I was the only one close enough to hear Holmes murmur to himself — “‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice. ‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’”
Then to Lestrade — “Lestrade, post your men at every point. Watson and I will use the ground floor window. Give us five minutes, then break in the front door. The place appears empty but then appearances, as we know with this particular gentlemen, can be deceptive.”
Moments later we were hurrying through the swirling mist that evening had brought to the river. Every now and then I heard the hooting of the boats still plying their trade on London’s great waterway, warning each other of their presence. For some strange reason I found myself thinking of mythical beasts on Loch Ness singing their siren song. How much had happened since that abortive fishing trip.
The next thing I knew Holmes had pulled me into the shadow cast by the portico of one of the strangest buildings I can remember seeing. It was as though someone had leafed through an encyclopaedia of architecture and taken details at random, then instructed a builder to assemble them as best he may. Part Georgian, part Gothic with a touch of strictly pseudo-Elizabethan, it should have been a monstrosity. As it was, intermittently shrouded with London fog, it looked splendidly eerie and almost as if it were challenging us to unlock its mysteries. It was then I noticed that it was the only house standing intact for many yards around. All the rest were derelict shells, as though the ground were contaminated.
“Moriarty is certainly assured of a degree of privacy,” Holmes whispered. In the faint light of my lantern I could see that he was carefully sorting through a set of implements he had taken from an inside pocket and I recognised them as the tools of the master burglar’s trade. Since he was so clearly enjoying himself, I refrained from pointing out that the mere possession of them at night was in itself a felonious offence.
As he selected a thin probe that reminded me all too forcibly of a visit to the dentist, I recalled his boasting to me on more than one occasion that he felt burglary was an alternative profession at which he would have excelled. Well, now he had the opportunity to prove it.
There was the faintest of clicks and a satisfied grunt from Holmes as a casement window swung open. A moment later we were both standing in a marble hallway that could easily have come from a Venetian Doge’s palace. There was something peculiarly menacing about the very quiet and I found myself patting the pocket in which I carried my service revolver for reassurance.
The inside of the house was much bigger than it appeared from the outside. In fact, it was a veritable maze of rooms, one leading into another and each decorated — as Hawkins had predicted — in a different and often bizarre style. An Egyptian room led into a Louis Quatorze suite, which became a medieval banqueting chamber. What was perfectly plain, however, was that none of them appeared to have been used for a considerable period of time. It was as though their inhabitants had been summarily recalled to their respective pages in the history book, leaving behind only an elaborate stage set.
Holmes seemed to read my thoughts. “Once again our bird has flown. I feared as much when he left us a trail to his nest. However, let us hope he has left us some chicks.”
His words instantly reminded me of why we were in this place out of time and I hastened my pace, only to find Holmes’s arm restraining me.
“Steady, old fellow. It seems clear that Moriarty and his men have vacated the premises for our arrival but that does not mean that the premises themselves do not contain a few surprises. In fact, I think it highly likely that the reason he was attracted to it in the first instance is that — like so many things about him — it is not what it seems.”
“Do you notice something else, Watson? Although the rooms seem all of a size, in reality they are constructed with a slight curve to them. We are being led to the heart of a spiral — or perhaps a web would be a more appropriate metaphor.”
He raised his head and sniffed the air which, truth to tell, was damnably musty. Whatever purpose the place served in Moriarty’s scheme of things, he had made little use of it, that much was certain. There was a musty quality — and something more. As if reading my thoughts, Holmes said over his shoulder — “Black deeds have been perpetrated here, make no mistake about it. The genius loci never lies and this is an evil genius. Ah, yes, just as I thought.”
He opened one more door and we found ourselves on a wide balcony looking down into the sunken interior of the house. There we beheld a sight that will stay with me to my dying day.
The whole of the floor some ten or twelve feet below us was also marble and laid out in squares like a giant chess board. On each of the squares, inset with some kind of glittering mosaic that made it glow in the dark, was a different symbol. Some I recognised, but others looked totally foreign. There was a goat’s head, a spider, a cat and several signs that seemed vaguely astrological but about each of them there was something strangely malignant.
“The locals were apparently correct in their suspicions,” Holmes said, leaning over the stone balustrade and peering into the gloom below. “Witchcraft was most certainly practised here. See the pentacle over there? Watson, be so kind as to turn up your lantern and hold it over here …”
As I did as he asked, I heard myself gasp, for there below us were two seated figures. The glittering symbols had sufficiently dazzled us so that only now did we see them in the flickering light of my bull’s eye.
The reason we had remained unaware of their presence now became readily apparent Both were gagged and trussed to their chairs and each was unconscious. Almost certainly drugged was my immediate thought.
Then the smaller one stirred slightly. It was Alicia Creighton! Her dark hair had been covering her face but now, as she lifted her head, it fell back and I could see those strong and distinctive features. She appeared unhurt but her face was drawn. I called her name but Holmes, as ever the voice of reason, quietly said what was going through my mind.
“I doubt if she can hear you, old fellow. Moriarty has certainly sedated them in expectation of our arrival. I think we have more cause to be concerned about her companion. He looks to be in a bad way to me.”
Now I could recognise the other figure as Steel — and what a strange figure he made. He was dressed in the costume he had worn at Moxton’s fancy dress party but this Jack or Knave of Hearts was no longer the elegant man about town. The costume was crumpled and begrimed and the face pinched and unshaven. It was clear the man had suffered greatly during the last few days. Whatever mistakes he had made, I had no wish to see him degraded in this way.
“Holmes, we must do something,” I cried, “we can’t let them stay there another moment.” And with that I made to climb over the balcony, even though the drop to the marble floor was a dangerous one. It was something in Holmes’s voice that made me stop.
“Indeed, Watson, and so we shall but first we must ascertain precisely what. Why do you think Moriarty pointed our feet in this direction? He expects us to be standing on this very spot. How ironic if we were to prove to be the executioners of his prisoners!”
My friend’s words were like a dash of cold water. Of course, he was right. Immediately I began to use the lantern to examine what could be seen of the rest of the hall. As I did so, I heard a faint murmur.