The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes (20 page)

‘I mentioned before that I rarely seek any kind of reward for my work. On this occasion I am prepared to make an
exception. I must be fit enough to enjoy the look on Lestrade’s face when he finds Parkes residing in his cell later this morning!’

T
HE
A
DVENTURE OF
T
HE
D
YING
G
AUL

T
he inexplicably early retirement of my old friend and colleague, Sherlock Holmes, to the tranquillity of the Sussex coast in the year 1903, has, obviously, left a huge vacuum in my life. That is not to say the occasional puzzle has not attracted Holmes’s attention and from time to time he has even requested my assistance in the solving of these. However, these episodes have been few and far between and only a handful of these cases have been worthy of note.

Consequently I have come to rely on my own small
practice
as a means of filling my days, my evenings occupied in a constant reappraisal of my old case notes, within the confines of my new rooms in Queen Anne Street. Initially it came as some surprise to me to discover the absence of any notes relating to the first half of the year 1898. This dearth of information was harder to explain when I recalled the great demand Holmes’s services had been put under during much of that period. However, much of his work was
undertaken
alone while I spent weeks agonising and speculating at our rooms in Baker Street, not seeing or hearing from Holmes for a fortnight or more.

This pattern of behaviour was not uncommon in my friend, yet the increasing length of time that passed between each of our meetings surely was. When this silence was finally broken, however, Holmes’s choice of words brought back to life the most calamitous period of our association.

‘I propose that you come away with me for a week onto the continent.’ Holmes said suddenly one morning over breakfast. Strangely, the significance of this invitation struck not the slightest cord in the memory of my friend, although it had been with these very words that he had initiated our flight from the odious Professor Moriarty, an exodus culminating in their tumultuous struggle at the Reichenbach falls in 1891. My reaction to these words was lost on Holmes, who rapidly continued. ‘To the city of Rome, to be more precise, if it is not inconvenient to you.’

By now my attention had been drawn to a note that had evidently been delivered prior to my coming down to
breakfast
, and the sight of this immediately dispelled the ghosts of seven years’ past.

‘To Rome?!’ I exclaimed. ‘By all means, dear fellow, but what event could possibly necessitate such a journey?’

Seated opposite me, at our dining table, and enjoying his third cigarette since the conclusion of our meal, Holmes could barely conceal his pleasure at receiving this summons and he held the note tantalisingly before him.

‘Ha, Watson! I take it you have heard of that venerable institution, ensconced within the eternal city, known as the Capitoline museum. Equally, I am sure you know of the valuable and extensive collection of antique statues that it houses.’

‘Why yes, of course!’ I replied firmly.

‘Excellent, then I am sure you are aware that the
collection’s
renowned centre-piece is the majestic statute of “The Dying Gaul”.’

‘Again, yes.’ I replied, slowly wearying of Holmes’s prevarication.

‘Well then, perhaps I can at least surprise you by stating categorically that, as of yesterday morning, “The Dying Gaul” resides there no more!’ Holmes concluded, with a dramatic flourish of the note he still held.

‘It has been removed?’ I asked speculatively.

‘No, friend Watson, it has been stolen!’ Holmes exclaimed.

‘Good heavens! Then that message is surely from the Rome police force requesting your assistance.’ I
conjectured
.

‘Excellent Watson, though they of course prefer the word “Polizia” however, are you willing to join me on such a mission?’

‘By all means! My own work at the surgery has not been too pressing of late and the city of Rome does hold certain attractions. But how was the deed done? I understand the statue is quite a substantial one.’

Flicking the message with some disdain, Holmes emitted a strange growl.

‘No details at all! Not one fact worthy of note. We are promised all relevant information upon reaching the terminus of Rome, where we shall be met by their chief of police, Signor Gialli. However, in true Italian style,
whatever
the message lacks in hard facts is more than made up for by its poetic content. For example, they use this elegant piece of prose as a means to entice me to take up their case. Holmes now read from the note:

‘
IT IS ESSENTIAL THAT YOU COME AT ONCE, FOR THIS
MAGNIFICENT
STATUE IS THE CENTRAL CROWN OF OUR COLLECTION. THE SIMPLE, NATURAL FLOW OF THE POSITION OF THE BODY, THE FACE THAT EXPRESSES PROFOUND ANGUISH WHILE YET EXCUDING GREAT DIGNITY IN THE MIDST OF SUFFERING, ALL COMBINE TO REALIZE THIS WORK AS ONE OF THE MOST OUTSTANDING EXAMPLES OF A SCULPTURE FROM THE ANCIENT WORLD
… and so it continues. You shall be glad to know that I have already sent a reply, to the effect that we should be honoured to accept the challenge of their commission.’ Holmes concluded.

‘I am surprised that you accepted on my behalf prior to consulting me,’ I replied in mock indignation.

‘If I do not know my Watson after these many years in harness, I would surely be a very poor detective. Besides, the many hours you have spent over your morning papers, of late, have told me of a most slack surgery indeed!’

‘Even so, Holmes,’ I continued to remonstrate. ‘A journey to Rome is not to be taken so lightly.’

‘Quite so,’ Holmes agreed. ‘However, I do wish you would make up your mind without further delay. We must depart in ten minutes, if we are to catch our boat-train!’ With that Holmes strode to his room, leaving me aghast at the table, mid way through draining my last cup of tea.

My military training meant that I was well able to meet our departure time and with minutes to spare. However, as our hansom made its way through the hectic thoroughfares of London towards the station, I was forced to reflect on how bizarre my situation truly was; I had just removed myself from a warm comfortable room, a cheery fire, even my cup of tea, and was now hurtling towards the capital city of the ancient world, in order to recover an antique statue at the request of the Rome police.

Undoubtedly my association with Sherlock Holmes had provided me with much to be grateful for, the unique opportunities for adventure, the privilege of observing the remarkable powers of the world’s finest detective at first hand, and of course, literary accolades, to mention but three. However, I was equally certain that Holmes would be hard put to find another companion who was as willing to self-sacrifice, on his behalf, as I had been.

As if conscious of my innermost thoughts, Holmes suddenly turned towards me.

‘You know, Watson, it really is too good of you to
accompany
me on this little jaunt. I must say, however, that it promises to provide us with our greatest challenge and adventure to date.’

With that Holmes lapsed into one of his introspective silences and I was left to reflect that the thrill of adventure that I was experiencing was well worth everything I had left behind me in Baker Street.

We arrived at Charing Cross with barely five minutes to spare before our train’s ten o’clock departure. However, we were able to find our first-class carriage with ease and we enjoyed a relaxed, express journey to Folkestone. Somewhat surprisingly, as our journey progressed, I became aware of my friend’s increasingly pensive mood.

By the time we had reached Folkestone, I was no nearer to discovering the cause of Holmes’s change of demeanour and soon after gave up the thankless task of attempting to guess this. During the course of our smooth crossing to Boulogne, the bracing sea air found me up on deck enjoying its revitalising effects. All the while, Holmes kept himself to the lounge below, smoking his way through an apparently inexhaustible supply of cigarettes.

Our next connection, a train from Boulogne to Paris, afforded us little time to collect ourselves. Indeed, our schedule was so tight that the platform gates were on the point of closing when we arrived at the Paris platform. So it was not until the longest stretch of our journey, from Paris to Turin, was under way that we were allowed some time to relax. A light meal in the above average dining-car was more than a little welcome, yet it was only once our pipes had been lit that I became aware of Holmes’s decision to confide in me finally.

He glanced furtively at me a couple of times between long, deep draws on his cherrywood, and then he leant forward, with his elbows balanced on his bony knees.

‘I am loath to admit.’ He slowly began, ‘that I have done you a grave injustice, Watson. Indeed, my very motive, for asking you to accompany me to Rome, was partly based on a deception.’

‘What can you possibly mean?!’ I asked incredulously. ‘Are you saying “The Dying Gaul” has not been stolen at all?’

Holmes shook his head vehemently several times. ‘No, no, no … of course not, but I am certain that if I had made my true intention clear to you from the outset you would never have agreed to have come.’

My reply did not disguise the hurt that his remark had caused me. ‘I cannot believe that you have dismissed my loyalty so lightly. Throughout the most outlandish mysteries and the gravest of dangers, I have always been your man!’

‘Watson, your loyalty and bravery are beyond question,’ Holmes responded with earnest. ‘And yet if I had divulged the fact that I have deduced the genius and guiding hand
of Professor Moriarty behind the theft, even you would surely have denounced me as a madman and abandoned me to my own devices! Now, you cannot deny that this is true.’

I was so shaken and taken aback at the mere mention of that dreadful name that I confess I could not readily deny Holmes’s assertions. The name Moriarty was, to me, synonymous with feelings of great sadness and loss and one I had never expected to hear again, save in a fleeting reference to the past. To hear Holmes now mention that name again, in reference to a contemporary crime, seemed anomalous at the very least!

I am ashamed to admit that my initial diagnosis was that a reversion to his long dormant habit of taking cocaine had resulted in what was, surely, a sad delusion. Yet, as I stared at his keen, alert face from across our carriage and observed the bright intensity of his eyes, I confess there was no medical evidence of that awful habit having returned. I decided that the answer must lie
elsewhere
.

‘It would seem, therefore, that my deception was
necessary
,’ Holmes gravely pronounced, somehow sensing my scepticism. ‘Necessary, but not justified. You certainly deserve better than this at my hand. You must understand, however, that this bizarre deduction of mine, has not been conceived merely from the events at the Capitoline. It is the culmination of a line of thought that first emerged four years ago. Dormant, sometimes for months on end, then suddenly regenerated by an event on the Continent, or a certain inquiry bearing new fruit.’

As Holmes continued speaking, my initial horror and disbelief were slowly dispelled. I remembered that I was
seated opposite the world’s most logical and dispassionate mind, as devoid of delusion and fancy as it is possible to conceive. As exasperating as this trait of his could be at times, it nonetheless, reminded me now that his theory, concerning Moriarty, was undoubtedly well founded and a sudden thrill swept through me.

Holmes seemed to recognise this marked change in my attitude towards him and his theory, and he elaborated with increased excitement.

‘It was your own heartfelt, though erroneous, chronicling of my conflict with Moriarty in the story you entitled, the “Final Problem”, that initiated my long line of thought. The specific focus of interest being your reference to his brother, the Colonel, whose existence had up to that point been unknown to me.

‘As you are aware, Watson, my investigation into Moriarty’s life and organisation, throughout the months leading up to our final confrontation, had been most detailed and thorough. Yet my inquiries were restricted to his criminal activities alone, and perhaps I would have been better served if I had expanded my field of vision to encompass his family also. For at no stage was I aware of the existence of the Colonel. Yet no sooner was Moriarty pronounced dead and discredited than the Colonel suddenly appeared in his defence, and at the expense of my own good name. Then, only to disappear again just as mysteriously. I was forced, therefore, to question to what extent the Colonel had been involved in his late brother’s activities.

‘At this point certain contradictions in the professor’s character and behaviour began manifesting themselves to me. Though twisted and perverse in the extreme, it is
worth remembering that the professor’s mind was as logical and analytical as my own. The “intellectual treat” he had enjoyed in observing my efforts in bringing him down, was shared by me in observing the subtlety and intricacy of his operations, though of course, I was loath to admit it at the time.

‘Such a mind would surely have devised a more subtle defence, against my final thrust, than merely chasing us in a train. I now feel certain that he would have been aware of the futility of such action, bearing in mind that the final closing of the trap was going to take place with or without my presence in London. Such time as he wasted in his pursuit of us would, surely, have been better spent in devising a means of thwarting me, even at the last. You see, Watson, I began deducing contradiction, after
contradiction
. He did not even await the outcome of my coup de grâce on the Monday, preferring to pursue us blindly to the Continent, giving no consideration to his fate should he have decided to return to London at the conclusion of his journey.