letters, was my name and the address, 221B Baker Street, London.
The day I had moved back into Baker Street I had retrieved my old bag from the back of the closet.
In spite of all that Holmes had told me regarding this man, I found myself warming to the fellow. I began to describe the events of the evening. Moriarty stopped me only occasionally to ask for further details, sometimes on the oddest things, the type of doorway that had fronted Delvechio's, the uniform the constable had worn, and the location of the local police station. I wanted to know why, but for the moment thought it best to keep my own counsel. Moriarty was especially interested in my impression of the fog itself.
"A most fantastic tale that you have entertained us with this evening," said Moriarty. "You have to admit it is a bit hard to accept, especially considering that Murray and I have been sharing these quarters since the spring of 1885."
His eyes were unblinking as he stared at me, waiting for my reaction.
"Professor, I am a doctor, a man of science. If I were hearing this tale from anyone but myself I would be convinced that the speaker had far too much good Scotch whiskey and had been reading one of the scientific romances of Mr. H. G. Wells. Yet as sure as I sit here, every word that I have told you is the God's own truth."
Moriarty steepled his fingers in front of his face, deep in thought. "Doctor, I believe you."
"Professor, how can you believe him?" objected Murray. "The last time I saw Colonel Watson he was dead, an Afghan spear through his chest. I supervised the burial party myself, and that was nearly ten years ago."
Dead? Me? A cold chill ran down my spine. This had to be a nightmare, but there seemed no way to escape it. I defy anyone to hear the news that he was not only dead, but a number of years buried, and not have at least some reaction.
"What would it take to convince you that this man is John H. Watson?" asked Moriarty.
Murray thought for a moment before he answered. "Look on his left forearm." I hesitated for a moment before taking off my jacket. I rolled up my sleeve and held out my arm for Moriarty to inspect.
"There should be scar there, three to four inches in length," said Murray.
"It is there," confirmed Moriarty. "How did you get it?"
I smiled, remembering well the hunting trip with my father and brother that had been the last time all three of us had been together as a family. I had brought down a boar, but not without the beast nearly ripping my arm to shreds.
Murray just shook his head. "Colonel, I don't know how you managed it, but I'm bloody glad that you did," he said finely.
"Just a minute there, Murray. That's the second time you've called me Colonel."
"Aye, sir. After all, that is your rank."
Colonel Doctor John H. Watson. That did have a nice sound to it. The only trouble was that I had never risen above the rank of Captain when I had served with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and had been discharged after being wounded at the second Battle of Maiwand.
"But, Colonel, at Maiwand you weren't injured. I was."
This difference in history seemed to please Moriarty when I mentioned it.
"Unless you are one of the most convincing madmen to come along in a long time, you, sir, are telling the complete and utter truth. The facts concerning your rank only serve to help prove my theory.
"Ever since the incident of a man who walked around his carriage, out of the view of a dozen people, and utterly vanished, I have developed a theory regarding the existence of other worlds," he said.
"Like Mars and Venus?" I asked.
"I said other worlds, not other planets," he corrected. "More precisely, worlds exactly like our own, only with differences. The result of other decisions, for instance, where the American Confederate States lost their war for independence. Mathematically, it makes perfect sense.
"These worlds would on occasion touch and allow people to pass from one world to another, usually by accident, but under the right circumstances, deliberately. Tonight it seems that the fabric of space and time was stretched so thin that it allowed Dr. Watson to walk from his London to ours."
"All in the space of a few blocks," I said. Looking out the window into the fog, I knew in the pit