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The Mandala of Sherlock Holmes - Jamyang Norbu [88]

By Root 480 0
savage tweak.

'Yeow!'

While I rubbed my poor nose, Moriarty leaned back on his chair and resumed his boasting speech.

'Awesome as the force I have just demonstrated may seem to you, it is nevertheless subject to the laws of nature and the cosmos, and thus inherently limited. Others, though only a few, possess such powers as mine. But there is a way to increase its strength — a hundred fold, a thousand fold — and I have, at long last, found the way.'

He raised a finger. As if at a command the scroll on the desk unrolled itself and lay flat on the surface.

'And this will lead me to it.' He pointed to the circular geometrical painting, its colours gleaming like living rainbows under his deathly white finger. 'And only I will be the master of it. This time none of those weak-minded lamas with their tiresome pieties will be permitted to come between me and my destiny.'

As Moriarty ended his mad diatribe, the yelling of the mob outside became distinctively louder; suddenly the window on his side, behind the guard, exploded, as a rock smashed through it and flew into the room. By Jove! The demonstrators were shying missiles in retaliation to the shooting. The guard turned around in surprise.

Mr Holmes did not hesitate to seize this opportune moment. He leaped forward and fisted the cad soundly on the side of his head. It was a well-executed and powerful blow — obviously Sherlock Holmes was fully versed in the manly art of pugilism —for the guard was effectively incapacitated by that single cuff.

The speed of my own reflexes were not very much behind those of Mr Holmes. My many experiences in various ticklish situations had honed my reactions to a fine edge; and anyhow, fear is always a powerful goad to speedy action. Such is the tremendous galvanic force of the trained human reflex, that before I had even conceived a thought of assailing my foes, my fingers were already curling around the base of the shining lampion on the small table by my side. And before Moriarty could have any idea of what I was up to, I had picked it up and hurled it straight at him.

Unfortunately, I missed. I was a good three feet off the mark. The lamp flewpast the villain and struck the wall behind, and fell broken on the floor. He didn't even flinch, just looked directiy at me with those terrifying eyes. I was, I will admit, a trifle abashed by this turn of events.

'I should opine that the damaged article was not particularly valuable . . . ' I said, rather sheepishly.

'Silence, fool!' he snarled, the veins on his bulging forehead twisting and jerking in an appalling fashion.'Did you think to save your miserable skin by such a pitiful trick?'

He raised his hands as if to deliver another one of his horrible spells, while I stood there helpless as a frog before a cobra. But then I noticed a flickering glow behind him, and suddenly the Professor was jumping about, screaming like a lunatic. The glow became brighter to reveal the flames devouring the edge of his robe and the carpeted floor, where the oil from the broken lamp had spilled and ignited.

'But quick man,' Holmes shouted. 'Run!'

I did not hesitate but made straight for the door, followed by Sherlock Holmes. I came to the ante-chamber and would have carried on running through the front door — and into goodness knows what other dangers — but was opportunely seized by the shoulders by Mr Holmes's strong hand and propelled to the window by which we had earlier effected ingress, and quickly bundled out through it. Without pausing for thought or circumspection, I sped on through the courtyard, once colliding with and overturning a pile of boxes, till I reached the back wall, where I frantically searched for the small door.

'Here, Hurree,' whispered Holmes, opening the small barred door. Oh, blessed relief.

We got to the other side with no further problems. We ran through the alleyway and up to the front of the inn where Kintup was waiting for us with our ponies. We rode swiftly away from that awful place, the drumming of our horses' hooves drowning the dying clamour of the mob.

1. Lurgan's

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