The Falling Curtain (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 3) by Craig Janacek
Authors: Craig Janacek
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will meet in the middle.”
Without waiting for my response, he leapt from the driver’s seat of the cart, and whipped the cap from his head. In the glare of the illuminated bridge, the distinctive clear-cut, hawk-like features of Sherlock Holmes were suddenly discernable to any who knew him. If Holmes was right and Mortlock was nearby, he would now know that we had arrived.
For several interminable minutes nothing happened. If Holmes was perturbed by this, he gave no notice of it. Instead, he calmly walked back and forth from edge to edge of the sparsely-travelled bridge. Meanwhile, Mr. Johnson indicated with a nudge that I should watch the northern approach for any signs of an assassin, while he monitored the south.
And then everything occurred at once. Three shots rang out on the northern bank, and Holmes’ face lit up with triumph. But moments later, an identical trio of shots sounded from the southern bank. I could not comprehend what was transpiring, but Holmes knew at once the problem.
“They were decoys!” he exclaimed.
“What?” I cried.
“There is no need for two cables, one upon each bank. They were placed there for us to find and cut. The real cable must be…” his voice trailed off as he gazed about wildly, “there!” He pointed at a small boat that was moored close to the bridge on the eastern side. I had hardly noted it, but once Holmes drew my attention to it, I could see a thin black cable that ran from it to the upper walkways of the bridge. I then realized that the bomb was directly above our heads. The only way to reach it would be to climb one of the towers, but as soon as we did that, Mortlock would blow the explosive and bring the entire thing down upon our heads. He would then float cavalierly away down the river. We were trapped.
I think even Holmes was momentarily confounded as to the next course of action. Fortunately for us, the brave Shinwell Johnson had no such doubts. With a roar, the man ran as fast as he could in the direction of the anchored boat, whose cabin was plunged in darkness. A solitary man, his head covered by a dark hood, could be seen hunched behind the gunwale on the stern. It took mere seconds for Johnson to reach the edge of the bridge, and he then threw himself off into space. I watched with amazement as he sailed through the air with a grace I thought little possible given his massive frame. His momentum and leap were not quite sufficient to carry him as far as the boat itself, but that did not seem to be his goal. For he reached out and, with his large hands, grabbed the trailing cable itself. This had the effect of ripping a small box from the grasp of the man on the boat, while the cable, detonator, and Johnson himself proceeded to sink beneath the white swirls of the waters.
I moved to help him, but Holmes forestalled me. “No, Watson!” he cried. “Johnson can hang onto the cable until the others pull him out.”
“What of Mortlock? He must be on the boat!” I exclaimed, watching as the hooded man cast off his mooring line. “We could stop him!”
Holmes shook his head. “There is no way, Watson. We have no police launch at our disposal. He will be out of our reach in moments. But the gelignite will have a back-up detonator, timed to go off in,” he paused and consulted his watch, “ten minutes.”
“Then there is no time to waste!” I rushed for the slightly closer south tower, where I knew a stairway led to the walkways above our heads. Holmes on my heels, I threw open the door and took the steps two at a time. Fortunately, the task was a lesser one than my frantic climb of the higher Monument, and it took us a matter of only three minutes. As we burst onto the landing of the walkway, I pulled my watch from my pocket. “We have seven minutes, Holmes!” I cried. “We will be there in time!”
Holmes nodded grimly as he pushed past me and strode onto the walkway towards the north tower. “There it is, Watson,” he pointed towards a
Without waiting for my response, he leapt from the driver’s seat of the cart, and whipped the cap from his head. In the glare of the illuminated bridge, the distinctive clear-cut, hawk-like features of Sherlock Holmes were suddenly discernable to any who knew him. If Holmes was right and Mortlock was nearby, he would now know that we had arrived.
For several interminable minutes nothing happened. If Holmes was perturbed by this, he gave no notice of it. Instead, he calmly walked back and forth from edge to edge of the sparsely-travelled bridge. Meanwhile, Mr. Johnson indicated with a nudge that I should watch the northern approach for any signs of an assassin, while he monitored the south.
And then everything occurred at once. Three shots rang out on the northern bank, and Holmes’ face lit up with triumph. But moments later, an identical trio of shots sounded from the southern bank. I could not comprehend what was transpiring, but Holmes knew at once the problem.
“They were decoys!” he exclaimed.
“What?” I cried.
“There is no need for two cables, one upon each bank. They were placed there for us to find and cut. The real cable must be…” his voice trailed off as he gazed about wildly, “there!” He pointed at a small boat that was moored close to the bridge on the eastern side. I had hardly noted it, but once Holmes drew my attention to it, I could see a thin black cable that ran from it to the upper walkways of the bridge. I then realized that the bomb was directly above our heads. The only way to reach it would be to climb one of the towers, but as soon as we did that, Mortlock would blow the explosive and bring the entire thing down upon our heads. He would then float cavalierly away down the river. We were trapped.
I think even Holmes was momentarily confounded as to the next course of action. Fortunately for us, the brave Shinwell Johnson had no such doubts. With a roar, the man ran as fast as he could in the direction of the anchored boat, whose cabin was plunged in darkness. A solitary man, his head covered by a dark hood, could be seen hunched behind the gunwale on the stern. It took mere seconds for Johnson to reach the edge of the bridge, and he then threw himself off into space. I watched with amazement as he sailed through the air with a grace I thought little possible given his massive frame. His momentum and leap were not quite sufficient to carry him as far as the boat itself, but that did not seem to be his goal. For he reached out and, with his large hands, grabbed the trailing cable itself. This had the effect of ripping a small box from the grasp of the man on the boat, while the cable, detonator, and Johnson himself proceeded to sink beneath the white swirls of the waters.
I moved to help him, but Holmes forestalled me. “No, Watson!” he cried. “Johnson can hang onto the cable until the others pull him out.”
“What of Mortlock? He must be on the boat!” I exclaimed, watching as the hooded man cast off his mooring line. “We could stop him!”
Holmes shook his head. “There is no way, Watson. We have no police launch at our disposal. He will be out of our reach in moments. But the gelignite will have a back-up detonator, timed to go off in,” he paused and consulted his watch, “ten minutes.”
“Then there is no time to waste!” I rushed for the slightly closer south tower, where I knew a stairway led to the walkways above our heads. Holmes on my heels, I threw open the door and took the steps two at a time. Fortunately, the task was a lesser one than my frantic climb of the higher Monument, and it took us a matter of only three minutes. As we burst onto the landing of the walkway, I pulled my watch from my pocket. “We have seven minutes, Holmes!” I cried. “We will be there in time!”
Holmes nodded grimly as he pushed past me and strode onto the walkway towards the north tower. “There it is, Watson,” he pointed towards a
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