Sunday 2 February 2014

PROLOGUE

That night will always be etched in my memory. It was the night when for the first and the last time in my life I doubted the predicament of my friend and partner in crime James Moriarty.

It was the night when we would murder Mr. Henry Baskerville. The trap was set and the ball already in motion. Mr. Henry was dining in Merripit House. Jim and I waited outside to witness the crime that we had hatched. After all, there is no greater reward than to see your creation with your own eyes.

We waited for Mr. Henry. I was reminded of my time as a shikari in the jungles of Hindusthan. I would tie a goat to a tree and wait for the tiger to pounce on the bait. One shot. That was all that was required to put an end to the man eater. But tonight I would have to content myself by watching the act. I was not to play an active role or so I thought.

It was then that I so the wagonette stop at the gates of Merripit House. Three men got out of it.

“Ah! Our friends have arrived for the party!” remarked Moriarty with a smile.

“Shouldn’t we warn, Rodger.’

“Of course not. Why worry the old fellow unnecessarily? I assure you, Seb, everything shall go according to my plan."

 I watched with baited breath as the three men passed our hiding place and went to the House. They stopped two hundred yards before the House. Then one of them, whom I later learned was Dr. Watson, went to survey the house. All this time Moriarty waited in silence not making a move. Then suddenly, I saw why he was not worried. The fog was setting in. Holmes and party had to withdraw due to the advancing fog. In another five minutes, Mr. Henry would be completely under the mercy of the hound. That was when I felt something cold in my hand. Moriarty pushed a pistol in my hand and whispered a command into my ears. I was shell shocked.

“But that will ruin everything. What about the effort we put in to create the myth? Besides, Holmes will know of our presence.” I said in protest.

“Just do as I say. Shoot when Holmes shoots. That will conceal our presence. But what about the extra bullet?”

“One of them is bound to miss.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Ever heard of probability and statistics?”

“This is not a lecture class, professo-“

Our argument was cut short by the sound of gunfire which was followed by a howl of pain from the poor creature. The time for arguments had passed. I was to decide the fate of this crime. I aimed my pistol at the target’s head. The hound had pounced on Mr. Henry. In another moment it will bury its fangs into his neck. Holmes was too far to interfere. Our plan could succeed. No one would know of our presence. But my army training got the better of me. In the army, we did as our superior ordered us. No questions were asked. My finger pulled the trigger even before I realized. The bullet hit the hound on the head. The noise merging with the gunfire that Holmes unleashed upon the dead creature. Now you may think that by losing my aim, I had unwittingly saved the life of the man we intended to kill. But the truth was far from it. My aim was accurate. I had hit my target. Moriarty wanted the hound dead.

But why did he want the hound dead? Why did he ruin his own plot?

[To be continued…]




AUTHOR'S NOTE

“The crimes of great criminals go unpunished but the crimes of the greatest go unnoticed.”
                                                                                  -Moriarty


Life is full of ironies. Why else should I, Sebastian Moran, be serving a sentence for the murder of that nincompoop Ronald Adair, when Sherlock Holmes walks scot free after murdering the greatest mind of our times? The public has been showering adulation on Mr. Holmes after reading the stories of his faithful friend Dr. Watson. As a trusted friend of Moriarty, I therefore find it my duty to reveal the genius of my dear friend. What better way to do so other than by narrating how Moriarty committed a crime right under the nose of Mr. Holmes? The case of The Hound of Baskervilles may still be fresh in public memory. I myself refer to it as The Haunt of Baskervilles for it was our first case together and was memorable for the visit of Rodger Baskerville and his wife to our humble quarters at Conduit Street.

Yours Sincerely,
Sebastian Moran