'In my letter, man! The Berlin case- every third word! A
very easy hidden message, Watson. I thought even
you ... Oh, it doesn't matter. The fact is, Moriarty is
alive and free in London. He killed a woman only
three weeks ago. He will kill again if I do not stop him.
It is a fight to the death between us. Come with me
and help me, Watson. Say that you will come!'
'Of course I will come, old fellow,' I said.
He smiled and lay back in the chair. In a second, he
was asleep. Quickly, I gave him an injection to keep
him asleep. Then, with the help of my cook, I put him
to bed and locked the bedroom door. After that I
had a drink and sat down to think about what I must
do.
Perhaps I did not understand Holmes's hidden
messages, but I did understand what was happening
to the man. He was mad - I knew that now. All that
was evil in him he called Moriarty. The fight with
Moriarty was a battle that was taking place inside his
own head.
I had hoped that Jack the Ripper was dead. He was
not, and now another woman had been murdered. I
felt that her blood was on my hands. The time had
come when I must tell Holmes what I knew about
him. First, I had to be sure that I understood
everything.
I took a cab to Baker Street, and went into HOI2:!e5
S:-~ I did not know what I was looking for, but I began
.c ~ The rooms were untidy, full of old newspapers. I
searched for four hours but found nothing. At four
o'clock in the morning I stopped. I went to the
window and looked out at the dark sky.
Suddenly, I knew what to do. The house opposite,
where Holmes had once seen Moriarty. I ran across
the street and broke the lock on the back door of
the house. Every room was empty, all except one
bedroom. This contained a bed, a cupboard and a
box full of papers. All the papers were about the
Whitechapel murders. Some were cut from
newspapers, others were written by the killer himself.
He described each murder with a sick enjoyment of
what he had done.
Under the papers I found some glass jars of the kind
that are used in hospitals. In them were pieces of
women's bodies. In the last jar was the worst thing of
all- pieces of the body of a little unborn child.
When I saw that, all the friendly feelings I had ever
had for Sherlock Holmes died inside me. Now I could
go straight to Lestrade and ask him to arrest Holmes,
but I chose not to do that. I did not want all England
to know what Holmes, once a good and wise man,
had become. Some evil things are best hidden from
the world. I, and I alone, would face him and his
crimes.
I went out into the cold morning air. I felt strangely
calm, but also excited.
Holmes was still asleep. I searched his clothes for
drugs and guns, but found only a little money and his
silver snuffbox. Then I wrote a letter to Lestrade. I told
my cook to take it to my bank manager. If I failed to
return, I asked him to send it to Lestrade. In the letter I
told Lestrade everything that I knew about Sherlock
Holmes and the Whitechapel murders.
I was very tired, but I knew that I had to stay awake. I
had to watch Holmes all the time. I decided to use
the cocaine he had given me. I added water to the
drug and put it into a medicine bottle. Then I
injected some into my arm.
It was time to look in on Holmes. As I opened the
door, I saw that his bed was empty. He was behind
the door. He tried to hit me, but the drug made me
quick, and I jumped out of the way. 'Watson!' he
cried. 'Dear fellow! I thought you were Moriarty. One
of his men is in your garden. We must go now! It is too
dangerous to stay here!'