‘That is indeed most gratifying, Inspector.’ Morrison was not quite sure how to accept this comment from Holmes and we all sank back into our seats, sitting in silence for the last few moments of our journey.
It was only as we drew closer to St Jude’s that I suddenly became aware of the charming rural landscapes that were unfolding all around us. Vast swathes of lush pastures, which were intermittently bordered by some magnificent birch and elm, were spread out before us, as far as the eye could see. The occasional farmhouse appeared at the summit of gentle rolling hills and small groups of cattle gathered around tiny pools of muddied water.
Then the Gothic wrought-iron gates of St Jude’s unkindly blemished this vista as it slowly came into view. Its dark austerity could not have created more of a contrast had it been the portals of Hades guarding the entrance to Nirvana. Yet this was our destination and my feelings of misgiving increased with each yard of our progress. The huge gateway appeared to be all-embracing.
Each one of its weatherworn, blood-red bricks seemed to have etched, upon its gnarled surface, a tale of fear and terror from within.
We decided that it would be for the best if we pulled up some way short of the entrance. Our mission would be better served if a supposed porter were not observed arriving to work by way of a London cab! As our driver turned us around in the direction of the constabulary, I looked back at Holmes in his blue uniform, moving slowly towards the gateway and his unknown, potentially hazardous fate.
The intervening period was spent both anxiously and tediously. Our meagre evening meal of broth and rough bread was soon consumed and cleared away. By the time that Morrison and I were into our fourth pipes the endless speculating had come full circle. The thought of Holmes, alone and in that dreadful place, chilled me to the core. Yet exhaustion eventually took over and I collapsed on to my small bunk, which seemed to be cushioned with rocks.
My sleep was both troubled and restless and therefore it was no great surprise that a sharp rapping on my ground floor window had me awake in an instant. I looked out through bleary eyes and blackened curtains and gasped at the sight before me! At first I could not be certain that the vision was reality or the remnants of a dark and vivid dream.
A white, spectral face returned my gaze and an unfamiliar tousled fringe of hair was caked in the congealing blood that had been oozing from a large gash just above the left eye. By now I was in no doubt that both the hair and the blood belonged to my courageous friend and my urgent fingers fumbled with the window lock. I flung it open noiselessly and Sherlock Holmes fell from the sill directly on to my bunk. I raced from the room to fetch some water so as to discover the seriousness of his wound.
Holmes was motionless while I cleaned his forehead and then suddenly he sat upright and irritably swiped aside the dripping sponge.
‘Watson!’ he snapped. ‘It is merely a scratch.’
‘It is somewhat more than that and, therefore, tells of some dreadful confrontation.’
‘Hardly a confrontation, although I will admit to having endured a somewhat arduous evening. Watson, could I trouble you for both a cigarette and a match?’ Holmes asked humbly.
I furnished him with both. ‘Should we not first rouse Morrison and return to St Jude’s with all speed?’ I asked, suspecting that the Diego business was still unresolved.
‘That will not be necessary as the matter has already reached its conclusion. Besides I do need to take stock of the evening’s outcome before we involve anybody else.’
‘Concluded?’ I repeated, feeling somewhat disappointed at not being involved in the culmination of the case.
Holmes was standing by the window, his dishevelled outline silhouetted by the three-quarter moon that was slowly emerging from behind a distant bank of trees. Further beyond I could just make out the imposing arched entrance of St Jude’s.
‘Oh, Watson, I should not have doubted you, for that is indeed a most dreadful place.’ Holmes said quietly, as if he had been following the line of my gaze. He gestured for another cigarette, upon which he drew long and hard before continuing.
‘I do not mind admitting that during the long walk from the gateway to the main entrance, there was more than one occasion when I considered retracing my steps and the abandonment of all of our plans. However, Nathaniel Brewer had followed your instructions to the letter and was well prepared for my arrival and intentions. To avoid any owner of unwelcome eyes becoming suspicious of my motives he immediately furnished me with a mop and bucket and I spent the remainder of the day in the cleansing of those endless corridors.’
I should mention here that Nathaniel Brewer was the crotchety old uncle of a former colleague of mine, and his strict, disciplinarian regime had largely contributed to the ghastly reputation that St Jude’s had acquired.
‘The geography of these corridors is, I would hope, unique. They are laid out in the form of a Panopticon that ensures that any one of the rooms can be observed from each and every angle and position on the floor. The fact that each room is barred rather than enclosed by a door or wall, renders the poor devils within them as exposed as the beasts at the new Zoological Gardens, although perhaps with less dignity! In such circumstances it would be easy to conjecture that even the sanest of men would struggle to retain their sanity within those halls.’
Holmes paused for a moment and as he turned from the window to face me, I could see that he had been greatly disturbed by the experience that he was describing.
‘As I carried out my chores I soon discovered that the occupant of each room was enduring a different form of suffering. One might emit a cry or a wail, another a violent scream of anger. Many sat in abject silence, almost oblivious to their surroundings and circumstances, some rocking back and forth, muttering to themselves. What they all shared, however, was their despair and degradation.
‘My adopted persona only allowed me a fleeting glance of Persano at this time and he was indeed sitting on the edge of his rudimentary bed, silently mumbling to himself.’ Whilst he was speaking Holmes began to remove his uniform to reveal his customary suit beneath. His hairbrush did much to restore his more familiar appearance. He even allowed me to apply a small dressing to his wound.
A brief search of the staffroom revealed two tumblers and the remnants of a bottle of whisky. A grateful Holmes found that this discovery did much to repair his fragile nerves and he even managed the most fleeting of smiles as he lit the last of my cigarettes.
‘Eventually I received an opportunity to speak with Persano when I was called upon to deliver his evening meal. Alas, the effect of Diego’s worm is, as yet, unabated. Persano’s eyes appeared to be vague and empty and he certainly was unaware of my presence.
‘Notwithstanding the apparent futility, I persisted with my questioning of the man in the hope that I might gain a response. Once or twice I detected a glimmer of light from behind those eyes and his ramblings occasionally produced an intelligible word or two. I became excited when the words Cassales and Diego disentangled themselves until I realized that they been produced at random rather than being direct replies to my questions.
‘In despair I abandoned any further attempts at reaching the depths of Persano’s mind. A short while later “lights out” was announced and I knew that my vigil was about to begin. I was offered the use of a room immediately opposite to Persano’s, but I decided that my hiding-place should be somewhere more secluded and discreet.
‘With its door held slightly ajar, a broom cupboard that was situated further down the corridor afforded me a satisfactory view of Persano and it was from here that I decided to take up my post. The discomfort of sitting on an upturned bucket ensured that I would remain awake during the long night ahead. The stench of sodden mop heads made my task the harder to endure. I could not yet be certain that Diego would even appear! I would have to console myself with the thought that the prospect of Persano’s imminent release would spur Diego to one final desperate act of retribution, so certain was I that Morrison’s comments to the press would prove successful.
‘My only indication of the slow passage of time was the trajectory of the moon as it shed a strange grey light through the dark and distant skylight on its journey across the night sky. This grey illumination had an unusual, almost mystical effect upon my surroundings of steel and stone.
‘The moon had almost cleared the skylight by the time I became aware of the first sound that I had heard in hours, other than that of my own deep breathing and the occasional cry from one of those poor incarcerated souls. It came from the front entrance and my heart quickened when I realized that it was the sound of a cautious and furtive footstep.
