“Can’t you tell the police about the threat?” I asked.

“It wouldn’t help,” Holmes replied. “Moriarty won’t attack me himself. That’s not his style. The real danger comes from his agents. In fact, the danger is already here,” he said, showing me his injured hand.

“You’ve been attacked already?” I asked.

Holmes nodded. “Moriarty is not someone who wastes time. I went out around noon to do some shopping on Oxford Street. As I was crossing Welbeck Street, a two-horse van came speeding toward me. I jumped out of the way just in time. If my reflexes had been even a bit slower, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

“Goodness, Holmes! That’s awful! Did you get a look at the van or the driver?”

He shook his head. “It turned the corner onto Marylebone Road and disappeared quickly.”

“You’ll have to be very careful until these men are arrested,” I advised.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Holmes. “Less than half an hour after the van incident, while I was walking along Vere Street, a brick fell from a roof and shattered at my feet. I quickly called the police, and together we went to the house to check the roof.

“We found a pile of slate tiles and bricks up there, which were supposed to be for repairs. The workers said the wind must have caused the brick to fall. But there wasn’t a breath of wind up there, Watson. I knew something was off, but I couldn’t prove it.

“I decided to finish my journey by cab. Instead of going home to Baker Street, I went to my brother Mycroft’s place in Pall Mall, where I stayed for the rest of the day. On my way here to see you this evening, I was attacked by a thug with a club. I managed to fight him off, though I scraped my knuckles in the process. He’s now in a cell at the local police station, but he won’t say anything about who hired him. There will be no link found between him and our former professor of mathematics.”

“Now you understand why I closed the shutters as soon as I entered your rooms? It’s the same reason I asked if I could leave by a less noticeable route than the front door.”

I have always admired my friend’s bravery, but never more than that evening as I listened to him calmly recount his frightening day.

“You should spend the night here,” I suggested.

“Not a good idea,” he replied. “You might find me a dangerous guest. My plans are set and everything is ready. I don’t need to be around when the arrests happen. The best thing I can do now is leave the country for a few days and let the police handle it. I would appreciate your company, Watson, if you can join me.”

“My medical practice is quiet right now,” I said. “I’d be happy to come with you.”

“Could you leave tomorrow morning?” he asked.

“If needed,” I replied.

“Excellent! Listen carefully to these instructions, and please follow them exactly. You are now part of a dangerous situation with the most clever and powerful criminal gang in Europe. Tonight, pack your bags and have them sent, without any address, to Victoria Station. Tomorrow morning at quarter to nine, have your servant call a hansom cab. Don’t take the first cab that arrives, nor the second, but the third one. Take this cab to the Lowther Arcade.

“Have your money ready to pay the driver. As soon as the cab stops, jump out and hurry through the arcade. Aim to reach the other end by quarter past nine. There, you will find a small carriage waiting for you at the street edge. The driver will be wearing a heavy black coat with a red collar. He will take you to Victoria in time for the Continental Express.”

“Where will I meet you?” I asked.

“On the train,” Holmes replied. “I’ll be in the second first-class carriage from the front. I’ve booked a compartment for us.”

I suggested Holmes stay at my place for the night instead of risking going back to his own rooms. He refused, worried about the danger to me. He reviewed the plan for the next day once more, then left and walked out into the garden.

From the back door, I watched him climb over the wall onto Mortimer Street and whistle for a hansom cab. I soon heard the cab’s horse hooves clopping away as it took him home.

“Stay safe, old friend,” I whispered, closing and locking the door.

I followed Sherlock Holmes’s instructions exactly. The next morning, I took the third hansom that arrived and went to Lowther Arcade. I ran as fast as I could to the end of the arcade where, as Holmes had said, a carriage was waiting. I climbed in, and the driver, a tall man in a dark cloak with a red collar, quickly took off for Victoria Station. When we arrived, he immediately urged his horse to leave and didn’t look back.

My bags were already at the station, and I easily found the compartment on the train that Holmes had booked. Everything had gone smoothly so far, but now I was anxious because Holmes had not yet arrived.

The station clock showed that there were only seven minutes left before the train was set to depart. I searched the hallway and other compartments. There were tourists, businesspeople, and even an elderly Italian priest, but no sign of Sherlock Holmes. I began to worry. Had Moriarty’s agents managed to reach him during the night?

The Italian priest was trying to explain to the porter, in his broken English, that he was going to Paris and needed his bags sent there, too. The porter couldn’t understand, so I stepped in to help translate, all while keeping an eye on the time. I made another round of the carriage, but still couldn’t find Holmes. When I returned to my compartment, I found the old Italian priest sitting there by mistake. The porter had sent him to the wrong compartment, and I struggled to explain the mix-up since my Italian was as poor as his English.

Finally, I gave up and continued my search for Holmes. I looked out the window, hoping to see him running toward the train, but the platform was empty. The departure time had arrived. The doors were shut, and the guard blew his whistle. The train started to move slowly along the tracks.

I sat back in my seat, closing my eyes in worry. This must mean the worst had happened—Moriarty’s agents had caught him!

Then I heard a familiar voice: “My dear Watson, you haven’t even wished me a good morning.”

My eyes flew open in surprise. The old priest seemed to shed his wrinkles, revealing the familiar, lean face of Sherlock Holmes.

“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “It’s you!” Anger surged through me as he smiled. “Holmes, this isn’t funny! I thought something terrible had happened to you!”

“I’m sorry, Watson,” he said, looking out the window. “I couldn’t risk being seen as myself. My enemies are still after me.” He pointed. “Look, there’s Moriarty himself.”

I glanced back to see a tall man rushing along the platform, waving his arms as if trying to stop the train. He was too late, though; we were speeding away, and moments later, we had left the station behind.

“We’ve escaped just in time,” said Holmes, removing his fake moustache and priest’s hat, and putting them away.

“Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?” he asked.

“I didn’t have time.”

“You haven’t heard about Baker Street?”

“Baker Street?”

“They set fire to our old rooms last night.”

“They didn’t!” I exclaimed in shock. I had many fond memories of 221B Baker Street, where I had lived with Holmes before moving to Kensington. “How is Mrs. Hudson?” I asked anxiously.

“She’s unharmed, thankfully,” said Holmes.

“Was there much damage?”

“Fortunately, not much. A few of my books were singed, but that’s all. Furniture, wallpaper, carpets, and curtains can all be replaced.”

“Oh, Holmes, this is awful!”

“Look on the bright side,” Holmes said with a smile. “If they wanted to kill me, they must have lost my trail completely. Otherwise, they’d know I was staying at Mycroft’s last night.”

“So, how did Moriarty know we’d be at Victoria?”

“He must have been watching you,” Holmes replied. “Did you follow my instructions this morning?”

“To the letter.”

“And did you find the carriage?”

“Yes, it was waiting just as you said.”

“And did you recognize the driver?” Holmes asked.

“No.”

“It was my brother, Mycroft. Sometimes, Watson, it’s invaluable to have the support of family and friends.”

He smiled warmly at me. “Now, what are we going to do about Moriarty?”

“I don’t think we need to worry too much,” I said. “This is an express train, and it connects directly with the ship. We’ll be safely in France before he can catch us.”

“My dear Watson, you must remember that Moriarty is my intellectual equal. I wouldn’t simply give up when faced with a challenge like this.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

Holmes tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’d arrange for a special train.”

“That might be a bit late now, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. This train will stop at Canterbury, and there’s usually a delay of at least fifteen minutes in Dover before the ship sails. Moriarty could catch us there.”

“Why not just have him arrested at Dover?”

“That would ruin three months of work. We might catch the big fish, but the smaller ones would escape.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“We’ll get off at Canterbury, travel to Newhaven, and cross to Dieppe from there. Moriarty will head to Paris, find our bags, and wait for us to claim them. Meanwhile, we’ll buy a couple of carpet-bags, get some clothes, and make our way to Switzerland.”

As we got off at Canterbury, I looked sadly at the disappearing luggage van, thinking of my belongings now heading for Paris. Holmes tugged at my sleeve.

“Look already!” he said, pointing up the line.

In the distance, a thin plume of smoke rose from the forest. An engine and carriage sped by, barely giving us time to hide behind a pile of bags as it roared past, blasting hot air into our faces.

“There goes Moriarty!” said Holmes.

“What would he have done if he’d caught us at Dover?” I asked.

“He’d have tried to kill me, I suppose. But the more pressing question now, Watson, is whether we should have an early lunch here or risk starving before we find a café in Newhaven.”

We arrived in Brussels that evening and spent Sunday there before heading to Strasbourg. On Monday morning, Holmes sent a telegram to the London police. We received a reply at our hotel that evening. Holmes ripped it open, read it quickly, and then, with a frustrated curse, threw it into the fire.

“I should have known,” he muttered. “He’s escaped!”