Habib, me or my family, that I will take Pepe to a home for the criminally violent and insane, near the Franco-Swiss border, where he will reside permanently at my expense. He will never enter either England or Italy again. The reason for my tardy arrival is due to the complicated arrangements I was forced to make with the authorities at the borders. At first they refused to allow Pepe’s entry, but now there is no difficulty. In addition, since my wife’s experience has been so painful, I am prepared to deed the Villa Alessandrini to the citizens of Ravello to house an orphanage for the town and surrounding villages. My wife and her sister are only dimly aware of Pepe’s existence and I wish that it remain so. Amendola has indicated to Habib that a sufficient emolument will seal his lips and calm his fears.”
“Sir Jaswant,” said Niccolini, “the attacks on Amendola and Watson are criminal offenses in Italy, and it is difficult for me to overlook them. However, if Watson also agrees, then I will go no further with the matter.”
“I cannot speak for Watson. He is fully conscious now and capable of deciding on his own. You must ask him,” said Holmes.
It was a short time after that the assembled gentlemen visited me at our hotel. After listening to Sir Jaswant’s entreaties, I agreed to the arrangements and directed that during my convalescence Holmes be empowered to speak for me.
The following morning Sir Jaswant and Habib left for Berne with their strange baggage. Holmes and I remained in Ravello for another week and then returned to Rome. He had much to say about the “the small human being,” as he referred to him.
“Pepe is from some distant shore of the Indian Ocean, the Andaman Channel or perhaps even Australia, dear Watson, and while I was willing to accommodate Sir Jaswant in the matter, I am sure that our small human friend appeared in his life long before his sea journey to America. He indeed may appear again. In the end, it may not matter at all, however.”
Shortly thereafter, Holmes left for Pienza, where he remained for several weeks. It was the beginning of a deep relationship with Lady Maxwell that lasted well over a decade, until her tragic death in a riding accident on the road to Montepulciano. Holmes was with her when she died. In so far as one can, he has recovered from this great bereavement and has moved on. One of his consolations has been the lines of Goethe:Aber abseits, wer ist’s?Im Gebusch verliert sichsein Pfad;hinter ihm schlagendie Strauche zusammen,das Gras steht wieder auf,die Ode verschlingt ihn.
A CASE OF CRIMINAL MADNESS
IT WAS IN THE SPRING OF 1901 THAT SHERLOCK HOLMES received formal notice that he had been elected to the
“My compliments, old boy, you certainly are deserving of it.”
“Without doubt, Watson,” he said self-mockingly, “and you will note that the letter states that I am one of only three Englishmen to receive the honour since it was bestowed upon Newton himself.”
“The letter says that you are to deliver a lecture at the
“Yes,” he said. “I have already chosen the topic: The Master Criminal.”
Holmes worked furiously on the paper, and delivered it to great acclaim in Rome, in October of that year. In a short time, it became justly famous for its brilliant analysis of the criminal mind. In it, Holmes argued that crime of the common kind is almost entirely the result of the influence of society. The common pickpocket, the petty burgler, the swindler, even the angry murderer, are all part of the intricate social web in which we live. They are simply the prisoners of society and the victims of its many cruelties.
The master criminal, however, differs considerably. He is mentally free of social influences, often transcends their bonds, and with a logic impenetrable to the ordinary observer, creates continual havoc, thereby reducing an unsuspecting society to fear and trembling, one without the will to fight. The master criminal, often born to privilege, can cause catastrophes well beyond those that are normally considered to be at the limits of human evil. Indeed, it is no wonder, wrote Holmes, with great insight, that crime and politics go hand in hand. What, after all, is the tyrant but a criminal politician gone insane?
“The criminal genius is a rare bird, however,” said Homes one afternoon as he read through the piles of congratulatory letters that reached our flat every day. “In fact,” he said with a smile, “my paper has so annoyed the world’s criminal geniuses—there are but five who are left—that three have already made fatal errors, of which I have taken full advantage to put them behind bars. The two who remain are a rather odd couple who will pool their resources in order to do me in—”
With these last words scarcely out of his mouth, Holmes leaped into the air, throwing a large white envelope across the room with all the strength he could muster.
“What is it, Holmes?” I asked in fear.
“You know the poison called upas? The deadliest gift one human being can give to another? The faint sweet odor reminiscent of cardamom is the immediate clue. That letter you see lying there could kill everyone living within a kilometre of our sitting room had I opened it and allowed its contents to circulate in the air. It is not alive, Watson, but we must treat it as if it were some dangerous animal. Luckily, I know it well.”
Holmes put on a thick pair of gloves and placed the offending envelope in a container that he had lined with lead for use in cases such as this one. He twisted the lid as tight as he could, and put it behind a set of Scott’s novels where it would remain until he could dispose of it.
“There now, Watson. Enough of these letters for a while. God only knows what horrors may still lurk in them. Perhaps I shall ask Lestrade to give them over to the laboratory at Scotland Yard for preliminary examination. I hope they can do it without killing us all,” he murmured as he lit his pipe.
“But what do we do for the long run?” I asked with concern. “Surely, the two remaining geniuses as you call them will eventually do you in. We must take some precautions for your safety.”
“Quite so, my dear fellow. That poisoned epistle shows clearly that they will not stop until they have destroyed me—and you as well.”
I smiled. “Let them try, then. And who are they?
Holmes puffed slowly on his pipe. “A singular duo, Watson, of the greatest criminal intelligence, but distorted for reasons only partially known to me as yet, though I have some evidence that they prepared under Moriarty himself. Protected by their highly placed acolytes, they move wherever they wish in Europe, amassing untold wealth and power. Their chief theatre of operations has been France until recently, but now they have begun to shift here to London. I am sure the poisoned envelope was meant not only as a declaration of war, but also as an announcement to me of their arrival in the high society of London. One of their underlings has twice served as a colonial officer on the island of Macassar, and has a specialized knowledge of tropical poisons.”
“And where are they from, these criminals? And what do they call themselves?”
“They are by name Rene and Jeanne Rouxmont.”
“And what are their special interests in crime?”
“Almost everything. They have amassed the world’s largest collections of paintings, particularly Renaissance Italian painting of the Caravaggio school. All of this is now stored in one of their large Medici palaces near Florence, the most splendid of which has become their latest abode. They were present at my talk at the
“Curious,” said I, “but I don’t recall any reference to them in your paper.”
“I could not refer to them directly, Watson, since they were seated in the front row, very elegantly and appropriately attired and accompanied by a veritable retinue of criminal admirers. They are a talented and vicious lot. Remember too that there exists always the problem of evidence sufficient to convict. Without such evidence, any attempt to expose them is met with incredulity by the police as well as the demi-monde in which they live. They are, to say the least, an odd couple, but their oddity only adds to their unbounded appetites. It is true too that at this fin de siecle period what they are matters not in the least. It is what they do that must be addressed, for it is an ever widening nightmare for all of those who should be unfortunate enough to come within their purview.”
Holmes went over to his scrapbooks where he kept files on all the criminal horrors referred to in print.
