Sherlock Holmes in New York

---

Victoria Docks. London.

On the 19th of March, 1901, where the

iniquitous Professor James Moriarty,

ruler of England's underworld and

veritable Emperor of international crime,

maintains his secret and

impenetrable headquarters...

Ah, Colonel Moran,

you're punctual as usual.

Has everything proceeded

according to schedule?

Indeed it has.

Number ten:

'Moran to Moriarty

with Brackish cigar case

at midnight exactly.'

Perfect!

With one exception...

A trifle one, perhaps.

But I simply do not happen to be

Colonel Moran.

Sherlock Holmes?

At your service.

I can well imagine the profundity of your

disappointment, Professor Moriarty.

And you cannot fail to realise that

there can only be one explanation

for my having successfully penetrated

the most carefully concealed lodgings

in the whole of London.

I observe your choice of decorations

is fully as disagreeable

as your choice of profession.

Where's Colonel Moran?

In custody.

As are Quint, Adelspait,

Stryker and Nickers.

In short, Professor, your

entire organisation here in Britain

is now occupying cells

in Bow Street police station,

and the assassination of

Lord Brackish has failed.

Damn and blast you for

the meddle of the charge, sir.

With your West End ways,

talking down your upper-class nose

and only happy when you're

dressing up as someone else

as though life was

some schoolboy lark.

Blast you, Holmes!

Blast ya!

I suggest you attempt

to get a hold of yourself.

Your rage is beginning to

affect your speech.

Did you come alone tonight?

Since you ask,

yes.

I thought as much.

I know your methods by now.

Your inability to resist the

tour-de-force,

the coup de grace.

The necessity of nourishing your ego,

unassisted.

Atrocious.

Along with your French.

Yes, well my only regret is

I must leave alone.

Your cohorts refused to implicate you,

and Colonel Moran

fears for his life to do so.

But, be warned, Professor,

your people have been captured

and you are alone.

Alone and helpless!

And I will have you yet!

Mr Holmes,

your interference in my affairs

has gradually grown

from mild annoyance to

insufferable impertinence.

Tonight's actions have finally

rendered you intolerable to me.

Really?

Only tonight?

You've been intolerable to me

much longer than that!

Would you be good enough to observe...

This.

And this.

This.

Not to mention, this.

Mr Holmes, there are more than

a dozen ways to kill a man in this room.

And that trapdoor into the Thames

will remove all traces of

the man's ever having been here.

Do you wonder why I haven't employed

any of these devices against you?

Well, it's not for want of trying.

No.

It's because they don't suit me.

I will destroy you,

but in my fashion.

Will you?

Yes.

I'm going to crush you

so that your humiliation and downfall

will be witnessed by the entire world.

How fascinating.

And just how do you propose to do that?

The crime of the century,

the past century

and all the centuries to come

is in preparation.

It will go forward as planned,

despite the temporary set-back

your interference has caused me.

It will go forward.

It will take place.

And, Mr Holmes, it will take place

before your very eyes

and you'll be powerless to prevent it.

The world will gape

at its immensity.

And when the world discovers

it occurred within arm's length

of the incomparable Sherlock Holmes,

the world will sneer,

the world will ridicule.

The world will hound you into oblivion.

And that is why I haven't employed any

of the means at my disposal in this room.

I have other plans for you,

Mr Sherlock Holmes.

Have you?

I, on the other hand, have

the same plan I've always had for you.

To see you swing

at the end of a hangman's rope!

And I have no doubt

that mine will be

the plan that prevails.

It's a pity about the chandelier.

It was the only item in the room

that showed the merest modicum of style.

Don't disturb yourself.

I'll show myself out.

Oh, morning, Watson.

Breakfasting?

How'd you work that out, Holmes, eh?

Do you mind awfully, Watson?

You know I have little head for humour

when there's nothing to occupy me

but staring out of rain-streaked windows

at the other side of the street.

It has been three days since I broke

the back of Moriarty's organisation

and there has not been a single letter

or a caller worthy of my attention.

As my official biographer, Watson,

you've precious little with which

to occupy yourself, these days.

You'll soon be afflicted with

the same boredom that I am suffering.

Oh, well, I'm certain things

will change before long, eh, Holmes?

By the 193/

within a fortnight's time you'll

be gettin' a letter from America.

How on earth do you know that?

Stealing a bit of your thunder,

eh, Holmes?

Mystified you, eh?

Thoroughly.

Well, listen to this,

in the theatrical section,

'Our Broadway correspondent reports

that on the 31st of this month

'Daniel Furman's production of Sir Arthur

Pinero's The Second Mrs Tanqueray

'will open at the Empire Theatre

in New York.

'In addition to Mr Kendal, Mr Huntley,

Mr East and Miss Campbell,

'the distinguished cast will include,

in her first non-singin' role...'

Irene Adler.

Dash it all, Holmes.

I was dead set of astonishin' ya.

You have, Watson.

Your ability to extract

the single item of unalloyed interest

from the mass of wordage of The Times

is an extraordinary facility.

She's never failed to send you

first night tickets, eh, Holmes?

Never.

Always row B, seats five and seven.

For the last nine seasons.

One of these days we must find ourselves

in those seats, eh, Watson?

Ho-ho!

- They've gone begging far too long.

Come in.

The post has just come.

- Thank you, Mrs Hudson.

Er, could I make you some hot tea?

Yes, and a slice or two of that gammon

if there's any left.

Watson,

you must apologise

to the trans-Atlantic mail

as your estimate of a fortnight lacks

thirteen days of proving itself accurate.

Row B, as usual, eh Holmes?

Seats Fi...

Holmes, what is it?

Well, that's a rum 'un, eh Holmes?

Whatever'd she tear 'em up like that?

Watson, there's not a moment to lose.

We must set out for New York

this very day.

Engage passage immediately.

- Yes, yes, at once.

Waterloo station, driver! We've

forty minutes to catch the boat train.

I am trying

to connect two events

that, by all sense and logic,

cannot be connected.

Truly a futile exercise.

Well, what are they?

My conversation with Moriarty,

three nights ago,

and the receipts of those shredded

theatre tickets, this morning.

How could the one have the

remotest connection with the other?

I don't know, Watson.

I don't know.

And, yet, if I were Moriarty,

and my one unwavering determination

the destruction of Sherlock Holmes,

I would expend every effort

at my command to seek out the...

single, the only chink in his armour,

however small it may be,

and once I had found it,

if it exists at all,

it is there I should thrust with all

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