“Sherlock, are you listening to me?”
“Why … yes, Beatrice, of course.”
“What were my last three words?”
“Uh … I can’t quite –”
She giggles. “It’s all right, Master ’olmes. I know young men ’ave much on their minds. Perhaps I am giving you ideas?”
“You are.”
“I am?”
“Beatrice, I might know the identity of your Spring Heeled Jack.”
“You might?” she looks genuinely surprised.
“And I may know how to catch him, too.”
BAT TRAP
Sherlock returns to the hatter’s shop the very next night. This time he crosses at Westminster Bridge and has everything perfectly timed. When he reaches Whitehall, he sees Beatrice and Louise out in front of him, coming into view exactly on schedule. Beatrice has a pocket watch and he has asked her to get there at precisely half past eight. Big Ben is silent on the Parliament Buildings in front of them. The boy feels for the horsewhip tucked up his sleeve. The girls are to walk slowly and make themselves conspicuous, as he is doing too. His heart is thumping. Crew is large and skilled, capable of murder. But he must trust the arts that Bell has taught him. That morning, before school, after explaining that a cat had scratched his face the previous night, he had asked for more fighting instruction, but of a particular kind.
“You want what, my boy?”
“I want to know how I would fight someone who doesn’t play by any rules, a sticky-wicket sort, someone who wants to kill me.”
“Is there someone like this whom you expect to encounter shortly?”
“No sir.”
“I, of course, am a blithering idiot and believe you without question.”
“But sir –”
“You must seize him by the unmentionables.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“His meat and vegetables, his cricket equipment, his private machinery!”
“Sir?”
“Seize them!”
The old man leaps at Sherlock, hand out like a claw, his face as red as a rose. Holmes turns and runs from the room.
“My boy! Come back! I intended to inflict no pain upon your actual person!”
Sherlock returns very slowly, peeking his head around the corner first, measuring the distance between himself and his excitable instructor, before he re-enters the lab.
“Take a deep breath, sir.”
“Yes, my boy, I shall.”
“Now, tell me exactly what to do. Just tell me.”
Bell gathers himself.
“Murderous sorts are usually not cautious sorts. He is apt to make the first move, which is likely to be in the nature of a pounce or a charge. You must let your opponent come at you.”
“I must?”
“Yes. Wait until you see the whites of his eyes, as it were!” Bell’s eyes flash. “Come at me!” he screams.
“If I do so, sir, you must promise to not actually complete the maneuver.”
Bell looks disappointed. “There is wisdom in what you say. I shall try. Come at me!”
Sherlock sighs and rushes at the old man who stands still until the boy is almost upon him, then he leaps to the side like a kangaroo and utters a shriek likely heard nowhere west of the jungles of Siam.
“KEE-AAHH!!!”
As he does, he brings the heel of his boot down like a sledge hammer toward Sherlock’s leg, stopping less than an inch from shattering his target. Both combatants stand stock still, the boy aghast, the apothecary resisting temptation.
“Had I followed through with this blow, I would have crushed your patella bone, known to the masses as the kneecap … or snapped either the fibula or tibia, give or take a bone.”
“I am thankful that you did not.”
“Your enemy is now a one-legged man and in a rather extraordinary amount of pain. You have him at your command.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Then!” shouts Bell. “You are on him!” With that, Bell leaps upon Sherlock and slams him to the lab floor. “And you seize him by the –”
“Sir!”
The apothecary springs to his feet.
“Quite, my boy, quite. But you asked me what to do when someone is attempting to murder you. I have little time for murder, especially of you. Not my cup of tea! I live it out when asked about such a maneuver!”
It is almost as if Sigerson Trismegistus Bell once had to fight like that too.
“So I should –”
“The point is,” continues Bell, leaning against the lab table now, “you must deliver a crushing blow that puts you to the advantage, then, rather than continuing to fight at a distance, you must take him to the ground … and fight dirty. Get your hands on him … and do him evil. And do it in a forthright manner, wherever you strike! I am sorry to have to speak this way, but you asked me about fighting a devil and I told you. THAT is how you do it.”
Sherlock keeps Beatrice and Louise in sight, about one hundred feet in front. They are bait that he does not want to lose. As he watches his friend up ahead, he thinks about how she reacted to his plan last night. It wasn’t what he expected. She seemed reluctant to be part of it at first.
“But you want to do this alone?” she had said.
“Yes. I have my reasons.”
“Why, Sherlock? Shouldn’t we bring the police, or at least Master Lestrade?”
“That won’t be necessary. I have a feeling that this will be a personal encounter, anyway … a fight between me and someone I know.”
“You do?”
“When it is over, you won’t be bothered by the so-called Spring Heeled Jack anymore, I assure you.”
“But this will be very dangerous. I saw ’im clearly – ’is face, ’is strength when ’e carried Louise – I know what ’e is capable of. You must bring ’elp!”
“I shall have three advantages. First, I have been taught self-defense of a most effective and violent kind. Second, I will bring a weapon with me. And third, he shall not expect to be attacked. I will have the drop on him, as it were.”
“I still think –”
“Not another word. Bring Louise, take the same route home you took on the night you were attacked, arriving at Westminster at half past eight.”
