“To be fair, Paxton, “said Holmes, “I actually admire your theories.”
“Your insincere flattery is pathetic. You don’t even know my work.”
“I refer to your monograph on the mating calls of blue whales, your monograph on inter-species communication of sea mammals, your monograph on instinctual memory in dolphins, your monograph detailing—”
“I am most impressed, Mr Holmes, I see I have misjudged you.”
“It’s not your theories I quarrel with, doctor, it’s your methods.”
“Sadly, they are necessary to further my work.”
“The animal …” said Holmes.
“The animal, as you call her,” said Paxton, “is my affair, and one I choose not to discuss with outsiders.”
“Then allow me,” said Holmes, “this creature, whom Watson and I just witnessed, is a giant squid. It was long thought to be a legend, one that dates back to antiquity. For millennia, routinely dismissed as being the disturbed visions of intoxicated sailors. All that changed seven years ago, in 1888, when the carcass of just such a giant squid, washed up on a beach in New Zealand. Needless to say, it was quite celebrated news, not only in the scientific world, but internationally. However, a live one has never even been photographed, let alone captured. It is nothing less than a discovery of monumental and historic proportions.”
“You are correct,” said Paxton.
“You’ve had him for only two months,” said Holmes.
“How on earth did you know that?” asked Paxton.
“The local fishermen,” replied Holmes, “where you only recently increased your demand for their services. The amounts of fish you’ve been purchasing is not commensurate with the seals, dolphins, and others in your sea menagerie.”
“Yes,” said Paxton, “by my estimation, she eats at least five hundred pounds of fish a day.”
“Perhaps you should amend that statement. As of late, the creature has been dining on a more varied diet of beef, by way of the livestock you’ve been clandestinely abducting from the local farmers. Then there’s the matter of the occasional human being, as well, such as Mr Harris and now this man, a recluse from the nearby hills, no doubt.”
“You claim to know my work,” said Paxton, “yet you fail to understand what a true pioneer and visionary must endure. What I have done will alter the course of modern marine biology. But before I reveal her to the world, she must be studied, tested—”
“And fed human sacrifices.” said Holmes.
“What is the loss of a few peasants in the name of science? Future generations will revere my name as the man who brought the feared Leviathan of the bible to humanity. Now then, Holmes, I suggest that you and your friend relinquish your firearms.”
Before Holmes could respond, a voice behind us said, “I have a gun trained at your backs. Do not turn around. Obey the doctor.”
Holmes let the revolver fall from his hand, as I did the same with mine.
“Gentlemen,” said Paxton, “may I introduce my man, Gregory. When running an operation of this size and complexity, I cannot stress the importance of having enough good help. Now then, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, will there be any further questions?”
“I have one,” I said, “How did you, in fact, capture this creature?”
“Sarah, for that is her name,” said Paxton, with an expression on his face I’ve seen on men extolling the virtues of their wives or mistresses, “came to me entirely by chance. This grotto has an opening that leads to the ocean.”
“Originally used to escape from invading Norsemen, then later used by smugglers,” said Holmes.
“Is there anything that you don’t know?” asked Paxton.
“Now it is you who flatter me, Doctor,” said Holmes.
“To continue,” said Paxton, “I have modified the cave opening with a door that opens and closes, remarkably quickly, I might add, using a mechanism of springs and pulleys. I open it slightly, once a day, to allow seawater to cleanse the grotto. In any case, I had baited a trap with fish, hoping to ensnare dolphins and seals—which I eventually did. But then I had the idea to set my sights on a whale.
“Instead, one night, to my extreme surprise and elation, I found this marvellous behemoth instead.” Paxton looked at Holmes and myself, and smiled. “Story time is over, gentlemen, and dinner time commences.”
I saw Holmes turn, duck, and pounce upon the assailant behind us. He subdued the man with a roundhouse punch to the jaw, knocking him cold. I grabbed our revolvers. Then Holmes and I faced our opponents once more.
“It seems that we’re at that impasse again,” said Paxton, “rather like a tedious game of badminton.”
Just then I heard footsteps. Paxton and his two men turned as I leapt and pulled the bound man toward us.
Lestrade and Dunbar appeared, with pistols drawn.
“It’s about time, Lestrade,” said Holmes, “how much did you hear?”
“Enough to be satisfied that Edmund Collier is innocent of the murder of Alvar Harris,” replied Lestrade. He turned to Paxton and his men. “Hands up, please. You will be so kind as to accompany us.”
“But what will become of Sarah?” asked Paxton.
“The monster will be turned over to the Regent Aquarium, no doubt,” said Lestrade.
“No, I cannot allow that!” Paxton roared. “That pack of imbeciles will not get my Sarah.” With that he took a step.
“Don’t move,” said Lestrade, brandishing his gun.
Paxton looked away, then abruptly ran past Lestrade. As he did, Lestrade discharged his revolver, hitting Paxton in the leg. Paxton stopped, clutched his wound, then reached out to the cave wall, on which were a series of levers. He pulled one down and we heard loud echoing noises throughout the cavern.
“He’s opened the door!” exclaimed Holmes.
“No one shall have my Sarah,” declared Paxton, looking as if he were in a trance.
“Come along now,” said Lestrade, “the hangman’s noose awaits you.”
“I shall not be punished for my genius,” said Paxton, who then ran to the precipice and leapt off it.
I watched in horror as he plunged into the water, then saw a gargantuan yellow eye—twice the size of an archer’s target—peer out from the muck. A mouth from a nightmare opened and issued a roar like thunder as a tentacle wrapped itself around Paxton, and dragged him under the churning depths. More tentacles appeared and flailed about, splashing and crashing, then slid under the water.
All was quiet. Holmes, Lestrade, Dunbar, and Paxton’s men stood silently transfixed. After a few moments, we turned, went into the tunnel, and quietly made our way through it. When we emerged in the forest, there was a police wagon waiting, accompanied by a few sturdy looking men.
“What will you tell the Yard, Lestrade?” asked Holmes.
“Oh,” said Lestrade, still apparently quite shaken, “I…I’ll tell them about the gang of cattle thieves, of course. But what I don’t understand, Holmes, is how you knew that Paxton—?”
“You supplied the photographs, Lestrade, of the tattooed arm. Between the dark circles, which I immediately surmised were the marks of the creature’s suction cups, and the odd angle of the cut…”
“The cut?”
“How the arm had been severed. There were no signs indicating that a saw or similar instrument had been used, nor were