The Curious Case of Nil By Mouth Epilogue

In the safety of Findlay's residence at 221b Baker Street, I sat by the fire warming my hands as Watson sat in a corner smoking a cigarette and listening for the return of his companion. The loud thump of a pair of huge feet on the roof heralded his arrival. Since we sat in silence I could hear the great footsteps as they climbed in a window and walked along an upstairs corridor. The potion was obviously wearing off as the footsteps became lighter as the steps progressed along the hall and into a room to be changed. Eventually he appeared looking refreshed and dressed in evening wear covered by an auburn dressing gown. 'Well met by moonlight Spiers! I'm glad you're still with us, pipe?'
He offered me a pipe from a rack on the fireplace which I declined, took one himself, taking tobacco from a Persian slipper which hung there, looking at it cautiously before packing his pipe and lighting it with a faggot from the fire on the end of a poker. Then he sat there, puffing away and eyeing me suspiciously.
'So what do you make of all this then, eh? Think you'll still be running to Nil by Mouth for their opinion on any matters involving Rangers or protestants in general? No, I didn't think so. I always thought a man of your intellect might have realised that Nil by Mouth are an organisation serving one side of the sectarian divide only - I mean, when was the last time they commented on any naughty behaviour of our separated brethren? When have they ever? No, that organisation was a sham when it was set up and has steadily descended to the level of the east end gutter ever since. I can't fault them though, can you? They've been given the opportunity and the funding to attack their enemies under the guise of fighting the very thing they are perpetuating, I can't blame them for not jumping at the chance. What I do fault them for is for being like that in the first place.'
'Being like what?' I asked.
'For being the way they are, the way they all are, mainly. Catholics are an odd bunch, especially here in the west of Scotland where they are absolutely obsessed with religion and battling their perceived enemy, us - the protestants. Meanwhile we protestants carry on merrily with our lives, ignoring them because we're just not that bothered. I suppose it's got something to do with the conditioning - the indoctrination at childhood that leads them to believe they are so different and that they should be picking fights with people not that dissimilar from them. Their parents eventually tell them that Santa Clause doesn't exist but by golly, those other fairy tales about the baby Jesus, the Virgin and all the saints? Well, they continue to batter that into their poor children's heads until they're as bitter and stupid as the parents; it's a vicious cycle.
'A cycle we didn't pay too much attention to in the old days, we just let 'em get on with it. Now however, they have insinuated themselves into positions of power where they perpetuate only their own kind until we are now have a situation where the bloody country is run by them and for them while we are demonised at every turn. The minority elite are running the show and not content to use their power to further the cause of all of us, they are insidiously marginalizing the majority until who knows where we're going to be in ten/twenty years time? They dominate politics, they run the media and are now taking over the law and believe me, as someone who has all his life pursued the furtherance of justice, I am appalled at how they are utilising it to their advantage. There's nothing they won't take over and use for their own exclusive benefit.
'We have an evil web here, Spiers. A web whose sticky strands are attached to every facet of life in this country and at the centre of that web we have the very essence of malevolence itself; the spider tugging at the threads, from the demon barber Galloway to the awful Devine, from the beast Traynor to the marionette Keevins, from Glasgow City Council to the Scottish Labour Party, from every Scottish newspaper and television centre to Nil by Mouth and the STUC; they are all responding to the spider...'
His brows darkened as he trailed off and took another pull at his pipe, smoke drifting from his mouth and gathering in the gloom at the edges of the room.
'I think you know Spiers, who this spider is.'
And with that he sat down and gazed out of the bow windows and spoke no more. I was ushered from the room by Watson and sent home in the black car. Through the streets filthy with fog, over bridges and through tunnels until I was again in the west end and at my flat. I unlocked the door and entered to find the lights not working. Puzzled, I felt my way into my lounge and found the fire burning. A spark of fear lit up inside me and I looked around the room until there in the corner, illuminated by the flames, was the spider. He moved with supernatural speed and grabbed me by the throat, pinning me against the wall and began to slash at me with a belt. I knew right at that very moment what I had to do. By the end of the night I had penned another column attacking Rangers.