The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (22 page)

‘Once there I stopped abruptly. It had already occurred to me that he had chosen a strange route by which to make good his escape. After all, the roof was just as far and as high as he could go! It was only when I found myself surrounded by a veritable forest of huge, brick chimney stacks that I realized how precarious my position might be.

‘I knew that Diego was in hiding behind one of those stacks, with his crude weapon held menacingly poised above his head, ready to strike should I venture behind his chimney. The flat roof was strewn with shingle so I was in little doubt that he would hear even the most cautious of approaches. I had already resigned myself to another long wait, when it occurred to me that the shingle might also work to my advantage.

‘You know my method, Watson and I am certain that you have studied my monograph upon “The Tracing of Footsteps?”’ Holmes eyed me quizzically before continuing, while I grunted an embarrassed apology. ‘Nevertheless, I soon realized that, even without his shoes, it was most unlikely that Diego could make any movement upon that shingle without leaving a mark. In total silence I raised myself so that I could lie flat upon the roof. I strained my eyes until they ached and the moon’s light glistened upon the surface of the small stones.

‘Sure enough, to the right of me and toward the edge of the roof, I could just make out the shape of a small naked heel! A moment or two later I confirmed, to myself the outline of another, undoubtedly heading towards the nearest stack to my right. It was now my turn to remove my shoes and I inched my way towards my quarry.

‘As I drew ever closer I was determined to remain absolutely silent and even managed to hold my breath for a
full three minutes! I could detect no sound of movement from behind Diego’s place of hiding and I made my move. Employing a hold from the baritsu martial art, I secured the hand in which Diego was holding his fearsome weapon. He was unable to endure the pain to his pressure point and in an instant his knife clattered to the ground.

‘I collected the knife in one movement, but recoiled, momentarily, at the sight of the face that now turned towards me. Understandably it was etched with intense pain yet it was the eyes, red and unseeing in their manic rage, that chilled my blood.

‘He emitted a grunt of Spanish hatred and turned toward the roof ’s edge before I could make a move upon him. Even now I cannot say for certain whether his next action was carried out in full consciousness or not. Yet by the time that I was able to reach him, that deranged creature had hurled himself into the dark abyss.

‘As he fell, I swear that I heard the word “Francisco” echo back towards me and the sound that his body made upon contact with the stone below, was audible even from that distance.

‘I sank back on to my haunches for a few minutes, reflecting upon the tragedy of which I was, in a sense, the cause. Although I knew in my heart of hearts that its real cause occurred a long time ago in Central America. Slowly I made my way back down the long flight of metal steps, pausing by Diego’s shattered body only long enough to confirm the inevitable result of his fall.’

Holmes had not touched his cigar, throughout the final part of his remarkable narrative and, as he put a flame to it once more, I observed the effect that his night so fraught with danger had had upon his already gaunt features.

‘My dear fellow, what an awful experience to have had to endure alone. I sincerely regret that I was not there by your side,’ I observed quietly.

Holmes turned and placed his hand upon my shoulder. ‘Ah, but I knew that your staunch support was just a short walk down the road and that was comfort enough. Besides I must now prevail upon you to rouse the good Inspector Morrison and return with him to St Jude’s to instigate the arrangements for the body. I did not even tarry long enough to inform Nathaniel Brewer of all that had occurred, so anxious was I to quit that awful place, to which I hope never to return.’

‘By all means, old fellow,’ I responded enthusiastically, so eager was I to be of at least some form of assistance. Morrison was quick to respond and, mercifully, produced some welcome coffees and cigarettes, which we enjoyed before our departure. I beseeched Holmes to take some rest while we were gone.

He assured me that he would take my excellent advice. However, as I was leaving the room, I turned to see Holmes sitting by the window and staring up at the waning moon. His eyes were vague, vacant and unblinking and I could only speculate as to the ravages his fearful experience this night might eventually wreak upon his already fragile constitution.

The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes