Despite the threat of danger from Professor Moriarty, Holmes remained cheerful as we hiked through Switzerland. He kept repeating that if he could rid the world of Moriarty, then he would cheerfully bring his career as a detective to an end.
In one village we stayed overnight at a small hotel run by a man named Peter Steiler. The next day we planned to hike across the hills and spend the night in another village.
Before we set out, Steiler told us to be sure to see the Reichenbach Falls. "You’ll have to make a small detour off the hiking trail," he said, "but the view is well worth the extra effort."
We thanked him and went on our way. As Steiler had promised, the scenery at the falls was spectacular. It was also frightening. Swollen by melting snow, a river plunged into a deep chasm lined with black rocks.
"Let’s walk along the path for a better view." Holmes pointed ahead of us. "It seems to go around the falls."
On one side a cliff towered above us, while the falls churned and boomed below us on the other side. "Be careful, the path is very narrow," I said.
We had stopped about halfway around the falls when Holmes spotted a boy running toward us.
"He seems in a hurry," Holmes said, "and if I’m not mistaken, he’s carrying a message for one of us."
The boy soon reached us. "For Dr. Watson," he said, holding out a sheet of paper.
I took the note, which was from Steiler and written on his hotel stationery.
"Steiler says that an Englishwoman arrived at his hotel soon after we left. She’s very ill and bleeding heavily and—oh, dear—she has only a few hours to live." I looked up at Holmes with concern and then continued reading.
"I’m sure it would be a great comfort for her to see you," Holmes said. "You must go to her at once."
"Yes, it’s difficult to refuse anyone dying so far from home. But I hesitate to leave you alone in this remote spot."
Holmes waved away my concern with his walking stick. "Don’t worry about me. I’m sure that, for the right price, this Swiss lad will be glad to stay as my guide and companion."
The boy nodded eagerly.
"Well, if you’re sure . . ." I was still reluctant to leave him.
"Go! I’ll stay here at the falls for a while and then walk slowly over the hills to the next village. You can join me there later today."
When I finally left my dear friend, he was leaning against a large rock and staring into the falls. Little did I know that this was the last time I would ever see Sherlock Holmes.
A few minutes later, I looked back. I could no longer see the falls, but I could see a man hurrying toward them. I remember wondering where the man had come from, but my thoughts quickly turned back to the ill woman waiting for me.
It took me about an hour to reach our hotel, where I found Steiler standing on the porch.
"How is she doing?" I asked him.
"Who are you talking about?" He looked puzzled.
With a trembling hand, I pulled the note from my pocket. "Did you write this? Is there a sick Englishwoman here?"
"Certainly not!" Steiler peered at the note. "That is our hotel stationery, but I didn’t write to you. It must have been written by that tall Englishman who arrived after you left. He said—"
I didn’t wait to hear his explanation. I was already running down the street, heading for the hiking trail that I had just descended. When I finally reached the falls again, I knew my fears were justified. Holmes’ walking stick was leaning against the rock where I’d left him. But there was no other sign of him or the boy.
"Holmes!" I shouted in every direction. "Holmes! Where are you?" There was no response.
My heart was pounding, but I had to get control of my emotions. "What would Holmes do?" I asked myself and then realized that the answer was obvious. "He’d look for clues and try to figure out what happened."
Alas, it was only too easy to do. Holmes and I had stopped at the large rock, halfway around the falls. The path was soft, so it was easy for me to see many footprints. Beyond the rock, however, there were only two sets of footprints leading away from me, and none returning. A few yards from the end of the path, the grass and weeds along the edge had been disturbed—sure signs of a struggle. I lay on my stomach and peered into the chasm below.
"Holmes!" I called again and again. But I heard only the echo of my own voice. I got up and walked back to where Holmes’ walking stick was propped against the large rock. Looking down, I saw something white sticking out from beneath a stone. I bent over and found a piece of paper torn from Holmes’ notebook.
My dear Watson,
If I may make a full confession . . . I was convinced that the message from the hotel was a hoax. But I allowed you to leave because I thought that Professor Moriarty might appear, and indeed he has arrived. He has kindly permitted me to write these lines, after which we will have a final discussion of those issues that lie between us.
He has already given me a description of how he avoided the police and kept himself informed of our movements. It certainly confirms my high opinion of his abilities. I’m happy that I will be able to free society from him, but I fear my actions will cause pain to my friends and especially to you. Do not be unduly distressed, my dear fellow.
Tell Inspector Lestrade that the papers he needs to convict the gang are in my desk in a blue envelope marked Moriarty. Before leaving England I made my will and handed it to my brother, Mycroft. Please accept my best wishes and extend them to Mrs. Watson.
Sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes
There is not much more for me to say about this tragedy. Although the local experts could not determine exactly what had happened, there was little doubt that the two men had plunged over the falls to their deaths. The Swiss boy was never found, but it was assumed that he had been hired by Moriarty and slipped away. Thanks to Holmes’ evidence, most of Moriarty’s men were later convicted at trial in London.
As for me, I returned to England, greatly shaken by the death of Sherlock Holmes, the best and wisest man I ever knew.