The Holmes-Dracula File, Fred Saberhagen [pride and prejudice read .TXT] 📗

than just a matter of the man escaping an arrest for gambling, or anything of that kind. I believe, Watson, that this fellow was actually the Thames-side murderer.”

   “What has caused you to believe that?”

   “Well, one has friends, you know. And some of mine have friends at Scotland Yard. Do you deny that you helped him to get out?”

   “No, I do not. But I do offer you my solemn word, gentlemen, that my intentions were of the best. If you will not accept my unsupported word, I suggest that you ask Mr. Sherlock Holmes about the matter when he awakens.”

   Seward blinked at me. “But the landlady said—”

   “She had her orders from me. Last night I felt it my duty as Mr. Holmes’ physician to administer a sedative.”

   My old acquaintance shook his head, expressing what was evidently a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and relief. He removed his eyeglasses and polished them and put them back. “Look here, Watson—if you say it’s all square, what you were doing there at Barley’s—what we thought we saw you doing, I mean—oh, dash it all, that’s good enough for me. I’ve no real head for these detective investigations and intrigues anyway. What do you say, Arthur?”

   His Lordship, also looking relieved, muttered something in the way of an agreement. When my visitors had taken the chairs I now made haste to offer them, and had courteously declined my offers of refreshment, Seward went on to inquire: “Now—I trust you will not think it unethical of me to ask—but I hope there is nothing seriously wrong with Mr. Holmes? If there is, it will give cause for rejoicing to the criminal element in this country—in all of Europe—but it will be a sad day for the rest of us.”

   “I...” I rubbed my forehead, not knowing what course I ought to take. “I have given some thought to consulting a specialist on his behalf.”

   Lord Godalming stood up. “It was most pleasant to see you again, Dr. Watson. Jack, I think I shall just be on my way, and leave the matters medical, if there are to be any, to you two.”

   I bade His Lordship good-bye. Then, as soon as we were alone, Seward said to me gravely: “I of course stand ready to listen at any time, on a professional and confidential basis, should you desire to consult with me.”

   With some reluctance I began to set forth, in a stumbling fashion, my growing concern for my friend’s sanity. Besides my reluctance, there was the real difficulty of my not daring to reveal, even under the cloak of professional secrecy, the terrible threat of plague hanging over London.

   I began: “There is a case Holmes has presently under investigation—I had better say several connected cases—of an importance transcending anything that has come before them in his career.”

   “Ah.” Seward was naturally impressed. “And you feel the extraordinary strain is telling on him?”

   “Yes.”

   “How close to a solution would you say he is, in this intricate problem? Or is it more than one problem that affects him? I fear I did not take your meaning on that point very clearly.”

   “And I am afraid that I cannot be plainer, even in a medical consultation.”

   He gave me a sharp look, then shrugged. “Well, if you cannot. What symptoms precisely does he exhibit?”

   Some time passed before I struggled out with it, or tried to. “There is one of the men involved... a fugitive... Holmes has become dreadfully obsessed with this individual’s identity.”

   “Surely it is a detective’s business to ascertain that?”

   “I see I am expressing myself badly. Holmes has solemnly assured me, more than once, that this man—it is the very one I unwittingly helped at Barley’s—is a—a type of supernatural being.”

   “The man at Barley’s—I see.” Seward leaned back in his chair, looking grave. “By the way, I have heard that the girl arrested there has lately been severely injured. Do not think, Watson, that I am going too far afield in asking these questions. They have a bearing on the nature of Mr. Holmes’ difficulty.”

   “No doubt they do.” Holmes had asked that Sally Craddock’s death be kept a secret, so far as possible. “But had I not better first describe the patient’s condition?”

   “Of course, if you wish. Precisely what type of supernatural being does Mr. Holmes imagine this fugitive to be?”

   I had to come out with it at last. “A vampire.”

   Seward looked so grave* at this that my spirits, which had begun to rise at the prospect of acquiring an ally, were crushed again. He asked: “What turn have his investigations taken, to put such an idea into his head?”

   * Those readers who have seen my own recent account of my London visit in 1891, or my enemies’ old distorted record of the same events, will have already recognized Dr. Seward and Lord Godalming, as two of my opponents on that occasion. The existence of vampires would therefore have been no news to either man in 1897—though, being jealous of their own reputations for sanity, they were not likely to discuss their knowledge with outsiders. And whether Seward first conceived the possibility that I was still alive and back in London during this talk with Watson, or at some other moment, it must have struck him like a red-hot lash. —D.

   “I repeat, I cannot discuss them—I could not, even to save his sanity. You consider, then, that delusions regarding vampires are particularly morbid?”

   “I consider that it may be very difficult to save his sanity, unless I know what threatens it. At the same time I must of course respect your decision regarding the relative importance of matters of which I know nothing.”

   “I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot. Holmes should awaken soon, if you would care to—”

   “No, Watson, I think not. I should prefer that he not discover just yet that you have been