The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters. Michael Kurland
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furnished lobby and up the stairs, I wondered what my friend was going to do. Once in our room, I passed the time by reading a book I found on a shelf about tin mining in Cornwall. Though I found the style somewhat dry, to say the least, the subject was surprisingly engaging.
* * * *
It was past dusk, when Sherlock Holmes returned, and in a very excited state.
“Come Watson,” he said, “and bring your revolver. We are rapidly approaching the dénouement of our case.”
“But how—?”
“There’s no time to explain, every moment we delay may cost lives.”
We rushed out of the inn, into the same trap that had taken us to the manor in the morning. It was now night, and a full moon hung above us.
“We’re off to the manor,” whispered Holmes, presumably so the driver would not hear him.
“At this hour?” I replied.
What was Holmes getting us into? I thought. By his tone, I suspected we would hardly be attending a formal dinner party. Though the reason for our nocturnal visit eluded me, my confidence in Holmes’s ability to prevail was unwavering.
When we were halfway to the manor, Holmes instructed the driver to take another route to the left, bringing us back inland. I was completely perplexed, as we were now heading away from the manor. The road turned again, and we entered a thick grove of trees. Fortunately, the moon provided us with some light, or we’d have surely been lost.
Suddenly, Holmes commanded the driver to come to an abrupt halt. Then he struck a match, lit a lantern, and instructed me to step out of the carriage. When I had done so, he exited as well, and dismissed the driver. The carriage sped off, leaving Holmes and me alone in a dense forest.
“Follow me,” whispered Holmes, holding the lantern.
I couldn’t help asking myself the obvious questions. Where were we? Why were we here? And what in blazes were we doing? We walked for a few minutes. In the subdued light, I stumbled in some ruts in the hard dirt.
Soon after, we reached a boulder that resembled an apple. Then Holmes reached into his coat, removed a rolled-up paper, and held the lantern up to it. After a cursory glance, he pocketed the paper, walked a few paces, and turned around.
“Here, Watson, follow me, and stay very close behind.”
At this I could take no more. Patience is a virtue only up to a point. “Now, Holmes, I think it’s about time—”
“You’re quite right, Watson. When this manor was built, over four hundred years ago, there was much concern over the then very real possibility of sieges, and the masons who built it were instructed by their lord and master, to provide an escape tunnel into this forest.”
“Ingenious, but how did you know about its existence?”
“There’ll be plenty of opportunity to go into that later, but right now time is of the essence.”
He held up the lantern, which revealed a set of stone steps that were all but covered by thick foliage.
“Keep your revolver handy, Watson,” he said, as we descended the stairs and came to a rusty iron door. It was padlocked. Holmes pulled out a set of keys, selected one, slid it into the lock, and it snapped open. Then the door followed suit with a soft, creaking sound.
Holmes held up the lantern, and I saw a tunnel directly ahead of us. I removed the gun from my pocket and held it tightly, as we stepped into the cavern. It was dark and smelled of mold. The lantern lit the way, as we trod through the seemingly endless tunnel. It’s been said that man’s most primal fear is darkness, and at that moment I had no doubt of it.
Eventually, the passageway became narrower, and then, at last, we came to an opening. Here Holmes turned to me and whispered, “Do not speak, Watson. Now we must wait.”
Holmes doused the lantern and through the entrance in front of us, we saw a vast cave unfold that was illuminated by an eerie, flickering light. There was a narrow ridge immediately outside the opening where we stood. We walked a few paces, stole a quick glance over the edge. There, some twenty-five feet below, was an immense grotto filled with water.
We returned to the tunnel. All at once I heard voices. They were muffled at first, but I recognized Dr Paxton’s above the others. “That’s it,” he said, “come on now, let’s not keep her waiting.”
“Yes sir,” said another voice. This one had a tinge of North Country in his inflection.
“Careful with that,” said Paxton, “let’s not spill any.”
“It’s heavy, sir,” said another voice, this one distinctly Cockney.
“No back talk,” said Paxton sternly.
Then Holmes and I saw the three men emerge from another tunnel and stand on the ledge, not more than a few feet away from us. We pulled back to avoid being seen.
Besides Paxton, I recognized the other man as his servant (though he was now wearing a workman’s shirt and a pair of soiled trousers). Along with them was the man we’d seen on the ladder feeding the fish.
What followed next will haunt me till the end of my life. One of the men pulled up a bucket of fish and emptied its contents over the ledge into the water below. The other man took a second bucket and did the same.
For a moment there was silence, and then I heard splashing in the water. Then something rose out of the water the likes of which I’ve never seen before. It was a massive tentacle, of the sort one might see on an octopus, except that this was at least fifty feet high with the circumference of a large Roman column. It was covered with suction cups of various sizes.
A second tentacle of equal size appeared along its side, thrashed around in the water for a few minutes, and then they both vanished into the depths from which they had come. Before I could catch my breath from beholding such a sight, Paxton turned to his men and said, “Bring me the main course.”
At this, one of his henchmen disappeared from view, returning immediately with a portly man, whose arms were bound behind him with rope and whose mouth was gagged with a handkerchief.
Holmes took out his revolver, then gestured to me to step forward and reveal ourselves. We moved quickly into the open with our revolvers aimed at the trio.
“Good evening, Dr Paxton,” said Holmes.
Paxton and his men turned abruptly, as did their prisoner.
“You’re trespassing, Mr Holmes,” said Paxton.
“A small transgression compared to what you are engaged in,” replied Holmes.
“What do you know?” asked Paxton.
“I’m afraid I know everything, Paxton. Dr Watson and I just now witnessed your little pet.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Paxton.
“And now,” said Holmes, “I must ask you to unhand that man and step aside.”
“On the contrary, Mr Holmes, “said Paxton, holding on to the bound man, “if you or Dr Watson, advance even one step, I shall push this man over the precipice to his reward.”
“Then we are at a stalemate,” replied Holmes.
“Not quite,” said Paxton, “if you do not drop your weapons, I will make good on my threat regardless.”
“And if we obey, you will send this man to his doom nonetheless.”
“It’s a sad day when a man of science like myself is not trusted.”
“If you throw this man to your creature, I will subsequently shoot you, and then you shall join him.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Holmes,” said Paxton, “your reputation is that of a man of intellect, not violence.”