He was right, too. That’s the odd thing: on all counts, he was right. We bustled through the Abernathys’ garden, out onto the street. As soon as we arrived, Holmes threw his hand to the sky and called, “Taxi!”
Immediately, one pulled up to the curb. I was just beginning to climb in, when Holmes’s hand fell upon my shoulder to stop me. He gave me a severe look, to say, “Caution, John. Remember?” He then turned to the cab man and said, “I know not what manner of servant thou art, but I know thy master! By the secret words of M’ghan Margoth, I charge you to reveal yourself!”
The driver turned to Holmes with a quizzical look, but just as he was about to say, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” his entire form wobbled, blurred, then gave an audible “pop”. He transformed into a man-sized pile of green goo liberally dotted with eyes and mouths. Six of those eyes went wide with terror and two of the mouths dropped open, horrified to find out what Holmes might do.
Luckily for him, all Warlock did was shout, “Bugger off! We’ll take the next one!” before thrusting his hand into the air once more with a cry of, “Taxi!”
As if on cue, a second cab pulled up, piloted by a thoroughly working-class driver, who tipped his hat courteously and wondered, “What was that bit that happened with the last fellow?”
“Oh, you’d like to know, would you?” asked Holmes, then leveled a finger at the man and shouted, “Yes, you would! Because you are a pawn of Moriarty!”
The man’s expression broke into one of pure horror. He reached up into his mouth, cracked his secret poison tooth in half, foamed violently for a few seconds, and fell down dead.
“Well that’s not ideal, is it?” I complained. “I feel our chances of making a quiet withdrawal are—”
But Holmes already had his hand in the air.
“Taxi!” To the unskilled observer, the third cab would have appeared to be the most suspicious of the lot, as it pulled to the curb with its driver already slumped motionless in his seat. Yet, to Holmes and I, it was a glorious reprieve. The two of us gave the same cry of joy, and together shouted, “Best Horse!”
Our old adventuring companion gave us a whicker of recognition.
“Now this one we can trust, I think,” I said.
“Of course we can, John! We always trust Best Horse! Always! Oh, it is good to see you, my old friend!”
And it was. I laid a hand against his shoulder, gave him a little pat, and the next thing I knew there was a tear in my eye and I heard myself telling him, “So much has happened, you know? We solved the case you helped us with. And a few others, too. But then Holmes was mad at me and tried to keep me away. And I had to be Hall Pycroft for a while and—”
“There’s no time, John!” Warlock shouted. He pushed me bodily into the cab, then leaned out the window and whispered, “Best Horse, here’s what I want you to do: make straight down West Carriage Drive for Victoria Station, but, when we reach Imperial College Road, veer violently to the right and break into a gallop, as if our first destination was merely a blind! When we get to Petersham Mews, you will see an inn: The Reticent Shrub. Slip quietly around the back and come up through the rear end of the stables. Wait in the third stall along, with the cab well back in the building, out of view of the road. Keep your eyes down and eat some oats, like a regular horse. When I’m sure we have not been followed, I will click my tongue twice. Get back on the road and head us into town. When we reach Montpelier Walk, I want you to turn into the alleyway. It’s got to be back roads only from there on in. Keep to the shadows. It turns out Victoria Station really was our destination all along! Ha, ha! Don’t tell anybody! We must sneak in in time to catch the Continental Express. There we must part. Oh, it pains me! I would do anything within my power to bring you on our quest. Aside from Watson, you are the finest compatriot I have ever known. But, there’s nothing for it; they don’t let horses on the train. Can you do this?”
Best Horse flicked his mane and gave a snort of resolution. Holmes cackled, “Ha, ha, Moriarty! Didn’t count on that, did you?”
By God, I’ve never met the medical student who could follow instructions as well as Best Horse. He did it all, exactly as Holmes described. Though it may have been only my imagination, when we sat hidden in the drive-through stall at The Reticent Shrub, I will swear the next two coaches to come down the road paused from time to time, the curtains parting as unseen eyes swept either side of the road. The third was a London cab, driven by a green blob of eyeballs, who gazed about in all directions.
Not that he could help it, I suppose.
When he had gone, Holmes clicked his tongue twice and we made our way through the maze of back alleys to Victoria Station. There, Holmes and I said our farewells to the noble steed who had saved us once again. He stamped and whickered and looked very concerned.
“Never you mind about us,” Holmes told him. “The important thing is to preserve yourself. If anyone tries to question you about tonight’s events, pretend you’re just a horse.”
“Well, he is, I think,” I said.
“Good. Should be easy then.”
As our train pulled away, there seemed to be a disturbance on the platform. Looking back, I could just make out a rather squat fellow with close-cropped red hair, pushing his way through the crowd with two muscle-bound confederates, shouting for the stationmaster
