My Dearest Holmes (16 page)

Suddenly there was a loud rumble above us, and we all three instinctively lurched forward just in time to avoid a large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge upon our right. It clattered down and roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It was in vain that our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in springtime at that spot. He descended the slope and gave me a slow, grim smile, as if to say that this was nothing more than the fulfilment of what he had expected.

I scanned the ridge with anxious eyes but could see nothing. I did not know what to believe; the guide was insistent, and Holmes was undoubtedly paranoid. And yet--if Moriarty were indeed on our trail, he could well have caught up with us by now. I turned back to Holmes with a questioning expression, and opened my mouth to speak; but he shook his head quickly to silence me, and we resumed our journey.

It was a fatal mixture of pride and humility which prevented me from referring to our argument again. I was thinking the matter over; and did not want to offer any apologies or promises until my own mind was clearer on the subject. Holmes meanwhile appeared to recover his equanimity, though he spoke less on the subject of Moriarty, and brooded more. His words, expression and actions all took on a determined quality which was in itself a defence against intrusion on my part.

On the 3rd of May, we reached the little village of Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the elder; a large, jovial man who spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. He appeared to take a liking to us, and joined us at our table after dinner when the few other guests had retired, insisting that we accept his offer of liqueurs on the house. Holmes, usually so morose in uninvited company (unless it were a client), appeared to be in an excellent mood, and regaled our host with tales of London, even managing to exhume a mutual acquaintance or two. The easy, humorous atmosphere was infectious, and I was on the point of naming an acquaintance or two of my own in connection with the Grosvenor, when Holmes abruptly changed the subject.

'So, we are your first English visitors of the season?' he enquired of Steiler, offering him a cigarette from his silver case, which the latter accepted with pleasure.

'The first, yes. But in the summer usually we have many English here. Ah, Herr Holmes, you should see how busy is my little hotel in the summer! But the spring is nicer for you. Not so crowded. Two gentlemen like yourself and the Doctor do not wish to be crowded. And you will see, the falls of Reichenbach are so beautiful in the spring. So--majestic, Herr Holmes, and solemn also. But beauty! Ah, you must certainly go, and yourself, Dr Watson, it is a sight not to be missed! In the summer, they all come for it.'

'Well, yes, we shall certainly take a look at the Falls, eh Watson? Perhaps we can make a little detour, en route to Rosenlaui tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow? You go to Rosenlaui tomorrow?' Herr Steiler seemed quite upset at the thought. 'Ah, it is much too soon, you do not have the time to relax and enjoy our charming village. You will stay here, rest, it is so quiet, much rest and privacy for you both, you will enjoy much better.'

I regarded our host with some alarm. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he imagined us to be indulging in some sort of romantic idyll; he winked at me as he poured yet another measure of his clear, scented and extremely potent liqueur into my unresisting glass. Already flushed with alcohol, I felt my cheeks grow even hotter, and cast a look of helpless appeal at Holmes. The smile remained on his lips, but not in his eyes. He refused to meet my gaze.

'Indeed, you are most kind and persuasive, Herr Steiler,' he said, in sweet, icy tones. 'But I fear we must keep to our plans. There is so much of your beautiful country to see, and time, alas, is pressing.'

Herr Steiler, by now much the worse for drink, seemed totally oblivious to the warning note in my friend's voice. Heartily and fulsomely he expressed his regret, and turned his attention back to the subject of the Grosvenor and, unfortunately, to me. He obviously felt that he had neglected me during the earlier part of the conversation, and attempted to make up for it now by a barrage of questions and innuendos with which I felt totally unable to deal. He mentioned people I knew, and seeing me blush, he actually leaned over and pinched my arm. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Holmes flinch, but any comfort I might have derived from that reaction was drowned in my confusion. I tried to laugh the matter off, and claimed to be too tired and too much the worse for wine, to be able to embark on any reminiscences. Holmes had pushed his liqueur away from him, and sat leaning back in his chair, regarding us both with a cool, sardonic gaze that made me feel quite sick with anxiety.

Eventually he appeared to take pity on me, and proclaimed that it really was time for us to retire. He bade Herr Steiler a polite farewell and thanked him for his hospitality.

The room which our host had allotted us was furnished in heavy oak, and boasted of one large bedstead placed conspicuously in the middle of it.

I regarded it with dismay, but Holmes seemed completely unmoved. He removed his coat, laid it on the bed and began to rummage for his cocaine. I sat down upon the hard mattress and gazed at him unhappily.

'I'm sorry, Holmes,' I said.

'Sorry for what, my dear fellow? It was not your fault. It was a misunderstanding on the part of Herr Steiler.'

He placed his morocco case and bottle on the counterpane and avoided my eye. His voice was calm but I sensed anger in every syllable.

'But why--?' I faltered, and swallowed hard. 'I don't understand how he could have gained such an impression.'

'Appearances, my dear Watson,' said Holmes briefly.

I watched him fill his syringe and inject. He was sickened by the whole situation, I could see. Sickened that a man like Steiler, recognising me for what I was, should make the same assumptions about him. Sickened by my way of life and all that it represented. Sickened by me.

I sat silent, frozen with horror. I felt him turn to look at me.

'Go to bed, Watson,' he said gently. 'You'll feel better in the morning.'

Carefully he replaced the syringe in its case and stowed it away with the bottle. He rose from the bed and went to turn off the gas. He yawned and stretched like a cat, with animal grace, silhouetted against the window in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Moonlight streamed around him, onto the bed.

'Aren't you ... going to sleep?' I asked.

He ran a hand through his black hair, and half turned towards me.

'I'm not tired. I'll sit up for a bit. It's a beautiful night, and I need time to think.' He picked up a chair from beside the dressing table and placed it by the window.

'Holmes,' I said, 'you don't have to sit up in that. I'll ...'

He silenced me with an impatient gesture, and we both froze. There was an unmistakeable creak on the stair outside; then another; then a third, as someone crossed the landing. Swiftly and silently, Holmes crossed the room, and slid the bolt into place. We both listened. Someone was breathing heavily on the other side of the door. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Herr Steiler.

In the moonlight I could clearly see the anger and disgust on Holmes' face. He caught my glance and made a sign to me to get into bed. Then he crossed the room again and pulled the curtains to.

I undressed as noiselessly as I could in the darkness, got into bed and lay quite still. I heard a grunt of disappointment from the other side of the door, and the creak of the stairs as our voyeur retreated.

I turned my face to the window. My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and I could see Holmes sitting in the chair, his head bent forward and his fingertips together as though deep in concentration.

'He's gone, Holmes,' I whispered.

He grunted. 'Good night, Watson. Sleep well,' was all he said.

--
V
--

I
AWOKE IN the morning to find Holmes bending over a breakfast tray, pouring out coffee. The curtains were drawn, and sunlight and birdsong streamed through the window.

I blinked stupidly up at him as he held out a cup to me.

'Sit up and drink this, Watson,' he said. 'I took the precaution of going downstairs to fetch it myself. I explained to our host that I am an early riser. He said that we should have let him know when we wanted to be called and he would have brought the coffee himself. But it was too late, and I insisted. Here.'

I sat up in bed and sipped at the coffee. A glance at Holmes' face told me that he had hardly slept at all last night.

'Did you get any sleep?' I asked, all the same.

'A little. I feel perfectly refreshed. I suspect, from the colour of your eyes, that I feel better than you do, Watson.'

I put my hand up to my head. Herr Steiler's liqueurs were wreaking their revenge. I looked at the other half of the bed. It was undisturbed. He had slept in the chair, then. The room was heavy with the acrid smell of tobacco.

'You've been smoking all night again,' I said.

Holmes chuckled and went to fling open the window.

'There. Fresh air will soon clear the room and your head. Now, take time over your coffee and then come downstairs to breakfast. Mine host murmured something about the other guests breakfasting at nine, and I think it would be best if we did the same. I am just going for a brisk turn round the village.'

I did as I was told. It was a beautiful morning, and my fragile state made me particularly sensitive to its freshness and transparent quality; but there was coiled in my stomach a small worm of fear, which nuzzled and ate at my inner parts; and the unpleasant taste of last night's episode was in my mouth.

Holmes, too, seemed tense and worried; the shadows under his eyes gave him a look of one who is hunted; but his manner to me was particularly gentle, and he made no mention of the previous night.

I was glad when we eventually set off in the early afternoon, up the hill which led to the famous Reichenbach Falls. Herr Steiler bid us a tender farewell, and we were more than glad to say goodbye to him. We had arranged for our bags to be sent on to the hotel at Rosenlaui, to await us that evening. The walk over the hills was not too arduous, and we had plenty of time.

'It's a beautiful day, Holmes,' I said, making conversation as we climbed among the greens and yellows of the Alpine spring. The air was cool and seemed to glitter above and around us like crystal.

Holmes gave a small, tight smile. 'Beautiful,' he agreed; but his mind was elsewhere.

'Don't worry about Steiler,' I said timidly. 'We'll soon have him far behind, he can't do us any harm.'

Holmes sighed. 'I suppose not.'

I was sure now that the events of the previous evening still haunted him. I tried to sound sensible, to put things in perspective. 'At least there's no sign of Moriarty,' I said.

Holmes turned to me. 'You think not? On the contrary, I sense that he is very close. He will catch up with us within the next few days. He will give our descriptions to Herr Steiler and trace us easily.'

To my surprise he slowed and stopped in his tracks. He stood still for a while, then turned aside and sat down heavily on a boulder. We had not gone far, and he was not usually the first to flag; but he had the look of one who is utterly exhausted. I went to sit beside him.

'Holmes, what is it?' I said gently. 'Have you heard something? Let me know what it is, for God's sake. You know I'll do anything I can to help. You don't trust Steiler, is that it? Well, even if he does let out that we've been here, we're no worse off than we were at every other hotel. What makes you think that Moriarty is so much closer today than he was yesterday?'

Holmes sat silently, his head bent. When he turned to look at me, there was such a tired, hopeless look in his eyes that my heart gave a lurch of fear.

'Nothing,' he answered. 'Nothing. But I sense it. It's not a logical deduction, I know. But I wish--I wish it were all over and done with, Watson. I just wish I could get it all over. I must have some peace,' he added in a very low voice.

I was alarmed. It was as if the thread which had been taut inside him, drawing him on, his obsession with Moriarty and his determination to get the better of him, had suddenly snapped. As if the very bricks and mortar with which he had painstakingly built up his own personality were beginning to crumble; as if he had at last seen through what he had always believed to be his certainties, and found beyond them nothing but a grey and formless mist.

I said quietly, 'What is it that you wish was over and done with? Are you sure it is just Moriarty? Holmes, you know you don't have to put yourself through this; there is no reason why it has to come to a personal contest between you and him. Would it not be more sensible to return to England, where you will have the protection of the law and the police? There is no need to worry about me. Even if my name does come up in some way, it can all be dealt with; it has been done before, by people far more eminent than I. Just forget that side of it; come back to England with me, and let the police deal with Moriarty. I think you have come to the end of your tether. You need rest and--a change. A proper holiday. Holmes, I will do anything to help you; I would even--I would do anything.'