The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(73)
“Well, I didn’t mean to make things difficult for others. I just wanted to prove to a headstrong young lady that I would go to any lengths to win her heart,” said Murray, smiling significantly at Emma. “In any event, whilst I am flattered that you wished to meet me, I can assure you that my desire to meet you was greater still. My humble exploit will soon be forgotten. But you . . . you are the creator of Sherlock Holmes. Who could ever forget that?”
“I can vouch for Monty’s sincerity,” Emma spoke up. “He is positively bewitched by the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Doyle. I am convinced no other woman will ever steal his affection, but that detective of yours has already succeeded.”
“Then I rejoice all the more for having pitched him into the Reichenbach Falls. I consider it a crime for any man to ignore such beautiful ladies as yourselves even for a minute,” Doyle replied gallantly, also smiling at Jane.
And while the two women thanked him for the compliment, Wells smiled to himself contentedly at this cheerful bandying among his friends. As he had suspected, two men as alike as Murray and Doyle couldn’t help but get along from the first.
“You are right, it is unforgivable,” Murray agreed. “A beautiful lady should be refused nothing, don’t you agree?”
“Quite so,” Doyle hurriedly concurred.
“Even if she asked you to bring Sherlock Holmes back to life?”
Doyle laughed at Murray’s retort.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t oblige her there,” he lamented. “Holmes is dead and gone. Nobody could survive such a fall without undermining the plausibility of the story.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” replied Murray. “It might be possible.”
“Really? How?” Doyle asked with an amused curiosity. “How would you go about convincing readers that Holmes could survive a fall of over eight hundred feet?”
“Oh, there is no way anyone could survive such a fall,” replied Murray. “In fact, ever since I read ‘The Final Problem’ I have been pondering how Holmes might have avoided his tragic fate, for I didn’t want to believe you had killed him off. An extraordinary man like Holmes couldn’t die. And, believe it or not, during the past seven years I’ve turned my search for a solution into something of a hobby. I’ve even visited the falls to see the scene for myself. And, much to my regret, as I stood flattened against the rocks, arms folded, watching the water tumble into the chasm below, as if I wanted to re-create Watson’s last image of Holmes, I had to admit nobody could survive such a terrifying drop. Until I realized that Holmes hadn’t plunged into the falls.”
Doyle, who up until then had been nodding with quiet amusement at each of Murray’s words, suddenly raised his eyebrows.
“What do you mean? Of course he plunged into the falls!”
Murray wagged his head with a mischievous grin.
“That’s what Watson believes,” he explained. “But what if he didn’t? Remember, there were no witnesses. When Watson goes back to the falls after realizing Moriarty had deceived him, all he found was Holmes’s walking stick, a farewell note, and two sets of footprints leading up to the edge of the abyss, which led him to deduce that both the detective and his archenemy had plunged to their deaths. But suppose that during the struggle Holmes, using his knowledge of jujitsu or Japanese wrestling, had managed to prize himself loose, so that Professor Moriarty alone fell into the chasm? Then, realizing fate had given him the opportunity to stage his own death and hunt down his remaining enemies, Holmes scrambled up the rock face to avoid leaving any tracks that might make Watson suspect that the best and wisest man it had been his honor to know had cheated Death.
Doyle’s face appeared to crumple.
“An excellent solution, Mr. Gilmore,” he admitted, once he had overcome his astonishment. “I have to confess that would be a fairly realistic way of saving Holmes, although the Japanese wrestling doesn’t convince me much.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Murray rejoiced. “Now you can correct the big mistake you made when you killed him off and carry on writing his adventures.”
“I wouldn’t call it a big mistake. As I’m sure you realize, I didn’t slay Holmes so I could bring him back to life, but to rid myself of him once and for all. That accursed detective eclipsed the rest of my work, preventing it from achieving greater literary recognition.”
Even as he spoke, Doyle did his best not to show his annoyance, although Wells, who had noticed his efforts, was beginning to worry about the turn the conversation was taking. It seemed Murray had finally met an author who was unimpressed by his unbridled honesty, and his millionaire status, and what would have made Wells rejoice under different circumstances now had the opposite effect on him.
“I always thought that it was the readers who decided what place an author should occupy in literature rather than the author himself.” Murray grinned. “You have deprived them of their monthly enjoyment, and in some cases possibly their sole reason for getting up in the morning, apparently without the slightest remorse. Not that I don’t blame you: writers tend to be oblivious to the spell they create, and I am sure you thought that what you were hurling into the falls was no more than a fictional creature, a handful of words, not a person who for many readers had become as real as their own brother or cousin.”