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Authors: David Stuart Davies
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loving Ted. For many years she drifted, taking any kind of job just to keep a roof above her head. When theatrical work was scarce, she drifted into petty crime, which is when she came under the Professor’s purview. He used her in many roles, especially as a lookout, or someone used to detain the foil from returning to his premises which were being robbed. She was very skilful in not letting the foil realise that he was being detained. Kitty relished these jobs because they were “proper acting parts”, and never really considered her activities as unlawful. And so here she was, rattling through the streets of west London in a hansom cab, in the company of Captain Reed, on the brink of being offered her biggest job, her biggest acting role yet.
“Bliss,” she repeated, as the cab drew up outside a three-storey terraced house in a smart residential street.
“Here we are, Kitty. Let’s take a look at your new home.” Reed skipped out of the cab and helped her down from the vehicle. Kitty liked Reed because he always treated her like a lady, as though she was a dowager duchess or someone of that ilk. That, according to Kitty, is what a gentleman does: whether you are a real lady or a fishwife. Pulling a set of keys from his frock coat, he approached the door. Kitty looked up at the building. It was a bit of all right. Never had she seen such nice quarters. She even liked the address: 221B Baker Street.
Seven
F ROM T HE J OURNAL O F J OHN W ALKER
“I cannot understand how you can believe that this wild scheme of yours will ever work. Even if I threw myself into the enterprise with great enthusiasm, I am not an actor. I cannot dissemble to order. If this Sherlock Holmes is such a great detective, as you say he is, he will easily spot me for the impostor that I am. Through my own behaviour, I would give the game away.”
I believed every word I said to Professor Moriarty, but I gave them extra emphasis, hoping that I could persuade him to drop this crazy charade by convincing him of the impractical nature of it. Thus, I would be able to slip from his noose and walk from the room a free man. However, I could see from his unruffled demeanour that my argument had fallen on stony ground. His confidence did not falter for an instant.
“But, my dear doctor, you will not be an impostor,” he replied easily. “Apart from a slight change of name and a certain adjustment to your recent history, you will be the same man who is sitting in front of me now: a penurious ex-army surgeon recently arrived from Afghanistan and looking for cheap lodgings.”
“What ‘adjustment’ to my recent history?”
“Rather than being cashiered, you were badly wounded in the Battle of Maiwand, and while recovering you contracted enteric fever, the curse of our Afghan possessions. As a result, you were invalided out of the army and sent home to England.”
“That is crazy.”
“Fact. A little news item to that effect was inserted into several of the London newspapers this morning, including The Times . My influence reaches into many areas. And as every Englishman knows, whatever appears in The Times must be the absolute truth. And Sherlock Holmes is an avid reader of the press.”
“But it’s a lie.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Colouring the truth. You believe that you were unfairly treated in Afghanistan, do you not?”
I nodded.
“And so I have redressed the balance.”
I threw my head in my hands and groaned. “Oh, my God, I wish I could wake up now. This must be some terrible dream.”
“No dream, Watson, but for you a kind of salvation. It is a wonderful opportunity, and it is about time you opened your mind to the vast possibilities that this arrangement offers to you. And, of course, there is your writing, your adventure stories. What scope there will be for penning mystery yarns while accompanying London’s most brilliant detective on his investigations. You’ll not only make him famous by recording his cases,
“Bliss,” she repeated, as the cab drew up outside a three-storey terraced house in a smart residential street.
“Here we are, Kitty. Let’s take a look at your new home.” Reed skipped out of the cab and helped her down from the vehicle. Kitty liked Reed because he always treated her like a lady, as though she was a dowager duchess or someone of that ilk. That, according to Kitty, is what a gentleman does: whether you are a real lady or a fishwife. Pulling a set of keys from his frock coat, he approached the door. Kitty looked up at the building. It was a bit of all right. Never had she seen such nice quarters. She even liked the address: 221B Baker Street.
Seven
F ROM T HE J OURNAL O F J OHN W ALKER
“I cannot understand how you can believe that this wild scheme of yours will ever work. Even if I threw myself into the enterprise with great enthusiasm, I am not an actor. I cannot dissemble to order. If this Sherlock Holmes is such a great detective, as you say he is, he will easily spot me for the impostor that I am. Through my own behaviour, I would give the game away.”
I believed every word I said to Professor Moriarty, but I gave them extra emphasis, hoping that I could persuade him to drop this crazy charade by convincing him of the impractical nature of it. Thus, I would be able to slip from his noose and walk from the room a free man. However, I could see from his unruffled demeanour that my argument had fallen on stony ground. His confidence did not falter for an instant.
“But, my dear doctor, you will not be an impostor,” he replied easily. “Apart from a slight change of name and a certain adjustment to your recent history, you will be the same man who is sitting in front of me now: a penurious ex-army surgeon recently arrived from Afghanistan and looking for cheap lodgings.”
“What ‘adjustment’ to my recent history?”
“Rather than being cashiered, you were badly wounded in the Battle of Maiwand, and while recovering you contracted enteric fever, the curse of our Afghan possessions. As a result, you were invalided out of the army and sent home to England.”
“That is crazy.”
“Fact. A little news item to that effect was inserted into several of the London newspapers this morning, including The Times . My influence reaches into many areas. And as every Englishman knows, whatever appears in The Times must be the absolute truth. And Sherlock Holmes is an avid reader of the press.”
“But it’s a lie.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Colouring the truth. You believe that you were unfairly treated in Afghanistan, do you not?”
I nodded.
“And so I have redressed the balance.”
I threw my head in my hands and groaned. “Oh, my God, I wish I could wake up now. This must be some terrible dream.”
“No dream, Watson, but for you a kind of salvation. It is a wonderful opportunity, and it is about time you opened your mind to the vast possibilities that this arrangement offers to you. And, of course, there is your writing, your adventure stories. What scope there will be for penning mystery yarns while accompanying London’s most brilliant detective on his investigations. You’ll not only make him famous by recording his cases,
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