Forgive me for rushing the last few chapters. But I
had no other option, as I was facing a deadline, literally. Some of you may
believe that this was merely a cooked up story to disgrace Mr. Holmes, after
all I am not what you may call a credible witness. Though I have no solid
evidence to support my claims, I would like you to ask yourself what a woman
like Beryl was doing reading an article on free trade from the inner pages of
the Times.
Now getting back to that deadline of mine. In a
cruel twist of fate, I fell critically ill just before the day of the hanging.
I did not know whether to laugh or cry when I so the worried faces of the
authorities as they tried to save me.
They wanted to save me, so that they could hang me! Oh! The irony! But
all their attempts failed and I fell to eternal sleep or so they thought.
I don’t know how long I lay dead, for in death one
loses track of time. When I finally opened my eyes, I was sure that I had made
it to hell, for it was the smiling face of James Moriarty that greeted me.
How did I escape? How was Jim still alive? That, my
friends, is a tale for another day!
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