6 The Twisted Tree

Chapter 6 The Twisted Tree Our former home looked much as it had three years ago, if a great deal tidier. Following an arson attack by Moriarty's gang, Mrs. Hudson and I had decided to redecorate the place in the same style. Holmes was especially pleased to see in their old places the acid-stained table where he once conducted his chemical experiments, and his treasured violin, both of which had survived the fire with minimal damage. Mrs. Hudson was very relieved to see we were safe after our adventure. "I went to it on my knees to make the adjustments, sir, just as you told me," she said, pointing to the wax dummy of my friend. It stood on a small table near the window.

"You did brilliantly, Mrs. Hudson," said Holmes. "Did you see where the bullet went?" "Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has ruined your beautiful sculpture, for it passed right through your head and into the wall behind. I picked up the bullet from the carpet. Here it is." Holmes showed it to me. "A revolver bullet, as you can see, Watson. There's genius in that, for who would expect such a thing to be fired from an air gun?" He bent to examine the bust's forehead. "The old hunter has certainly not lost his eye," he said. "He was the best shot in India, and I expect in London, too."

Mrs. Hudson left us, and we settled into our familiar armchairs by the fire that danced and flickered in the breeze coming through the broken window. "Have you heard of Colonel Moran, Watson?" "No, I haven't." Holmes took down a book from his shelf. "Here we are," he said. "My A to Z of Famous Criminals." He seated himself back in his chair and slowly turned the pages. "My collection of M's is a fine one. As well as Moriarty himself, we have Morgan the poisoner, Meridew the forger, and Mathews, who knocked out my left canine

tooth in the waiting room at Charing Cross. And finally, we have the man of the hour..." He handed the book to me, and I read the entry under Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. He had been born in London, the son of a high-ranking politician. He was educated at Eton and Oxford and served with distinction in the British Indian Army on a number of campaigns. "This is astonishing," I said, handing back the book. "The man was from a wealthy, privileged background. He had a first-rate education and was a brave soldier. What the devil happened to him?" "There are certain trees," said Holmes, "that grow very well up to a certain height, and then develop an ugly twist. You see it occasionally in humans, too. For much of his life, Colonel Moran was a model human being, at least outwardly. But then, for whatever reason, he began to go wrong. "He retired from the army, moved back to London, and embarked on a life of crime. Before long, he came to the attention of Moriarty, who made him his right-hand man. You remember

that day I visited you in April 1890 and I insisted on closing the shutters for fear of air guns? You probably thought I'd gone mad, but I knew Moran was at large, armed with his remarkable gun. "It was because of Moran that I spent all that time away on my travels. So long as he remained at liberty in London, I could never return. The shadow of his gun would have been on me constantly, and sooner or later he would have got his chance.

"While I was in France, I kept in constant touch with the news from London, waiting for an opportunity to rid myself of this shadow. My chance finally came with the death of Ronald Adair. Everything I knew about Moran pointed to him being the murderer. He'd played cards with Adair. He must have followed him home from the club and shot him through the open window. The bullets alone were enough to prove his guilt.