“Oh, rather!” Holmes agreed. “Don’t tell him, but I sometimes suspect he’s even smarter than I am.”
“And he’s a proper sort of fellow, too,” Lestrade added. “He always does the right thing.”
“Ha!” Irene laughed. “Yes. Yes. I half fancy that—if he ever found himself trapped up against my bare legs while I was wearing a rather short sundress, in a position any schoolboy would envy—the only thing he’d think of to take advantage of the situation is to beat all hell out of my toes!”
Which, perhaps, was too much of a clue. Luckily, this was Holmes we were dealing with. He heaved a sigh and said, “That sounds just like him.”
Everyone sat in silence for a moment, then Irene tapped the table and said, “Well, that’s all good to know. And it works out well for me. Here I was, thinking I’d painted myself into a bit of a corner, but now my path is clear. Holmes, Lestrade, here is what is going to happen: I am going to disclose a piece of information, then I am going to withhold a piece of information, then I am going to leave. And you are going to let me.”
“How fun!” Holmes enthused. “What’s the first piece of information?”
“It regards a second loss I have suffered today. Abe Slaney was wrong to think I would leave either of the foci with Elsie, yet that is not to say she was the holder of none of my treasures. There is one piece… how should I say… that I did not trust to my own keeping.”
Beneath the table, my heart sank. Yes. It made sense. She’d just told us how few people she still had close to her. How could she preside over the imprisonment—which would mean the slow death—of one of them?
“The Moriarty rune was—in some way—too dear to me. He was practically my father. I do understand that he has become too dangerous to be free. Yet I also know that left in his prison with nobody worshiping him, he would fade and die. I did not trust myself to be his caretaker for that process. The day would come when I would peek, you see, to try and tell if he was gone. Or my will to see him expunged would fail—for there is practically nobody left who knew me or cared for me in my youth. Yet if ever I did look in on him, even for a second, I know he would not spare me. His drive for immortality and omnipresence is too strong. I should have encased his prison in a block of concrete and dropped it into the middle of the ocean, but I could not. I left him in Elsie’s care.”
Holmes sucked breath through his teeth. “A very dangerous package to leave with your friend, wasn’t it?”
“That is how much I trusted her, Mr. Holmes. More than I trusted myself, in this case. Elsie had him sealed in the floor of the little shed where she kept her garden tools. By this time tomorrow, I am sure the authorities will be scratching their heads over why that floor has been pulled up. I suspect they will never guess the truth. But to me, the reason was plain. Abe Slaney gained possession of the rune. Or perhaps Moriarty had faded to nothing before Slaney arrived. I wish that were so, but my heart tells me otherwise. And if Moriarty was not with Slaney when you confronted him, Mr. Holmes, then there is precious little way to tell where he may be now. That is why I wanted you as my agent, Warlock: so I could tell you to guard yourself. If the Moriarty rune is free, he is certain to move against the both of us.”
“Hmmm,” said Holmes, thoughtfully. “I don’t care at all for that piece of information. What’s the other one?”
“No, no. I’ve promised to withhold it, remember?”
“But why?” Warlock pouted. “I’d probably let you go anyway!”
“I know, and that’s why you have always been my favorite,” said Irene. I could feel Holmes shifting about pridefully on his chair. “And yet there are individuals in your orbit, Mr. Holmes, who would be less likely to let me go unharried on my way. It is to them that I direct the following injunction: everybody must sit quiet and still while I pack all this up and go.”
“What?” Holmes whined. “At least let me get up and help!”
“Unnecessary, but thank you,” said Irene. “You just sit tight. It will hardly take a moment. I’m used to quick exits, you know. What is the old expression? A woman’s work is never done when she’s got the Pinkertons on her heels. Now… wherever did my false eyebrows get shifted to…?”
And so, we let her do it. We let the Woman slip through our fingers once again. Holmes sat there in simple confusion. Lestrade and I cowed, utterly horrified that she might let that second piece of information slip. Indeed, I fancied I knew the exact seven words Irene Adler would use to doom me.
By the by, Watson’s under the table.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MARGARINE STONE
THE AMERICANS HAVE A PHRASE: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU wish for—you just might get it.
Actually, now that I put it to paper, I can’t help but think it might be one of ours. Yet the saying implies such a vigorousness of undertaking, combined with such an absence of forethought that… I don’t know… doesn’t it seem rather American?
This is not to say Englishmen are immune to such folly, as I myself was to learn one Friday afternoon as I strolled down Baker Street. I had allowed my feet to carry me there upon an empty hour, once again. Ostensibly, I went because I wished to encounter Holmes or Mrs. Hudson, or some other figure from my bygone adventures, who might sweep me up
