Sherlock Holmes and the Unholy Trinity Read online

  This rapid and remarkable explanation had left me feeling quite breathless and it was a moment or two before I was able to ask him to explain the wire to Elraji. I was on the point of doing so when Mrs Hudson burst excitedly into the room.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, but this urgent message has just been pushed into my hands. The postmark is from Rome!’

  Chapter Two

  An Unexpected Request

  Holmes was out of his chair in an instant and in a single bound he arrived at Mrs Hudson’s side, whereupon he slipped the wire from her fingers.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson.’ Holmes quietly ushered her from the room while he tossed the wire towards me with a flourish. ‘Please, Watson, if you would be so kind.’

  I tore the communication open with a feverish excitement for it bore the unmistakable red, gold, cross-keys crest of the Holy See! Holmes calmly took up a cross-legged position on his armchair while he closed his eyes in a state of serene concentration.

  The wire was scant in detail but dramatic in content. Acting on behalf of His Holiness the Pope, Cardinal Pietro, his closest confidante, formally requested Holmes’s assistance in the investigation of the tragic and mysterious death of his friend and colleague, Cardinal Tosca! Due to the extreme delicacy of the matter, Cardinal Pietro had requested both a discreet and prompt inquiry and he consequently requested a reply by return. If Holmes would forward the projected time of his arrival he would be met at the terminus by Inspector Gialli of the Polizia of Rome.

  Holmes continued to sit in silence for a few moments. When his eyes finally reopened they were alive with the blaze of excitement that I had previously witnessed on many such occasions. He sprang from his chair and over to the fireplace, rubbing his hands together by the fire.

  ‘So, Watson, what are we to make of this intriguing petition? Although it is scant on detail it does seem to present us with a number of interesting possibilities, would you not say?’

  I could barely suppress my amusement at Holmes’s exaggerated understatement.

  ‘I am surprised that you have even hesitated for this long!’ I exclaimed. ‘After all, a summons from the Roman Pontiff himself is hardly an everyday occurrence. A murder in the Vatican and the opportunity to renew your acquaintance with the redoubtable Inspector Gialli must surely be irresistible to you?’

  ‘Indeed, but what say you, Watson, to such an undertaking? After all, you have already made the assumption that we would be investigating a case of murder. Surely you know of my aversion to making assumptions prior to possessing the relevant facts?’ Holmes added reproachfully.

  ‘Oh, come along, Holmes, my assumption is hardly stretching the bounds of imagination to its limits! A reference to tragic and mysterious circumstances does not imply that Cardinal Tosca choked to death on a chicken bone! As to my own involvement, well, all I can say is that if my presence would not be too much of an encumbrance, I could be back here, with a packed bag and my army revolver at the ready, within an hour,’ I pledged.

  Holmes clapped his hands together delightedly.

  ‘Well said, friend Watson! Be assured that your companionship would be of immeasurable benefit to me in the Eternal City. As for it being a murder investigation, I cannot flaw even one word of your incisive hypothesis! By the time of your return, I shall have put our Bradshaw to most excellent use and have a reply to Cardinal Pietro winging towards the Vatican with all due haste.’

  Holmes was already rummaging through the pages of that well-thumbed volume before I had even passed through our shattered threshold. However, upon my return, I was dismayed to see that my friend was now slumped back into his chair wearing a most crestfallen demeanour, with our Bradshaw strewn forlornly upon the floor at his feet. I put down the belongings, which I had raised so triumphantly upon entering the room, and immediately enquired as to the cause of his sudden change of mood.

  ‘Alas, Watson, Bradshaw indicates that there will not be another boat train to Boulogne until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He emitted a grunt of disapproval while he began to strum his fingers upon the arm of his chair at a most alarming tempo.

  ‘Surely that schedule does not present us with too much of a dilemma?’ I suggested by way of consolation. ‘I can surely use my old room for the night and we shall even be afforded sufficient time for a light breakfast before our departure.’

  ‘What use do I have for breakfast?’ Holmes snapped angrily. ‘All the while that our journey is delayed, the trail in Rome grows ever colder and the greater becomes the risk of valuable clues becoming obscured by carelessness or ineptitude!’

  ‘Surely our old friend Inspector Gialli1 would not allow affairs to reach such a sorry pass?’ I responded reassuringly.

  ‘I suppose you are right, Watson.’ Holmes smiled begrudgingly. ‘I can assure you, however, that if Gialli’s Scotland Yard counterparts happened to be involved I would hardly be filled with the same confidence!’ Holmes leapt to his feet and immediately despatched a wire to the Vatican with our revised time of arrival at the terminus of Rome.

  The evening that we spent together was reminiscent of the many that we had spent in like fashion during my permanent residency at 221b Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was only too pleased to extend the light supper to my plate and once the remains had been removed, Holmes and I took to our chairs by the fireside with our pipes and a glass of a rather excellent port.

  Holmes entertained me with a delightful rendition of Beethoven’s violin concerto and not a mention was made of the rousing adventure that undoubtedly lay before us. I decided that an early night was in order, but as I left Holmes to his pipes, I found it impossible to speculate as to the thoughts that he was harbouring behind his steely and determined countenance. Nevertheless, I felt certain that he would not rest for an instant until he had ensured that justice would eventually prevail.

  I spent a restless night upon my old bed, in my old room. I wasted many hours of valuable sleep by indulging in fruitless speculation upon the events and adventures that would undoubtedly lie ahead of us. I had no misgivings about undertaking such an adventure by my friend’s side. I had left my surgery within the safe hands of Dr Farquar, a colleague and neighbour who had assisted me in this way on many such occasions. My affairs were in good order and I was free to assist Holmes in any manner that might be required.

  However, I could not lay easy. The thrill that would normally have gripped me on the eve of such an adventure had been supplanted by an inexplicable sense of dread and foreboding. Perhaps my subconscious mind was reminding me of the reason behind our previous visit to the Eternal City. A single word now reverberated around the inside of my head. Moriarty!

  Although I had not been aware of his involvement at the time of our departure, by the time that we had reached Rome, Holmes had left me in little doubt that Moriarty had been the mastermind behind the daring and ingenious theft of that brilliant, classical piece of sculpture, ‘The Dying Gaul’, from the Capitoline Museums.

  Of course, I was not so befuddled by my lack of sleep that the notion of Moriarty’s involvement, on this occasion, had ever crossed my mind. After all, I had been present at the time of his final demise and even he was not capable of such a phenomenon! Nonetheless, his name alone was enough to deny me of a restful night.

  I abandoned my bed, poured out a glass of water from my carafe and lit a cigarette. As I sat by my open window, my mind went back to the penultimate and longest stage of our previous journey to Rome, namely the stretch that had taken us by train from Paris to Turin. It was at this point that Holmes had decided to divulge to me a secret that he had been harbouring for nigh on four years: Professor Moriarty was still alive.

  My immediate reaction had been one of concern for my friend’s state of mind, so outlandish had seemed this assertion of his to me. However, as the miles continued to flash past our windows, Holmes outlined to me a process of thought and deduction that had been so sublime in its clarity and pure logic, that by its conclusion I had been left i
n no doubt that it had been Moriarty’s brother, the Colonel, who had perished at Holmes’s hand at the falls of Reichenbach and not the Professor.

  Holmes’s demonstration had been so enthralling that our arrival at Turin felt premature in the extreme and all thoughts of my friend’s instability had been long abandoned.

  My reminiscences left me exhausted and by the time I had extinguished my cigarette and closed the window, I was all but asleep.

  It seemed like only the briefest of moments had passed before I felt my shoulder being prodded by a set of long, bony fingers, although it was, in truth, already seven o’clock the following morning. My bleary eyes could just make out the sight of Sherlock Holmes smiling eagerly down at me.

  ‘Watson,’ he said quietly. ‘The journey begins!’

  Chapter Three

  We Return to Rome

  As it transpired, we did, indeed, have time for a light but most welcomed breakfast before our departure from Baker Street.

  Our stalwart ally and undoubtedly the finest cabby ever to drive upon the streets of London, Dave ‘Gunner’ King, pulled up outside 221b at exactly the appointed time and after a few brief words of consolation and farewell to Mrs Hudson, we boarded the cab.

  The shortest stage of our long journey seemed to be all the briefer as King used all of his skill and knowledge to get us to Charing Cross well ahead of our schedule. As we flew along those familiar streets I could only wonder how long it would be before we were to do so again. Then a thought occurred to me.

  ‘Holmes, you have always voiced your reluctance to leave London for any length of time, fearing that the criminal classes were likely to run amok during your absence. What has caused you to alter your opinion in this instance?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘Sadly, Watson, the age of the master criminal is now a thing of the past. As any student of your lamentable chronicles of my work will attest to, our more recent cases have been somewhat less than stimulating. Indeed, it is only your habit of embellishing the truth with a liberal smattering of contemporary and romantic sensationalism that has made them almost readable. On that basis I am certain that the resolute Inspector Lestrade and his cohorts are well able to maintain some degree of control … at least until my return!’

  I smiled at my friend’s inability to conceal an air of neither superiority nor any conceit from his voice and I could detect no humour in his demeanour whatsoever.

  ‘I assure you, Watson, that we will be dealing with issues far graver than any that either of us can possibly imagine. It would be against my nature if I were to pass up an opportunity such as this for the sake of neither a petty piece of larceny nor a sordid little murder. Let Scotland Yard feast upon these while they may! Hah, Charing Cross already, well done, King!’ Holmes called up to our driver while we got down our luggage.

  The crossing to Boulogne passed without incident and Holmes and I enjoyed a bracing walk around the upper deck of the ferry. However, when we finally reached our destination we were frustrated to learn that the line to Paris was under overnight repair. Holmes immediately sent a further message to Inspector Gialli, to warn him of our delay, and he beseeched him to ensure that nothing be removed from Cardinal Tosca’s office prior to our arrival.

  At least I had the consolation of being able to spend a delightful afternoon and evening in that charming sea port and we found that the local wine and seafood was exceptional.

  Holmes, of course, was not so easily consoled and he spent much of our time in Boulogne pacing relentlessly around the harbour, forever fretting over the potential loss of clues that our continued delay might have been bringing about. He was oblivious to the town’s delights and he was smoking his cigarettes at an alarming rate. However, I was at least able to persuade him to partake of a bowl of most excellent bisque and a carafe of local wine, which seemed to settle his nerves somewhat.

  Holmes was so intent on ensuring that we suffered no further delays that we found ourselves at the station a full hour before our scheduled departure time. Sadly, for me at any rate, it meant that we had to forgo the delights of our hotel’s breakfast menu.

  We barely had time to make our connection once we did reach Paris and as a consequence it was almost lunchtime before any food had passed our lips. I was disappointed to discover that the buffet car was woefully inadequate and we had returned to our seats and our pipes within a very short time of leaving them.

  The longest stretch of our journey now lay ahead of us and I could not help but recall the last time we had travelled from Paris to Turin. On this occasion we were travelling through the night so once again I was denied the opportunity to enjoy the spectacular Tuscan landscapes that we were now passing through.

  Of course, on the previous journey Holmes had mesmerized me with his wondrous dissection of the dramatic events that had supposedly occurred atop of the Reichenbach Falls in 1891. This time we were being lured to Rome by a set of circumstances that were certainly no less significant than those that had led us to the Eternal City previously. I was surprised to note, therefore, that Holmes had barely uttered a word since our departure from the Gallic capital.

  ‘I apologize for not being able to enlighten and entertain you this time, Watson,’ Holmes said suddenly, almost as if he had been able to read my innermost thoughts.

  I could not help but laugh at this further display of Holmes’s insightfulness.

  ‘Well, upon my word, Holmes, does nothing ever escape you?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘I may seem to be oblivious to my surroundings at times, but my sense of awareness is always active and acute. It has not escaped my notice that it was at this stage of our previous journey that I decided to break my silence upon the matter of the Moriarty brothers.

  ‘Your frequent and furtive glances in my direction indicated to me that you were equally aware of the significance of our surroundings and hopeful of further shocking revelations. I am afraid, however, that it will be some time before they will be forthcoming … but they will come,’ Holmes added emphatically and enigmatically.

  As Holmes spoke these last few words I felt the thrill of excitement coursing through me, because Holmes was not a man who ever spoke idly. For once, however, the nature of these revelations was as much of a mystery to Holmes as they were to me and they were likely to remain so until our investigations in Rome finally began.

  ‘We shall have to rely on Inspector Gialli a good deal more than when we looked into the matter of “The Dying Gaul”,’ Holmes stated rather surprisingly. ‘These are far deeper and darker waters than any that we have previously encountered, Watson, and Gialli’s knowledge and thoroughness will prove to be invaluable to us.’

  ‘That is not to mention his obvious linguistic advantages,’ I added. I recalled how by the end of the earlier case Holmes and Gialli had formed an unusual bond of mutual respect and I could sense that Holmes was actually rather looking forward to working alongside the dapper little Italian once again.

  At this point I could see that Holmes had lapsed into one of his long circumspective silences once more and before too long I sank into the back of my seat and fell into a deep, though restless sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Inspector Gialli

  I was awake long before we pulled into the bustling station of Turin and I found Holmes smiling patronizingly down at me as I rubbed my eyes.

  ‘So, Watson, I see that you have finally decided to rejoin the land of the living!’ Holmes greeted me with surprising cheerfulness. ‘We still have some little time before we arrive at Turin and, unless my memory has failed me, this train provides an above average buffet car.’

  ‘A late supper would suit me admirably,’ I responded with some surprise in my voice. It was unusual in the extreme for Holmes to instigate a proposal of food and on the eve of a new adventure, almost unthinkable. He had discovered long ago that the energy required for the digestion of food could be best spent upon the case at hand.

  Evidently the anticipation of the intriguing nat
ure of the adventure that lay ahead of us, together with the eminent and pious persona of our client, had activated Holmes’s dormant appetite. He dwelt upon the menu for but the briefest of moments and gave his order.

  ‘The last time that we made this journey, you enlisted my assistance under false pretences,’ I began and then, in anticipation of Holmes’s protests, I continued without drawing breath. ‘You decided to wait until we had reached this exact point before you condescended to outline to me your theories regarding Professor Moriarty. Evidently you have decided to manipulate me in a similar fashion, once again,’ I concluded.

  ‘My dear Watson, whatever can you possibly mean?’ Holmes eyed me quizzically but he could not disguise his amusement at my bold statement.

  ‘Oh, come along, Holmes, how often have you been so keen to take a meal on the eve of a new case? It seems obvious to me that you possess more information than you have divulged to me so far,’ I protested.

  ‘Watson, you really should refrain from speculation and theorizing until such time as you have accumulated sufficient data to substantiate those theories. Nevertheless, there is an element of truth in what you say.’

  To my great chagrin, it was at this moment that our food arrived and Holmes waved aside any thoughts of further discussion until our meal was concluded. As our train rolled on sedately through the night, Holmes and I lingered over our impromptu late supper, to the point where I became convinced that he was deliberately prevaricating. Finally, however, Holmes picked up his glass of port and his cigar and I eagerly followed him out onto the observation carriage.

  We drank and smoked in silence for a while and I was surprised to note how much quieter the engine sounded from this, the furthest extremity of the train. The landscape appeared as nothing more than a rolling bank of immovable dark shadows but the night sky was clear of cloud and I had no great difficulty in identifying my old friend ‘The Great Bear’. I would have pointed out this observation to my friend but, as you might recall, his knowledge of astronomy was somewhat less than basic!