The Devil's Blaze, page 14
‘Yes, that would be quite adequate,’ I answered shortly.
He nodded. ‘I will bear that in mind the next time we are in flight from the law. You must, however, admire the papers provided us by Tobias Penderghast. The so-called da Vinci of the East End may have left behind his career as an expert forger, but he is still happy to do me the odd favour in thanks for my keeping him out of prison.’
‘I was not aware until now that you kept a supply of false papers in the concealed drawer of your desk.’
‘There have been occasions in the past when we have required alternative identities in order to carry out our investigations,’ Holmes explained, ‘so it seemed prudent to be prepared for any future eventualities.’
‘Well, now that we have some hours of leisure and confinement ahead of us, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to our destination. I take it our aim is not merely to place some fresh trout on the supper table.’
‘You are correct,’ Holmes responded. ‘We are, as the Bible puts it, become fishers of men, or to be more specific, of Professor Moriarty. There is an island called Errinsay off the west coast of Scotland. It is home to an unnamed military installation and has been designated as an experimental naval artillery range. As such it is out of bounds to all unauthorised shipping.’
Holmes paused to relight his pipe then continued. ‘The curious fact is that there is no record of munitions or any other necessities being transported there. From this I conclude that Errinsay is the final destination of all those routes of supply I spoke of earlier which appear to terminate in dead ends. It is here we will find the installation that operates under the code name Avalon.’
‘What on earth can have possessed Moriarty to relocate to so isolated a spot?’
‘Whatever the reason,’ said Holmes, ‘we must reach it as quickly as possible to effect the rescue of Dr MacReady.’ He added hurriedly, ‘And, of course, to put a stop to whatever devilish scheme Professor Moriarty is brewing.’
Having explained this much, Holmes returned to the study of the notebook that lay in his lap.
‘What is it you are finding of such interest there?’ I inquired. ‘It appears to me to be page upon page of intractable ciphers.’
‘Not so,’ said Holmes, thoughtfully stroking his false whiskers. ‘These are detailed instructions for encod-ing information and programming it into the Velox calculating machine.’
‘That’s hardly of much use now that the machine itself has been reduced to a pile of scrap,’ I pointed out.
‘Perhaps not, perhaps not,’ Holmes murmured, ‘but I wonder.’
I realised that I had lost his attention, so I left him to his studies. At the station I had purchased a copy of one of the recent novels of Mr E. Phillips Oppenheim, an author who had provided me with much pleasant distraction over the years. Removing my ill-fitting spectacles, I did my best to lose myself in his fictional adventure as we sped northward into the greatest danger of our lives.
PART THREE REICHENBACH
21 THE HAUNTED ISLE
We stayed overnight in a guest house in Glasgow where few questions were asked of us. We then proceeded by train and local bus to the fishing village of Portshuigh where we presented ourselves in our true identities at the cottage of Geordie Munroe. As soon as he recognised us, the burly fisherman welcomed us warmly inside.
We had made his acquaintance some years before when he had been of great assistance to us in connection with the mysterious affair of the Silent Piper, that elusive phantom whose appearance traditionally presaged the death of some member of the clan McKinnon.
The interior of the cottage was rudely furnished but clean and comfortable. Mrs Munroe had decorated the front room with small figurines of farm animals and coloured pebbles and had set a vase of wild flowers in pride of place in the centre of the unvarnished dining table. An assortment of woollen pullovers and slick oilskins hung from pegs on the wall.
Soon we were seated at table and provided with two steaming bowls of a thick, flavoursome soup made from smoked fish, potatoes, onions and milk. Once we had mopped up the last of it, Munroe poured us each a glass of the local whisky with its distinctive peaty flavour. The four children, aged between five and eight, capered excitedly around their visitors before being herded together and chivvied off to bed by their rosy-cheeked mother.
After supper Holmes was still deep in conversation with Munroe when I retired to the back room where a pair of hard wooden beds had been prepared for us. When I awoke in the morning Holmes had already departed, leaving behind an explanatory note in his distinctive spidery hand.
My dear Watson,
Have set out early with Geordie Munroe in his boat. Hope to make a useful reconnaissance of the island from a safe distance with the aid of field glasses. I judged it best to leave you here as a reserve in case anything untoward should befall us.
S.H.
I confess that I was somewhat chagrined at being left behind, but given the many hazards we faced, Holmes was probably right not to place all our eggs in one basket, especially one which could be blown out of the water by one well-aimed naval shell.
Mrs Munroe provided me with a cup of strong tea and a bowl of salted porridge for breakfast. It was very different in texture and flavour from that prepared by Mrs Hudson. This observation led me to reflect that I was gradually becoming something of a connoisseur of Scotland’s national dish.
I had no sooner cleared the bowl than I was beset by all four of the Munroe children demanding a story. Without learning the truth of our identities, they had absorbed the impression that Holmes and I were some sort of adventurers in the employ of the government and had experienced many exciting encounters all across the globe. They hopped about in excited anticipation of a tale filled with headhunters, pirates and – this last was considered indispensable – poisonous snakes.
Their demands were so insistent and expressed with such zeal that I had not the heart to deny them. So it was that they sat on the floor about my feet while I treated them to an as yet unpublished tale: the Adventure of the Javanese Monkey. By omitting some of the more gruesome incidents, which had almost cost Holmes and me our lives, and adding a few colourful embellishments, I provided them with an hour of enchantment. At the conclusion of the adventure, so rapturous was their effusion of cheers and applause that, as they rushed outside to act out some favourite incidents, I felt a momentary pang of regret at having no children of my own.
Having finished the Oppenheim the previous day, I searched the small selection on the Munroes’ bookshelf. Here I found a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s Rob Roy. Given our present circumstances, I felt a warm sympathy for the plight of the legendary outlaw. Accordingly I settled myself comfortably by a window which granted me a clear view of the harbour, and began to read.
Although I could not escape a gnawing anxiety over Holmes’s lengthening absence, the novel did render my vigil more endurable. Munroe’s boat, the Flauntie Lass, hove into view just as I reached that turn in the story when Francis Osbaldistone determines to seek Rob Roy’s aid in his struggle against the treacherous Rashleigh. Placing the book back on its shelf, I hurried down to the dockside and waved a greeting. I was much relieved to spy Holmes among the three men on board, signalling back to me.
Once they had landed and disembarked, I was introduced to the third member of the crew, a grey and grizzled character referred to as Young Hamish, which left one wondering what state of senescence had by now overtaken Old Hamish. Leaving that unlikely youngster to secure the boat, Holmes, Munroe and I seated ourselves on some empty herring crates. Pipes were lit and the captain passed around a flask of the locally distilled whisky.
‘I’m certainly glad to see you returned safely,’ I said, once my tongue had recovered from the numbing effect of the spirit. ‘You had no direct encounter with the professor, I take it.’
‘Several shells were fired into the water while we made our remote observation of the island,’ said Holmes, ‘and although they were not aimed in our direction, they were clearly intended as a warning to keep our distance.’
‘Errinsay has aye had an evil reputation,’ growled Munroe. ‘Folk say that witches have used it as a site for their unholy rituals and that many a sailor has been lured to his doom on its cursed rocks.’
‘I doubt Moriarty has done anything to enhance its reputation,’ I commented in an undertone.
‘And yet the locals did land there from time to time,’ said Holmes, ‘in the years before it became a military installation. In fact it has been a popular haunt of smugglers dodging the hated excise men. Based on his own visits there, Geordie was able to assist me in making a sketch map of the island, no other maps being available.’
‘I’ve had the sea in view for some time,’ I said, ‘and have seen no sign of Royal Navy activity.’
Munroe rubbed his tawny beard. ‘It’s like I told Mr Holmes, the queer thing is that ye never see a Navy ship land there, only civilian supply boats.’
‘Yes, as you said, transferring cargo from that hidden bay down the coast directly to the island,’ Holmes expanded for my benefit.
‘Avoiding the harbour for the sake of secrecy,’ I guessed.
‘Which serves to confirm that this is where Moriarty has established his base of operations,’ said Holmes, ‘one even further removed from scrutiny than Hunterswood. On the north side of the island, the ruined fortress of the notorious sea reaver Donald o’ the Dirk has been partially restored and several new structures erected around it. Most of the coast is inaccessible due to jagged rocks and treacherous sandbanks.’
‘And yet you intend that we should land there,’ I surmised resignedly.
There was a bold glint in Holmes’s eye. ‘Yes. Tonight.’
* * *
We set out at twilight cheered on only by the mournful cries of those few gulls not already returned to their nests. I was uneasily conscious that the chugging of the Flauntie Lass’s engine, the creak of the deck beneath our feet and even the slosh of our keel cutting through the water were already loud enough to reach the ears of Moriarty and his lackeys. Holmes and I were done up as seamen in black caps, rough pullovers, oilskin trousers and stout rubber boots. Beneath my own pullover I had my old army pistol thrust into my belt.
There was little conversation among us, the most persistent noise being that of Young Hamish clearing his throat and spitting into the sea. Munroe cut the engine as darkness fell and we spied on the horizon a small white light that marked our sinister destination. Above us was the merest sliver of a moon, mostly obscured by a covering of cloud. Munroe and Young Hamish hauled on the rope which was dragging a small dinghy along behind us, and drew it in close.
‘That warning light is set on top of the north tower of the old fortress,’ said the captain as we clambered down into the little boat. ‘Using that as your guide, you can make your way to the shingle just below the red cliff.’
We sat ourselves down and Holmes cast us off. ‘Thanks for all your help, Geordie,’ he said as we each took a paddle.
‘The best of luck to you, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. You’ll be needing it, sure enough.’
Young Hamish made a low throaty noise that I took as an expression of his good wishes.
With slow strokes of the paddles so as to make as little splash as possible we made our way towards Errinsay. Holmes had learned much of the layout and history of the island from Munroe and I could only pray that this knowledge would serve us well in whatever plan he had in mind.
‘Now, Watson, it is vitally important that we stay close together and not become separated once we reach the shore,’ he reminded me. ‘If we should encounter a sentry, remember that we are a pair of Irish fishermen whose boat was wrecked on some nearby rocks.’
‘But surely even the most ignorant of watchmen will see through such a flimsy story,’ I objected.
‘It may suffice to throw them off guard long enough for us to overpower them,’ said Holmes.
‘I do wish you’d share with me whatever scheme you have in mind,’ I complained. ‘I feel myself to be in the dark in every way.’
‘Should you fall into Moriarty’s hands,’ said Holmes, ‘ignorance will be your best protection.’
‘And should you be the one captured?’ I asked.
‘In that case you must get back to the dinghy and return to the mainland. Hide out with the Munroes until you feel it is safe.’
‘Holmes, do you expect me to abandon you to your fate?’
I could not see in the dark, but I had the impression that he was smiling. ‘Don’t worry about me, old friend. In those stories of yours you’ve depicted me as quite the resourceful fellow.’
I could not escape the uncomfortable feeling that he was trusting to luck much more than was his habit. He had always decried strong emotions as an impediment to rational thought, but it was clear to me now, though he would never admit it, that he was being impelled onward by his deep concern for Dr MacReady’s welfare. This sentiment, noble as it was, had overruled his more logical faculties and driven him to take a gamble that put both our lives at risk. I was not minded to argue with him, however, as friendship and honour demanded that I follow him into whatever hazards awaited us in Moriarty’s cursed lair.
In cautious silence we neared the dark mass of the island, directing our course to the left, away from the lighted tower. Soon I could hear the lapping of the tide on the pebbly beach. We jumped out into a foot of water and clambered on to the shore, hauling the dinghy up behind us.
Crouching low, we clawed our way up a steep embankment of dry, sandy grass. When we reached the top Holmes glanced around at the black misshapen outlines of rocks, bushes and stunted trees.
‘Between us and the fort lie a number of outbuildings,’ he informed me in a whisper. ‘I believe Dr MacReady will be held in one of them.’
Before he could outline his course of action I heard a bang and a flare exploded glaringly in the skies above us. Two more flares went off, bleakly illuminating the barren landscape about us. As my eyes recovered from the flash I saw men with rifles closing in on us from all sides.
‘Well, well, Holmes and Watson at last!’ crowed the harsh voice of Colonel Sebastian Moran. ‘Caught like rabbits in a snare.’
Reflexively I reached for my pistol, but Holmes caught hold of my wrist to restrain me from such rashness. We were quickly taken in hand and thoroughly searched. The few items we had on our persons were taken and Moran treated my gun to a disdainful examination.
‘Bit of an antique, isn’t it?’ he sneered. ‘Same as you two, I suppose.’
He passed the weapon to one of his men for safekeeping and lit a small black cigarillo. Turning to a corporal, he said, ‘See that their boat down there is taken care of and anything found aboard brought to me. Then call off the rest of the men. We have what we want right here.’
With that we were prodded roughly along a stony track towards the black bulk of the ancient fortress, where I could only imagine some terrible doom awaited us.
22 THE KEY TO THE WORLD
We were taken through an arched gateway across the dirt courtyard and into the keep. Here we were led downstairs and thrust into a cell.
‘Make yourselves at home,’ said Moran, slamming and locking the door behind us. ‘I expect the professor will want a word with you in the morning.’
Our quarters were less grim than I would have expected. The windowless walls were bare and no shade softened the overhead bulb, but the room was furnished with two comfortable-looking cots and on the table between them was a decanter of brandy and a box of cigars.
Rather than taking any comfort from these small luxuries, I was incensed at the sight of them. ‘The gall of the man! To mock us by treating us like guests rather than prisoners, and most likely condemned men at that. I’d prefer the honest brutality of being manacled in a dungeon.’
‘I’m afraid, Watson, we are compelled to indulge the professor’s little game.’ Holmes poured himself a brandy and took an appreciative sip. ‘This is his way of demonstrating that he foresaw our arrival all along and has anticipated every move we can possibly make.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, Holmes,’ I exclaimed, ‘what on earth are we doing here? The situation appears quite hopeless.’
‘Don’t lose heart, my friend,’ Holmes encouraged. He added softly, in case there might be a listener at the door, ‘He may not have anticipated everything.’ He flipped open the box and turned it towards me. ‘Cigar?’
I slept little that night. Even at the height of the Blitz I was able to snatch a few periods of deep slumber between intakes of patients caught in the relentless bombing. This night, however, proved to be the longest of my life. Here we were, prisoners of the most evil genius on the face of the Earth, locked in a fortress guarded by Moran’s ruthless thugs. The only people who knew our whereabouts were Geordie Munroe and Young Hamish, and should they attempt a rescue they would most likely be cut down by gunfire the instant their feet touched the beach.
When I did doze off I was haunted by a persistent dream of my dear Mary waiting for me at the bottom of a long garden path, her arms outstretched in greeting. And yet, much as I had longed for a reunion, did I wish for it now? Had I not found a fresh love to live for, just as Moriarty prepared to dispose of Holmes and myself like a pair of bothersome insects then carry his criminal schemes to their wicked conclusion?
The creak of the door woke me and I saw that Holmes was already standing, awake and alert, ready to greet our host as he stepped into the room. I swung myself off the bed and straightened my clothing, then turned to face Professor Moriarty.
He was dressed in a dapper suit and was as immacu-lately groomed as he had been at Hunterswood. He was accompanied by two men in the uniform of Moran’s Special Action Brigade, both of whom had guns trained on us.
