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Since Lucifer had already bonded with Jim, it became
imperative that he accompanied Lucifer on his second trip to the Great Grimpen
Mire. This time I missed out on all the action, as I had some pressing matters
to attend to in London. Jim, though, kept me up to date on the daily happenings
in the shire and I was thrilled when I was finally asked to join him at
Merripit House for the final showdown.
But I think I am getting way ahead of myself. So let
me start by listing out the three major events that took place in my absence.
First major incident of not was his meeting with our adversaries Dr. Watson and
the famous Sherlock Holmes himself. Second was the outburst of Stapleton and
the third, which was a direct consequence of the second, was the backfiring of
our backup plan.
Before I go deep into the details, I would like to
reveal the cover which Jim used during his stay in Merripit House. ‘The perfect
guise’ was what Jim called it. It so happened that the Stapletons had brought a
manservant, Anthony along with them when they set sail from the New World. This
man had contracted pneumonia and died a few months after their arrival in
London. With a bit of makeup, Jim became Anthony and since the Stapletons
didn’t have many visitors, it was assumed that there would be no hiccups.
Imagine his bewilderment, when he found that his
very first visitor was none other than Dr. Watson, Holmes right hand man!
Watson, who did not possess the same talents of observation as his acclaimed
friend, walked right past him without a second glance. Jim later learned from
Stapleton that Holmes had stayed back in London to finish some important task.
But a few days later, Jim discovered the true colors of Holmes when he came
across the great detective in the Grimpen Mire. Jim beat a hasty retreat,
mumbling an excuse and praying that Holmes didn’t see through his guise. Here
his time in India came in handy, as the tan suggested that he came from the
tropicals.
The next incident of note was Stapleton’s outburst.
It must be stated here that Jim had accepted the case only after procuring a
promise from Stapleton that he would not interfere with the plan. The plan was
simple. Beryl would be used as the bait to lure Sir Henry to his death. In no
way was Rodger to intervene on their romance until Jim gave the signal. But as
is the case with most men, while they do not feel the slightest guilt when they
chase after other women, they easily get enraged when his wife showed the
slightest affection for another man. We couldn’t exactly blame Rodger for his
predicament but it would have been better if he had kept his cool and not hurt
our plans by barging in on Sir Henry and Beryl.
The third incident was a direct result of the
second. Though Jim tried to beat some sense into the head of our client, the
man would not listen. He set Lucifer upon Henry on the first chance he got but
Lady Luck was kind to Sir Henry. The victim was to be Seldon, our own backup
plan! He had the misfortune of wearing Sir Henry’s old clothes, which the
Barrymores had given him. This sudden turn of tide meant we had to execute our
plan as fast as possible and so I was summoned to Merripit House to take part
in the events of that fatal night.
***
That night will always be etched in my memory. It
was the night when for the first and the last time in my life I doubted the predicament
of my friend and partner in crime James Moriarty.
It was the night when we would murder Sir Henry
Baskerville. The trap was set and the ball already in motion. Sir Henry was
dining in Merripit House. Jim and I waited outside to witness the crime that we
had hatched. After all, there is no greater reward than to see your creation
with your own eyes.
We waited for Sir Henry. I was reminded of my time
as a shikari in the jungles of Hindusthan. I would tie a goat to a tree and
wait for the tiger to pounce on the bait. One shot. That was all that was
required to put an end to the man eater. But tonight I would have to content
myself by watching the act. I was not to play an active role or so I thought.
It was then that I so the wagonette stop at the gates
of Merripit House. Three men got out of it.
“Ah! Our friends have arrived for the party!”
remarked Moriarty with a smile.
“Shouldn’t we warn, Rodger?’
“Of course not. Why worry the old fellow
unnecessarily? I assure you, Seb, everything shall go according to my plan."
I
watched with baited breath as the three men passed our hiding place and went to
the House. They stopped two hundred yards before the House. Then one of them,
whom I later learned was Dr. Watson, went to survey the house. All this time Moriarty
waited in silence not making a move. Then suddenly, I saw why he was not
worried. The fog was setting in. Holmes and party had to withdraw due to the
advancing fog. In another five minutes, Mr. Henry would be completely under the
mercy of the hound. That was when I felt something cold in my hand. Moriarty
pushed a pistol in my hand and whispered a command into my ears. I was shell
shocked.
“But that will ruin everything. What about the
effort we put in to create the myth? Besides, Holmes will know of our
presence.” I said in protest.
“Just do as I say. Shoot when Holmes shoots. That
will conceal our presence.”
“But what about the extra bullet?”
“One of them is bound to miss.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Ever heard of probability and statistics?”
“This is not a lecture class, professo-“
Our argument was cut short by the sound of gunfire
which was followed by a howl of pain from the poor creature. The time for
arguments had passed. I was to decide the fate of this crime. I aimed my pistol
at the target’s head. The hound had pounced on Sir Henry. In another moment it
will bury its fangs into his neck. Holmes was too far to interfere. Our plan
could succeed. No one would know of our presence. But my army training got the
better of me. In the army, we did as our superior ordered us. No questions were
asked. My finger pulled the trigger even before I realized. The bullet hit the
hound on the head. The noise merging with the gunfire that Holmes unleashed
upon the dead creature. Now you may think that by losing my aim, I had
unwittingly saved the life of the man we intended to kill. But the truth was
far from it. My aim was accurate. I had hit my target. Moriarty wanted the
hound dead.
But why did he want the hound dead? Why did he ruin
his own plot?
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