Date:    Fri, 15 Sep 1995 09:29:55 +0200
From:    Ed Knapen 
Subject: Pastiche: Roman Numerals - part 5

It's hard to continue with the usual business in times of such great
sorrow. But I take a small comfort in the idea that our actions may serve
to keep alive the memories of those we loved and admired.

Here's the fifth and final episode of the unfinished chain pastiche,
started by the Hounds in 1994. Since there are many new members to the
list, how about finishing the story? I have some notes of the author of
part five about the continuation of the story, which is heading towards a
grand final. But of course, it's up to the new writers to decide which
direction the story will take. Or there may be Hounds interested in
starting a new chain pastiche?

--Ed Knapen

Even with a deadly weapon trained on him, Holmes was coolness itself. "A pity I didn't horsewhip you when I had the opportunity", he mused. "It might have been a salutary experience, and kept you out of the path you have so obviously followed."

"Shut up, Mister Busybody!" snarled Windibank. He stepped forward, waving the pistol under Homes' nose. "I'm going to enjoy putting you and your pet monkey here out of this life. It's the end of...EEEYAHH!!!" He screamed as Holmes dived beneath the waving pistol and twisted his arm. The weapon fell to the floor as Holmes spun into a hip-throw, hurling Windibank against the wardrobe. As he rebounded, Holmes drove a vicious short-arm blow to the nose. Windibank dropped like a marionette with the strings cut.

Holmes blew on his cracked knuckles. "Remember, Watson, when holding a pistol, it is both unnecessary and unwise to get too close to your antagonist. With a patent amateur like this, it is child's play to neutralize the weapon. Of course," he added, "it helps to have a fifth-degree black belt in Baritsu's system of fighting."

"Who is this Baritsu?" I asked.

"Hideo Baritsu is a little old Japanese gentleman, not five feet tall, but capable of demolishing men twice his size. He combined the best features of Japan's Shoto-Kan karate, China's Kung Foo and the Korean art of Tai Kwon Do into the greatest fighting art known to man. How is our guest?"

I had been examining the unconscious Windibank. "Fractured right radius and ulna (these being two bones of the forearm), deviated septum and, I expect, the mother of all headaches when he comes around. That will not be for a while. Dash it, Holmes, you nearly killed the man!"

Holmes was unmoved. "No more than he planned for us, Watson. Do you find some cord and secure him; we must see to Mrs. Norton's safety." He took up Windibank's air pistol. "A remarkable weapon; another Von Herder creation, by the look of it. Silent yet lethal at short range. I shall take this. You have your revolver?" I tightened the last knot and reached into my pocket.

"As always," I replied, hefting the Adams .450 that had served me well since the Afghan frontier.

"Come, then! Time is precious!" He dashed for the door with myself in pursuit.

Down the stairs we rattled, rousing Sir Henry from the estate office. "What's the matter?" he cried. "Mrs. Norton is in danger!" I shouted in reply, as Holmes was already out the door. By the time I caught him up at the stables, Sir Henry had joined us with a twelve-bore shotgun under his arm. We quickly saddled three horses and shot across the moor like three demented Cossacks. At the door of Merripet House, Holmes vaulted from the saddle and burst inside. "Too late! Damn his eyes, too late!" he cried.

At his feet, Godfrey Norton and the serving girl lay on the carpet, trussed and gagged. We quickly freed the pair. While I tried to deal with the slavey's hysterics, Holmes questioned Norton. "They forced their way in at gunpoint," the barrister said. "I tried to stop them, and got this for my pains." He gestured to a deep cut over his eye, and I moved to treat him. "Irene was dragged out while they tied us, and their leader gave me a message for you, Mr. Holmes. You are to leave England until January 15th, or they will visit some horrible injury on Irene. The man is insane! He giggled while he talked of acid and of sending you Irene's ears by post!" I tried to calm him, but the thought of what might become of his wife tortured his brain.

Holmes was grim. "Watson, Sir Henry, stay here. I must try to catch them up before they vanish."

"No!" cried Norton. "Mr. Holmes, they'll kill her!" He jumped to his feet and barred the door.

"Out of my way," warned Holmes.

Norton remained steadfast. "No, sir. You shall not pass, unless you kill me first. I won't let you cause her harm. By God, you'll leave England if I have to drag you!"

It was a tense moment, as the two men locked eyes. Finally, Holmes turned aside. "Very well, Mr. Norton. I will let them go. May I at least examine the ground outside? You have my word that I will not pursue them." Norton acquiesced, and let Holmes pass.

I had just finished bandaging Norton's forehead when the detective returned. He sat down opposite Norton. "There were four of them," he began. "The leader I know. There was one small fellow, was there not, with pierced ears and an old scar on his forehead?" Norton nodded. "Then Clay is free. The other two, I expect, were a large, older man with a military moustache and a clarkish-looking fellow with a good tooth?"

Norton was astounded. "If you know so much, Holmes, how is it you have not laid these men by the heels?"

"For the same reason that a man may know about fish and still fail to catch one. I am a fisher of men, and at present I lack bait. It is a wise man who knows when he is outmatched. I shall leave the country rather than risk injury to Mrs. Norton. I hold that lady in high regard." He turned to me. "Come, Watson. Our holiday is over. Back to London, then on to the Continent -- or perhaps Scandinavia. Mr. Norton, I suggest you take up residence at the Hall until this is over."

"But what about Irene?" Norton entreated. "Can nothing be done?"

"You pointed out yourself that pursuit will only bring her harm," Holmes replied. "I have no doubt that she is only held to ensure my good behaviour, and that she will be released when she is no further use to them." This gave the barrister a measure of hope, and Sir Henry agreed to take him to the Hall.

Two hours later, Holmes and I sat face to face in a smoking compartment of the London express. "You won't really leave the country, will you, Holmes?" I asked. "Norton may have been comforted, but you know as well as I that Moriarty will never free Irene Norton."

Holmes nodded agreement. "I must be free to work, Watson, yet I must be seen to leave England in order to ensure the lady's safety. The wire I sent from the station may provide the solution to the problem."

"How?" I asked.

Holmes settled back and smiled through a wreath of smoke. "I have strings to my bow that even you do not suspect." He would say no more.

On arriving at Baker Street, Holmes' surprising first act was to tap softly on the door of his own bedroom. It swung open to reveal two men, one tall and thin, the other broad-shouldered and of middle height. Though I had never seen them before, there was something familiar about the pair. Holmes drew me into the bedroom, noting with approval that the shutters were closed.

"Watson, let me introduce you to Wallace Carpenter and Stephen McCall. I scoured London for them some time ago and have been holding them in reserve for just such an occasion as this."

I shook hands with both, asking, "Are these gentlemen also detectives?" "No," Holmes chuckled, "but they are a reasonable facsimile. To work, fellows!"

I watched, astounded, as the two men wrapped sheets around their shoulders and sat side by side on two stools. Holmes drew his large theatrical makeup box from under the bed and proceeded to work on their faces. When he had finished, he stepped back and positively crowed, "Let me introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson!" I was amazed at the likeness. My amazement grew when Carpenter greeted me in an exact imitation of Holmes' voice. "Good evening, Watson." Mr. McCall grinned and responded "Which of us do you mean, Holmes?"

I turned to the real Holmes. "Is that how I sound?"

Holmes nodded. "Mr. McCall is an accomplished mimic, and he sat back to back with you at Simpson's on three occasions studying your voice." He surveyed the two of us. "I'm blest if I can tell the difference. If I am baffled, I think these fellows can put it over anyone Moriarty may send to shadow them. I noticed as we entered that our little home is watched. Take up your carpet-bags, gentlemen, and off you go to France and Italy. This should suffice for your expenses," he added, taking a clinking chamois bag from a drawer. "You can still make the boat-train from Victoria. Mind you make yourselves easy to follow. If you fetch up at the Resplendent in Milan within a fortnight, I will be in touch with you there." Our dopplegangers, as the Germans call them, filed out of the bedroom. I heard the pseudo-Holmes call out to Mrs. Hudson for a cab, and their footsteps descended to the street.

"Now for us, Watson," said Holmes. "You, I think, we will disguise as a police constable, and attach you to Lestrade. Nothing makes a man more anonymous than a uniform. Here is yours; climb into it. As for myself, I have something a bit more daring in mind."

He sat at his dressing table and began plying his makeup. Once dressed, I awaited the result in silence. Finally, the man at the table turned to me, and I looked into the sneering countenance of James Windibank. "I'm off to join my boss and my gang, Watson. How unfortunate that Windibank escaped from Baskerville Hall while we rushed to rescue Mrs. Norton. You should have tied the knots tighter."

I saw the game at once, and chuckled, "Sorry, Holmes, but I was in a hurry. By the by, what of the real Windibank?"

"Before we left, I had a word in Sir Henry's ear. Windibank will languish in the cellars of the Hall until I give the word. Remember, Moriarty knows nothing of his fate, except that he did not report back. I shall present myself in his stead, and perhaps learn something of Moriarty's plans. We shall communicate through Lestrade. Now, how shall we leave without being seen? The watchers have presumably followed our alter egos, but I prefer to take no chances. Moriarty the elder would have continued the watch on Baker Street, and I expect no less of the younger. We'll need a diversion." Holmes doused the lamp and opened the back window, giving a peculiar whistle. I heard a rustling outside, and in the faint light from the street I saw one of Holmes' "Irregular Force" of street urchins swing in from the tree in the yard.

"Now, young Simon," Holmes whispered, "are you game for a little lark?" The boy winked and nodded. "In twenty minute's time, I want you to get a ball game of some sort going in the street down by the tobacconist's. Play for a while, then make sure that the ball goes through the window of the shop."

The boy nodded. "Do we scarper, or stay and face the music?"

"You scarper, with as much noise as possible." Holmes replied, "I'll make it right with Walton later on. Oh, and if you see anyone loitering where they might be watching these rooms, you might barge into them in your flight. Here you go, a shilling apiece for the lads. Mind they get it; if you skim it I'll know. Now, hop it!"

The boy was out the window in a trice. Holmes closed the window and relit the lamp. "When the noise comes, Watson, you go out the door in your uniform, blowing your whistle and chasing vainly after the boys. I will try to spot the watchers and follow them to their master's lair. You should appear to take a statement from Walton, which will give you the opportunity to put him wise about our charade. That done, go to the nearest police station and get in touch with Lestrade. I just hope they don't jug you for impersonating an rozzer." He snorted. "Listen to me. Two minutes contact with one of those lads and I start talking like a wharf rat." We crept down the stairs and waited inside the door.

Holmes' plan worked like a Swiss pocket-watch. The crash of breaking glass and the unholy row of screaming boys came on schedule, and as we slipped out the door all eyes were turned to the end of the block where the outrage was in promised that Holmes would be princely in his restitution. Then, following my orders, I set off for the station, where, unable to satisfy the desk sergeant with my story, I was indeed arrested for impersonating an officer. It was morning before Lestrade was sent for, and his merriment at my predicament was boundless. Once he stopped laughing, Lestrade enjoined silence upon the station personnel concerning me, and took me off to Scotland Yard, addressing me as Constable Hamish. As for Holmes, here is his story from the time we parted, as I heard it from his own lips.