5"
Death"at"the"Reichenbach"Falls"
In February 1891 a woman called Flora White was
killed with a knife in Whitechapel. Everyone thought
that the murderer was Jack the Ripper. I alone knew
that this was not true. I was sure that 'Jack' had not
killed the last two women to die on the streets of
Whitechapel.
Soon after this, Holmes left for France. He sent me a
strange letter from there which worried me very
much. I could not understand a word of it and
began to wonder if he was taking cocaine again.
This was his letter:
If you remember the Berlin case of 'one in three',
Watson, everything will be clear to you because . . .
the famous German professor in Paris is no longer
alive. I heard he was recently killed while studying
flora in the White Mountains of my favourite island.
Letters and books are appearing soon. Read them
quickly but carefully, as I cannot always follow or
understand him myself. Last night I dreamt and the
next day suddenly understood this problem. The time
comes when he and others will be free - not an easy
escape.
About three weeks after that, I was sitting alone at
home one evening. My wife was away on a visit.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Holmes came in.
He then ran to the window, closed it and locked it.
'Holmes,' I cried. 'What has happened? You look
terrible!' He looked old and ill, and he was shaking
with tiredness. 'What is it?' I asked. 'Are you afraid of
something?'
'Of someone,' he said. 'Did you not get my letter?'
'Yes, but I didn't understand it. What is wrong?'
Holmes looked at me sadly. 'You didn't understand it.
Is your wife here?'
'No, she is a way. Do you want to sleep here? I shall
make sure that you are in no danger.'
He shook his head. 'I cannot rest anywhere. If I sleep,
he will win! I cannot stay here. I would bring evil into
your house. But you can help me, Watson. I must
leave the country tomorrow. Will you come with me?'
'Where are you going, Holmes?'
'Going? I am not going anywhere. I am trying to
escape from him. But he will find me again.
Everywhere I go, he will follow me.'
'Who is he, Holmes?' I asked. 'Professor Moriarty, of
course!' 'But Moriarty is dead,' I said.
'Dead!' he screamed. 'He is trying to kill me! How can
he be dead?'
'But you told me that he was dead