Mycroft, having nodded us all past the uniformed officials on the door, was on the point of leading the way unobtrusively in the direction of the cellar door when he was seized upon by a passing dignitary whose name was a household word.
“My dear Mycroft. The very fellow we need to settle an argument …” And the next moment the elder Holmes was in the middle of a small knot of grand and reverend seigneurs. The raised eyebrow turned in our direction said more than words that even he could not brush aside this particular company with impunity. We must proceed alone.
No sooner had he observed his brother’s distress signals than Holmes gripped us both by the arm.
“Quickly, old fellow. By my calculations we have precisely seven minutes. If memory serves, Mycroft’s map has the door to the cellars at the end of that corridor …”
All pretence of being tourists gone, the three of us hastened across the echoing hall and were soon alone in a short passage way. Behind us the bustle of the place we had just left was now a low-pitched hum and we could hear our own footfalls echo on the stone floor.
“A few yards further on the left, I think,” said Holmes, consulting the folded map he had pulled from his pocket.
It was then that I saw Lestrade. He suddenly appeared from behind one of the many ornate pillars that broke up the expanse of wall. In the dim light in this little used annex it was difficult to see his expression but his body language was clear, as he raised a hand in greeting.
“Lestrade,” I cried as we drew nearer, “what have you found?”
“False alarm, gentlemen, I’m glad to say. Miss Creighton …” and he touched the brim of his bowler in salutation. I thought it a little strange that he didn’t raise it to a lady but the thought didn’t really register in the heat of the moment. Instead I almost shouted in relief — “False alarm?”
“That’s right, Doctor. Seems like the Professor was having one of his little jokes at our expense. I’ve been all round down there with my boys and everything is tickety-boo. Looks like we’ll have to think again. Well, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. ’Olmes — Doctor, I’ll just tell me boys they can call it a night. Why don’t I pop round to Baker Street first thing in the morning and we can have a powwow …?”
“Excellent work, Lestrade,” Holmes interrupted enthusiastically. “By the way, I must congratulate you on the work of that young constable we met earlier, Hawkshaw?”
I was about to say — “Surely you remember the man’s name was Hawkins — not Hawkshaw?”—when I heard Lestrade say — “One of our very finest, Hawkshaw. He’ll be glad you appreciated his efforts.”
“I’m sure he will. Except that ‘young’ Hawkshaw’s name is Hawkins and he’s not a day under fifty. And you, Lestrade, I see have taken to wearing an overcoat at least two sizes too small for you and buttoning it all the way up — a practice you have singularly failed to observe in all the years I have known you. Furthermore, I have never yet heard you to refer to your associates as anything but your ‘men’—never your ‘boys.’ I have only one question for you, Moriarty — what have you done with Lestrade?”
I felt Alicia stiffen at my side. I could well understand that she must be feeling that she was condemned to be part of a circle that would never be broken. At literally the eleventh hour were we doomed to be back where we started?
“I see your legendary powers have not deserted you, my friend, but frankly, I had hoped for something a little more subtle. A coat cuff brushed the wrong way. A vocal inflexion misplaced by a few miles from the good Inspector’s ‘patch’—Hoxton, if I’m not mistaken? Really, Holmes, in my academic days I would have been hard pressed to give you more than a Beta plus.”
“I shall be happy to settle for a Beta on this occasion, Professor, if that is the price of putting you where you belong,” Holmes replied calmly. “Watson, perhaps you would be good enough to retrace your steps and bring ‘young Hawkins’ to do what is necessary?”
Fool that I was, I had failed to notice that, as he spun his web of words, Moriarty had gradually moved nearer to us. Now, as Holmes broke his concentration long enough to glance in my direction, Moriarty threw an arm around Alicia and, drawing a pistol from his pocket, used her as a human shield. Slowly he began backing them both away towards a door in the wall behind him.
I began to draw my own service revolver, only to have Moriarty wave his own in my direction.
“The hero is a tempting part to play, Doctor, but I somehow doubt that a dead Boswell would be able to do justice to his friend’s exploits — always supposing there are clients who will wish to do business with someone who is seen to have failed as signally as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
At which point a voice behind us said — “Mr. Holmes? Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Is there something I can do to help?”
I turned instinctively to find a young man approaching us, clearly under the impression that we had lost our way. He was fresh faced with an almost baby-like complexion and thinning fair hair and I wasn’t sure whether to bless or curse him for his intrusion.
My mind was made up for me a moment later, when I heard the solid thud of a door closing and I turned to find Holmes and I were alone in the corridor. Moriarty and his hostage were gone.
Holmes ran to the door and tried the handle. It was firmly locked and barred from the inside and it was equally clear that none of my friend’s picklocks was likely to make an impression on it. By this time the young man was at our side and seemed to be immediately aware that his intervention had complicated rather than eased matters. Instead of asking for an explanation or offering an apology, he looked Holmes squarely in the eye in a way I have seen few men do and said simply — “I spend a lot of time in this place and one day I hope to spend rather more. The one advantage is that I do know the ins and outs of it pretty well. Would it interest you to see the service entrance, Mr. Holmes?”
“It most certainly would,” I said, speaking for both of us. “Lead on!”
Sensing our urgency, he sprinted down the corridor with us in close pursuit until he came to a narrow side passage containing nothing but a small door with its paint peeling. It was obvious that no one of consequence was expected to penetrate this far into the entrails of the House. At first the handle refused to turn and my heart sank. Then, with a strength that belied his slender frame, our new friend put his shoulder to it and with a complaining screech, it opened inwards, revealing a dimly-lit corridor.
We immediately flattened ourselves against the wall on either side of the aperture. For all we knew we might walk into a fusillade of bullets but nothing disturbed the silence that greeted us. Putting his finger to his lips, Holmes edged his way around the door frame until he stood in the passage way beyond. Only then did he beckon the two of us to join him.
The passage was quite empty in both directions and then our young friend pointed to the left. As he did so, I could begin to make out the rumble of mens’ voices some way ahead. Slowly we inched our way along in the gloom. Whatever purpose the place had served in the past, it was no longer in active service. We passed empty shelves strewn with cobwebs and our companion whispered in my ear — “Looks like it hasn’t been used since Guy Fawkes’s time.”
Holmes beckoned me to his side. “Do you have your service revolver ready, Watson? Good man. Let us hope your eye has not lost the sharpness it had at Maiwand. I fear this can only end badly.”
We came to a turn in the passage and peered around it gingerly. Directly ahead of us was what was obviously the Main Cellar. There two men — one of whom I recognised as Krober — were bent over a mechanical contraption not unlike the one Holmes and I had seen up at Loch Ness. Wires led off it to a series of packages I could see were fastened to the foundations of the building.