5 Journey to Switzerland

Chapter 5 Journey to Switzerland We reached Brussels that evening and spent Sunday there before moving on to Strasbourg. On Monday morning, Holmes telegraphed the London police. We found a reply waiting for us at our hotel in the evening. Holmes tore it open and quickly read it. Then, with a bitter curse, he hurled it into the fire. "I might have guessed," he groaned. "He's escaped!" "Moriarty?" Holmes nodded. "They've caught the whole gang except for him. He gave them the slip. Of course, once I left the country, there was no one remaining who could cope with him. But I thought I'd handed him to them on a plate... I think you'd better return to England, Watson."

"Why?" "Because you'll find it dangerous to remain in my company now. Remember: This man has lost everything. His entire organization is destroyed. If I know anything about his character, he'll be determined to take his revenge on me. He said as much at our meeting, and I'm sure he meant it. I suggest you leave here first thing tomorrow."

"Holmes," I said. "You may know Moriarty, but you don't know me if you think I'm going to abandon you in your hour of greatest need." Holmes smiled. "Are you sure I can't persuade you, Watson?" "You'd be wasting your breath, old friend." The next ten days were among the most memorable of my life. We wandered up the Rhone Valley before branching off at Leukerbad. From here, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass, which was still deep in snow, then journeyed to Interlaken and finally to Meiringen.

The views were stunning. I shall never forget the stark beauty of the snow-covered peaks, nor the vivid green of spring in the valleys. Holmes, too, seemed moved by the scenery, yet he was never able to relax entirely, and I could tell that the shadow of his enemy was ever- present at the back of his mind. In the peaceful Alpine villages or the lonely mountain passes, he was always watchful, his quick eyes examining every passing face. He seemed convinced that however far we walked, we could never walk ourselves clear of the danger that dogged our footsteps. On one occasion, we were hiking over the Gemmi Pass, above the banks of Daubensee Lake, when a large rock fell off the ridge on our

right. It clattered down onto the track behind us and plunged into the lake. If we had been just ten paces back, we would have been directly in its path. Immediately, Holmes raced up onto the ridge. Standing on a lofty crag, he craned his neck in every direction, searching for the person who might have dislodged the boulder. Our guide tried to assure him that rock falls were common in this area at this time of year. Holmes didn't look convinced. Yet for all his watchfulness, my friend was never gloomy. In fact, I'd rarely seen him so full of hope and optimism. "If I can just rid this

world of Moriarty, I'll happily retire from crime fighting," he told me one evening. "Of course, if I died tonight, I could still be reasonably satisfied with my life's work. London is a safer place than it was. Yet I would dearly love to crown my career with the capture or destruction of the most dangerous man in Europe."