The Adventure of the Pharaoh's Curse (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) (19 page)

N1 § P1 C1 Pa8 W13 § P1 C2 Pa2 W65 § P1 C1 Pa1 W72 § P1 C1 Pa18 W1 § P2 C1 Pa9 W63 § P1 C1 Pa1 W56 § P2 C4 Pa29 W72 § – MORTLOCK

“Who, then, is Mortlock?” I asked.

“Mortlock, Watson, is a
nom-de-plume
, of course. You must recall our ally of sorts, that shifty and evasive personality who attempted to aid us in the affair at Birlstone?”
[127]

“Porlock?”

“Yes, of course. Do you not see, Watson? That particular name was obviously chosen for two reasons. First, because of its final rhyme with that latter half my own given name. And second, because the initial syllable would convey the message that that individual so-called could be induced to provide information if properly recompensed.”

“I admit that I am not following you, Holmes. Do you believe that Porlock has resurfaced after all these years?”

Holmes shook his head violently. “No, no, Watson. I think that the name used herein is a message beyond what is encoded in this cryptic combination of letters, numbers, and symbols. Recall your days at Winchester, Watson. What does the Latin root ‘mort’ denote?”

I finally understood what he was trying to tell me, and the thought chilled me to the bones. “It means ‘death’ of course.”

“Exactly, Watson. Exactly. But whose death?”

“Surely we can determine that by deciphering the message itself?”

“Yes, Watson, but how?”

“Is this not the same book cipher that Porlock once employed?”

“Not at all. Look at it, Watson. Porlock’s code did not use so many letters, nor these funny symbols. We must apply all of our reason to the problem of what method is herein being employed.”

I studied it for a moment. “Well, it seems to be to be quite simple.”

Holmes’ right eyebrow rose in surprise. “Oh? You have broken it?”

“Almost, Holmes, almost. Surely the symbol is nothing more than a break, and the ‘W’ stands for ‘word.’”

“I will accept that as a point of departure.”

“Then the ‘Pa’ must be ‘page.’”

Holmes shook his head. “There are difficulties, Watson. The printing of various editions of the same story can be quite numerous, and the paginations differ between them. Even if we were able to guess the name of the book, how are we to determine which edition to utilize?”

“Paragraph!” I cried.

“Good, Watson, good! No matter what font and spacing a printer uses, unless they deviate from the author’s master plan, the separation between paragraphs should remain intact.”

“Then the next sign, ‘C1’ stands for ‘chapter the first,’ no doubt.”

“Excellent, Watson. Your deduction of twenty years ago has finally proven correct, unless I am much deceived. But now we encounter further difficulties. If we know the chapter number, then what do we make of the ‘P’ symbol?”

“That is obvious, Holmes,” I said triumphantly.

“Is it?” he asked archly.

“Of course, Holmes. It stands for ‘part.’”

“Part! That is brilliant, Watson. Surely that allows us to narrow our search down to books which are divided into multiple parts, within which the chapter numbers are repeated. You can see that the first three words come from Chapter 1 of Part 1, while the fifth word can only be found in Chapter 1 of Part 2. Only a few authors would employ such an eccentric numbering strategy.”

“But what about the ‘N1?’”

“Unless I am very much mistaken, that is not a word, but rather the symbol that identifies for us the book itself.”

“But there must be thousands of books that begin with the letter ‘N,’” I protested.

“True enough, but you will note, Watson, that there is no second letter. So this is a book with only one word in the title. That should help considerably.”

A long silence followed, during which we sat pondering this mystery. I finally spoke. “I am sorry, Holmes, but I cannot think of any novels with one word titles that start with ‘N.’ The closest I can come up with would be Dickens’ ‘
Nicholas Nickelby
.’”

Holmes slumped back in his seat. “No, no, Watson, that will not do. You have one ‘N’ too many. We are undone, I fear. I was hoping that a man of letters such as yourself….” He stopped at stared at me, a wild look in his eyes. “Could it be…?” he cried.

“What is it, Holmes?”

When he opened his mouth, a laugh tinged with a hint of madness echoed forth. “I fear we were off target with our last conclusion, Watson. Mortlock is not trying to make this too difficult for us. His goal is to deliver a message, is it not? He would not have picked a book that was too obscure. He has it, and he imagined that we would have it too. In short, Watson, it is a very popular book.”

“So you know it? I have not known you to read much popular fiction, save only the most sensational literature.”

“Yes, I fear that I do. I once remarked that it was a work of superficial romanticism. Follow me, Watson.”

He rose from his seat and shrugged on his great overcoat. With a wave of his hand, Holmes directed that the bill be sent to him. I hurried to keep up with him as he set off eastwards along the Strand, dodging cabs and omnibuses. At the first junction with Lancaster Place, I watched as Holmes stopped before a cheap newsstand. The front shelves were filled with the scent of freshly printed pages while, in the rear, moldered a forlorn assortment of dusty novels. Next to the structure, a boy was bawling out headlines of the latest edition of the evening paper.

“Why, Mr. Holmes, I’ll be,” said the news-vendor. “It’s been a long time. What’ll it be tonight?
The Evening Standard
has a nice story about a bold robbery at St. Paul’s Cathedral. That’s right up your alley, I reckon.”

“Not tonight, Carter,” Holmes said. “It’s a novel that I require. The first chronicle of a novice biographer, who applied to it a somewhat fantastic sobriquet.”

The man shrugged. “Doubt I have something with so many fancy words, but it’s yours if I got it, Mr. Holmes.”

He turned to me, an inscrutable look in his grey eyes. “You see the significance of the ‘N1’ now, do you not, Watson?”

“Ah, yes. It is clear. The first novel by that writer.”

“Can you still not deduce the name?”

“I am afraid not, Holmes. There are new writers appearing every day, it seems. I cannot possibly keep up with them all.”

“Well, Watson, this tale might not have seen the light of day if we had not thwarted the Red Leech.”
[128]
He sighed and shook his head before turning back to the newsman. “Carter, give me a copy of ‘
A Study in Scarlet
.’”

“What?” I cried. “Holmes, you cannot think that I had anything to do with this?”

“Not at all, Watson. But it was sent by a man who knows far too much about me. He has studied my methods, as so carefully laid out by you in your tales.”

“My dear Holmes, I certainly never intended….”

He forestalled my protest. “It is no matter, Watson. It is, as they say, water under the bridge.”

Holmes took the slim volume from the newsman Carter and tucked it under his arm. He then strode down towards the Thames and out onto Waterloo Bridge. He did not pause until he came to the streetlamp in very middle. He set the volume upon the top of the balustrade and flipped to the first chapter. “Now let us see what Chapter 1 has in store for us. Jot down the words, Watson.” He counted silently. “Paragraph eight, word thirteen, is ‘what.’ That is an auspicious beginning. Now let us try the next one. Paragraph ten, word fifteen, is ‘walks.’ – ‘What walks.’” Holmes’ eyes were gleaming with nervous anticipation and his fingers danced upon the page as he moved along. “The next word is ‘on.’ I think we are on the right track, Watson.” He continued until the phrase was complete. “What – walks – on – no – legs – at – midnight?”

“You must be mistaken, Holmes. Certainly it is a different book. That phrase is gibberish.”

“Is it, Watson?” he stared at me intently. “Do you not recall the lessons of your Greek master? What was the riddle of the Sphinx?”

I considered this for a moment. “‘What is the creature that walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three in the evening?’ And the answer is ‘Man,’ of course.”

“Do you see, Watson?” his voice was deadly serious. “Mortlock’s question is a progression of the Sphinx’s riddle. Morning, noon, evening. And now: ‘What walks on no legs at midnight?’ Midnight being the very end of the metaphorical day.”

“What?”

“A corpse.” He shook his head grimly. “These are much deeper waters that I had originally thought. I fear that once more the game is afoot.”

I attempted to buoy his spirits. “You have always answered that call, Holmes. Why is it now cause for alarm?”

“Because, Watson, this time I do not even know what game we are playing.”

The two of us sat in silence for some minutes, the rough water rushing against the stones beneath us. We gazed out at the fog-shrouded sky over the vast murky River, a spiritual counterpart to one in a far-away dusty land, and our eyes strained to glimpse what mystery lay beyond the curtain.

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THE ASSASSINATION OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
will continue in…

THE PROBLEM OF THREADNEEDLE STREET

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Appendix: The Edge of the Unknown
[129]

That Sherlock Holmes is a committed skeptic of supernatural forces is a fact that cannot be refuted. As he says: “This Agency stands flat-footed upon the ground, and there it must remain. The world is big enough for us. No ghosts need apply.”
[130]
And yet, one wonders if something strange and remarkable lurks in the shadows of Victorian London, in a place that Holmes is unable, or perhaps unwilling, to see?

The Canonical adventures of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, in which he is typically accompanied by his friend and biographer, Dr. John H. Watson, contain multiple examples of seemingly-supernatural events. Most of these are ultimately proven by Holmes to be mere shams or products of overactive imaginations. The spectral hound of the Baskervilles was nothing but a phosphorescently-painted dog.
[131]
The vampiric thirst of Mrs. Ferguson was but a valiant attempt to save her baby from poison.
[132]
The horrific visions of a devilish world were simply the product of a hallucinogenic root.
[133]
Even the simian transformation of Professor Presbury had a scientific explanation, despite the fact that the chemical formula utilized has yet to be successfully recreated.
[134]
Similarly, in
The Adventure of the Pharaoh’s Curse
, Holmes provides a plausible physical justification for the movement of the Pharaoh’s effigy. However, this is not quite the same thing as actually proving his theory, and some readers might perhaps be left wondering whether or not a supernatural explanation may still be possible.

Are there other examples from the Canon where Holmes and/or Watson seemingly gloss over any cases that drift into the neighborhood of a realm beyond the veil? Incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled order of nature? The cause of Colonel Warburton’s madness is never explained,
[135]
nor the reason why Abrahams was in mortal terror for his life.
[136]
What were the singular contents of that ancient British barrow?
[137]
And why exactly was the world not yet prepared to hear the story of Matilda Briggs and the giant rat of Sumatra?
[138]
These may be the realms in which even the most acute and most experienced detective is helpless.

Furthermore, are we seriously to believe that Sherlock Holmes, the finest mind of his generation (barring perhaps only his brother and the late, lamented Professor Moriarty), was unable to provide a final explanation on not one, but multiple occasions? Watson calls these cases “complete failures:”

“Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world. No less remarkable is that of the cutter
Alicia
, which sailed one spring morning into a small patch of mist from which she never again emerged, nor was anything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a matchbox in front of him which contained a remarkable worm, said to be unknown to science.”
[139]

Watson refuses to provide further details, claiming that he did not wish to “
annoy the casual reader.” But was it, in fact, Holmes himself that was annoyed? In each unfathomed case, was there an explanation that Holmes refused to consider? As Watson’s first literary agent, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, once wrote:

“… However much our tiny brains may endeavor to comprehend and classify these extraordinary phenomena, there still remain so many unknown causes and unexplained conditions that for many a long year to come our best efforts can only be regarded as well-meant approximations to the truth.”
[140]

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