The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free PDF Page B

dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation.

Chapter II - A Most Singular Occurrence
    For years I have tried to fill that void in my life: to turn hollow words back into poetry, the endless droning of orchestras into soft melodies. A bellowing silence grasped the Continent, which still bore the deep invisible scars of the conflict which had taken place between the late Sherlock Holmes and Professor James Moriarty. A great state of mourning had seemingly descended across every nation, yet none appeared aware of the cause behind their sombre disposition. I took to travelling upon the Continent in the hope of discovering some form of salvation. I cannot recall how much time I spent lifelessly drifting from country to country: I could muster no admiration of Vienna; no love or sentiment for the great stream of bridges and waterways in Venice; no sense of grandeur in Rome. All I could see were petty thieves, incapable roughs and despicable orchestrators.
    I often mused to myself which I considered more hateful: a public under the control of Moriarty, or under the brutish control of the inept. For what seemed like an age, I considered the similarities to be found amongst Europe’s criminally mundane, but it was not until I engaged in the study of the faculty that I truly appreciated the outstanding. Although Sherlock Holmes was no longer able to demonstrate those powers which so often astounded me, I decided to imitate his methods to broaden my understandings of the criminal mentality: I observed, I analysed and I deduced the subtleties which set certain crimes apart. Most, of course, were quite un-extraordinary; their lack of imagination and craft merely reflected the tedious routine of the authorities. Both factions had ostensibly agreed to enter into some form of uneasy armistice; neither had the guile or the craftsmanship to continue the struggle which had consumed the lives of the two great adversaries.
    Though I had always admired Holmes’ abilities, I could not help but be struck by the brilliance of Moriarty . To weave such a web, to build such an empire out of almost completely hapless material was an achievement of the ages. As I delved further into the underworld, I wandered in horror as his successors tarnished his once-great empire with their shameful banality.
    I therefore decided to honour the legacy of both men by the best means at my disposal. I made it my purpose to demonstrate the incompetence of both the criminal and the authorities. Why simply rob a person when you can manipulate them: toy with their emotions and find a way to incriminate them . Why must the criminal always be the villain? Perhaps now that I have rebalanced the scales and left the official-forces perplexed in so many of Europe’s great countries, they will finally bow to the wisdom of Sherlock Holmes and seek to broaden their tragically narrow horizons.
    It was in the dawn of 1894 that I found myself embroiled in a case of particular intrigue. My travels had taken me to Montpellier, the capital of the Languedoc-Roussillon region in southern France. It was here,whilst enjoying light refreshment after a visit to the Cathédrale St-Pierre, that I had the misfortune to be introduced to a most ghastly gentleman, Henri de Saint-Hippolyte. His expression was keen yet dim, and his handsome features were somewhat diminished due to the blandness of their regularity. It soon became apparent that he possessed neither talent nor intellect; I have found more charm even from those hopelessly pretentious and insufferable fools found haunting the boulevards of Paris. But, despite my insistence upon the matter, he refused to leave me be until I had accepted an invitation to dine at his estate on Friday evening.
    I could imagine no more dismal an affair, and had no intention of fulfilling such a commitment; that is, until I