The paraffin dummy was dressed in black tails and was still holding a fake
blowgun up to its wax lips.
"It's the 'Kiss of Death' illusion gentlemen."
MacDonald and Varlander walked over for a closer look.
Holmes reached out and snapped his finger against a glass panel.
"It is Professor Bell's visual transporter invention Watson. If you recall,
Bell's first tele-optic device was stolen after the Stamford demonstration."
"How does it work?" asked MacDonald.
"As you can see, a wax replica of Menton is set up behind this glass panel. The
glass is chemically treated and is set at a forty-five degree angle to the
audience. When lit from Bell's projector, off stage right, the glass would
become a holographic screen and the spectators would see a three dimensional
image of Menton. He would appear to be standing centre stage. The magician
would tell his story about the young lovers, throw the audience a kiss, and then
switch the projector off and at the very same moment illuminate the wax replica
on the other side of the glass for just an instant before remotely igniting it.
The wax was pre-soaked in a highly flammable kerosene solution, which created a
tremendous blaze.
"It is not surprising that the secret of the illusion was never discovered.
Menton employed an unknown invention to perform his finale. It did not
incorporate any standard, known method of illusion."
Holmes walked over to stage right where Menton had been hiding in the wings and
pulled the back the curtains.
"The 'Kiss of Death' illusion became his trademark effect. The timing of the
lighting change and the ignition had to be precise, so he had an electrical
switch wired into a foot operated mechanism located where he stood here at stage
right. For the attempt on our lives, instead of raising his hand to throw a
kiss, he raised the blowgun to his lips before changing the lights to the
replica holding the fake blowgun. He hoped to draw our attention to centre
stage long enough for a shot through the curtains. It was a matter of
misdirection," concluded Holmes.
"He was a magician to the end," remarked Watson.
Chapter 12 |
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Chapter 14
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