Sherlock
Holmes and 'The Kiss of Death'
Copyright 2005 Peter C. Shumway
Chapter 14 – The Finale
"Success Watson!" exclaimed Sherlock Holmes as he entered their Baker Street rooms the following day. He held up a large, limp snake over his head like a prizefighter displaying his championship belt. It was one of the death adders that found its way down the coal chute in Menton's basement. Holmes returned there earlier in the morning to retrieve one of deadly creatures. All of the snakes were either burned in the fire or were destroyed by the police. Holmes rescued one of the few carcasses remaining in fair condition.
To acquire the prize he had to fend off several policemen who were cleaning up the basement. Watson was so disgusted with his friend's behavior that he left the row and came back to Baker Street without him. When Holmes proudly returned with one of the slimy beasts, Watson shook his head in disgust.
Holmes slapped the large snake down upon the dining table, walked over to the laboratory table, picked up his double lens and a scalpel, and then walked back over to the dining table and sat down.
"Interesting reptiles... the adder." Holmes peered through the lens at the flat triangular shaped head. Then he picked up an old quill and pulled the fangs down from the roof of its mouth.
"Did you know that the Australian Taipan keep their curved fangs folded up against the roof of their mouths when not using them? The venom is injected into the victim in a most interesting manner," explained the detective as he pried open the creature's mouth a little further with his fingers and peered into the oral cavity.
"A most deadly venom indeed," added Watson.
"Remember Watson the actual venom of the adder was only a principal agent in the solution that Menton used. I have no doubt he created the toxin himself. It is a shame that so great a mind had to go to waste. He was a true genius."
Watson threw his newspaper down on the floor in disapproval.
"I could list fifty famous personalities whom I feel belong in the privileged category of genius and Menton is definitely not one of them," argued Watson who was trying of late to describe the genius mind. He felt he had a good grasp of the level of intelligence required for the distinction. Holmes had his own ideas.
"While most of mankind applaud those who stand in the spotlight Watson, I recognize the truly gifted men and women who are more talented and more intelligent who prefer to work from the wings."
Although Holmes was speaking figuratively, Watson imagined Charles Menton standing off-stage as he performed the 'Kiss of Death' illusion. The detective continued.
"My brother Mycroft is a fair example of the gifted recluse. But the geniuses of the highest caliber may well be self-destined to anonymity," speculated Holmes as he rolled the brown snake on its back and picked up the scalpel.
"You are not going to cut that hideous thing open there are you?" protested Watson.
"The lab table is presently occupied by an experiment and my desk is cluttered with updates to my records. I did however consider using your desk..."
"That is out of the question!"
"Then it is here," replied Holmes as he proceeded to cut open his gruesome catch. Watson tried to ignore his friend's continual disregard for human decency.
"I myself have had my fill of snakes. It was only three years ago that Dr. Roylott sent his speckled viper on its deadly missions. The exasperating ordeal in Menton's basement was even more dreadful," reflected Watson as he watched his friend eagerly carve up the fat snake. "Thanks to Menton and his sister, I am positively content to never see another snake again."
Holmes looked up from his engrossing work.
"'Continually are they gathered together for war. They have tongues like a serpent; adder's poison is under their lips. Selah'," recited Holmes from somewhere in the Book of Psalms.
Watson's mouth opened in astonishment. He could not believe his friend had just quoted a passage from the Holy Bible. It was the one book Watson least suspected Holmes had read. The detective was a little offended at Watson's obvious amazement.
"Try not to look so completely overtaken my friend. It should not surprise you to find me well versed in the Good Book. It has proven to be an invaluable source of information when analyzing the religious criminal mind."
"I should have known your motives were not spiritual," said Watson. "For someone who poisons cats, shoots blowguns, burns down houses, and steals dead snakes I thought, for a brief moment, that you showed some hope for redemption."
"Heaven forbid Watson."
T H E E N D
