by Otto Penzler
For the first time Harris turned to me. His smile was charming. “I apologise, sir. My manners are appalling. The only mitigation I can offer is my distress. I have heard of you, of course, and I already know you to be all that Mr. Holmes has said of you. It never crossed my mind not to consider you part of any assistance he may give me.” With that he looked back again, and began his story.
“Naomi is twenty-three, and is married to a most excellent young man of whom I heartily approve. He has made her very happy. Nevertheless I am a widower of many years, and she and I are very close. She comes to visit me, with her husband’s good wishes, several times a year. She had just arrived yesterday…” His voice cracked with his distress. He required a moment to regain his composure.
It cost Holmes an effort I could read in his face not to betray his impatience.
“We went to a concert together—she is very fond of music, most particularly a good chamber quartet—at the Prince’s Hall on Trafalgar Road. It was wonderful. I have never seen her look in better spirits.” Harris breathed in and out slowly before continuing. “The concert finished a little after ten o’clock. We left the hall together, but a few yards from the steps I was waylaid by friends whom Naomi did not know. I spoke with them as briefly as I could, trying to excuse myself, but when I turned to find her, she was not there. I assumed she had also seen old friends, and I waited five minutes or so for her to rejoin me. When she did not, I asked those few people still about, but they had not seen her. Then I thought perhaps she had gone on ahead of me.”
“Was that likely?” Holmes interrupted.
“No, but I could not think what else,” Harris answered, his voice sharpening in the remembered panic. “We live on Groom’s Hill, not far from the hall, a comfortable distance to walk. I had looked forward to it. The streets are pleasant and quiet. We could have talked.”
“But she had not gone ahead of you,” Holmes assumed. “Did you see her again, Mr. Harris?”
“No! No, I did not, Mr. Holmes. I walked more and more rapidly, expecting with each corner to see her ahead of me. But she was not there. I had been home not more than twenty minutes or so when there was a knock on the door. I answered it myself, certain it would be her, ready to scold her for the fright she had given me, but above all, relieved to see her face.” Again he required a moment to steady himself, but he did it admirably. I admit my heart ached for the man.
“Who was it?” Holmes demanded, leaning forward, his eyes intent upon Harris’s.
“It was a boy, Mr. Holmes, an urchin, with a note for me.” He reached in his inside pocket and produced it, handing it across.
Holmes read it aloud, for my benefit.
“We have your daughter. For the moment she is unharmed. You can have her back for ten thousand pounds. If you do not pay, we keep her for our entertainment, until we are bored. Then the sewer rats can have her. They’ll eat anything.
“Bring the money on Wednesday, to the yard behind the Duck and Dragon on Brick Lane, off Tench Street, by the Wapping Basin. Midnight exact. Any trouble and she’s gone. Understand? I’d rather have the money, but the choice is yours.”
“Extremely ugly,” Holmes said softly, turning the paper over in his long fingers, examining the texture and quality of it. From where I was sitting I could see that the words were not written, but cut out from newspaper and pasted on.
Harris watched him with growing desperation.
“How curious,” Holmes said thoughtfully. “He has taken the trouble to make this note as anonymous as possible, as if he thought you would recognise his hand, or even that you might take it to the police…”
“No!” Harris cried vehemently. “Any trouble and he will harm her! For God’s sake, he has made that plain enough! I must pay! Only that is the thing, I cannot! I do not have the means to raise such a sum.”
“Do you have any idea who sent this note?” Holmes asked him. “Think carefully, sir. You are a prosperous man, who knows his business well. You have succeeded in a competitive trade. There must be many who envy you, perhaps even believe your gain has been at their expense.”
Harris looked startled. “You know me by repute?”
The ghost of a smile curved Holmes’s thin lips. “No, sir. But I observe your clothing and your manner. The sum for which you are asked is what others perceive you to have. You have told me the area in which you live. You are used to command and to being obeyed. You live in London, and yet you have seen much exposure to sun and wind. There are old scars upon your hands and what appears to be the shadow where a tattoo has been removed from your wrist. I would guess that in your earlier years you followed the sea. Now you are an importer of some standing.”
“I knew I had come to the right man!” Harris said, that remarkable smile lighting his face again. “Indeed it is true, all true!” Then the joy vanished and darkness took its place. “But I cannot raise ten thousand pounds, Mr. Holmes! I have spent all day since the banks opened, doing everything I can, everything humanly possible! I can raise no more than six thousand four hundred and a few shillings. They demand it tomorrow night. That is where I need your help, sir.” His voice became firmer, his resolve absolute. “I need someone of undisputed honour, someone who cannot and will not be duped or used, to persuade these men, whoever they are, that this is all the money I have. I will give it to them, if they return Naomi to me, unharmed. If they refuse, I cannot give what I do not have, and if they injure her in the slightest, I will spend the rest of my life hunting them down. Nothing else will matter to me until I have exacted the last ounce of revenge…as terrible as that with which they have threatened her. And believe me, Mr. Holmes, from my days at sea, and in the east, I know how to do that!”
Looking at his massive shoulders, and the burning intensity in his black eyes, I believed him utterly. I could see that Holmes also held no doubt.
“Look into my affairs, Mr. Holmes!” Harris urged. “My business is an open book to you. Convince yourself that I am speaking the truth when I say I can raise no more, then I implore you…go in my place at midnight, and persuade these men to return Naomi to me for the money I can give, less the fee for your time and services…I apologise, but that is truly every penny I own…and I will pursue them no further.”
“You will let them get away with this?” I was aghast. The wickedness of it was an affront to all decency. “They will do it again, to some other poor young woman!”
Harris turned to me. “Perhaps, Dr. Watson, but if I give them my word that this is all the money I have, which it is, and I use Mr. Sherlock Holmes’s honour as pledge to the truth of that, then I must abide by my word not to pursue them. I am bound. Can you not see that?”
I could see. And I regarded it as a peculiar honour that Harris should take my friend’s reputation so seriously as to believe it would save his daughter’s life. I confess I felt a thrill of pride that his esteem included me equally.
“Of course,” I conceded. “But the wickedness of it still galls me.”
“And me,” he said bitterly. “But Naomi is all my concern. When we care for someone, Dr. Watson, we are uniquely hostages to fortune, and sometimes that ransom has to be paid.” Then he looked again at Holmes. “Will you help me?”
Holmes did not hesitate. I believe it was as much from compassion for Harris as for the challenge it offered him, although he would never have said so. Certainly the financial reward was the least of importance to him. There were times when I worried that his disregard for such necessities would see him in difficulty. The general public had no idea how frequently he undertook cases without accepting any reward other than the satisfaction of helping a creature in distress, and always, of course, the exercise of his intellect and his daring.
I was very sure he would understand only too clearly the plight of a man like Harris who was perceived by others to have far greater wealth than indeed he did have.
“Of course I will,” he answered. “We shall begin this afternoon. I shall accept your offe
r to make myself familiar with your business and your circumstances, so I may argue your case with detail and prove beyond a doubt to them that you are offering all you have. You may rest assured, Mr. Harris, that nothing whatever will be left undone in the effort to restore your daughter to you, in no way harmed beyond the fear she must inevitably feel.”
“Thank you!” Harris’s relief and gratitude positively shone around him. “Sir, I shall be forever in your debt!”
I could not see then how prophetic those words would be.
—
Harris gave us every assistance, and Holmes and I spent that afternoon and all of the following day examining the business that Harris had built up since retiring from the sea, and it was indeed most successful. He had achieved it honestly, and was held in considerable respect. But he had undeniably made enemies, and as the hours passed, it became increasingly easy to see that envy could well be the source of his present trouble. He was a clever and imaginative man, frequently beating his rivals to a fortunate deal.
However he had given his daughter the best of everything he could afford, the finest education, including travel and tuition in arts and foreign languages. Much of the money he earned he had also spent, but I could not begrudge the man such a manner of doing it. He had not lavished jewels upon her, or worldly things of no worth. I began to picture her in my mind, and wonder what manner of young woman she was, that everyone spoke so well of her honour and her kindness and I wished more fervently that we should succeed in our task of rescuing her.
We also retraced Harris’s steps to the concert hall, and verified as far as possible what he had told us. Of course we could find no one who had been there on the evening of Naomi’s disappearance, but when Holmes taxed Harris with this, he willingly gave us the names and addresses of two of the friends who had waylaid him. We called upon them, and they confirmed his tale. Of course we gave a quite inoffensive excuse for our enquiry. As I recall I said something to the effect of having known Harris myself when I was in the east, and had attended the concert, and thought I had caught sight of him. Could they verify it was indeed he.
I am afraid in the pursuit of the truth when assisting Holmes in one of his cases, I appear to have become rather good at telling lies myself. It is a habit I shall have to watch very carefully.
—
So it was that a little after eleven o’clock Holmes and I set out to keep our rendezvous at the yard behind the Duck and Dragon. Holmes had with him the six thousand and four hundred pounds of Harris’s money—he had declined to take anything for himself, although he had not told Harris this. I admired him for it, although I was not in the least surprised. I had expected he would do so. His only concern was to get Naomi back. After that he would wish next to pursue in some way the evil man who had abducted her. His own purpose would be well served by that alone. He never thought greatly of money; it could not buy the intellectual challenge he loved, the music, the learning or the thrill of the chase. Nor did it ever buy friendship.
It was a most insalubrious area. In spite of the pleasant spring evening, the mild air was filled with a cloying mist, and the odours of inadequate drains, uncleared rubbish, and cramped living were all about us like a suffocating hand.
The darkness away from the lighted thoroughfares was relieved only by glimpses of candles through filthy windows, and the occasional reflection of distant gas lamps on wet walls. I fear I heard the slither and rattle of rats’ feet, and now and again a pile of refuse collapsed as some creature within it moved.
“What a godforsaken place!” I said under my breath. “The sooner our business is completed, the better.”
“That would be equally true, were we in flowered walks by the river,” Holmes retorted. “It is an evil matter to kidnap, Watson, to try and sell human life and trade on one person’s love for another. It outweighs the theft of any material object, be it the crown jewels.”
I agreed with him heartily, but knew I did not need to say so.
We felt our way forward carefully. The stones were slimy under our feet, and although we had both brought bull’s-eye lanterns, we were loath to draw attention to ourselves by using them. And I freely admit, I did not greatly wish to see what might lie around us.
The Duck and Dragon was thirty yards ahead, its sign faintly lit by a lamp hanging above it, but so grimy as to serve its purpose ill. So far I could see no one in the shadows beneath.
“Are we early?” I asked, fingering the revolver I had insisted upon bringing. After all, Holmes was carrying a great deal of money, and I had no intention of our being robbed of it before we could effect the rescue of Naomi.
“They will no doubt ascertain who it is before they show themselves,” Holmes replied. “They will be expecting Harris himself. It is my task to convince them I am acting on his behalf.”
I had considerable misgivings as to his ability to do that, now that we were come to the point. I looked around me. The shadows seemed to move. I had a hideous vision that they were all alive, the isolated and rejected of society crouched in doorways, cold and hungry, perhaps riddled with fever or tuberculosis, waiting for death to take them.
I heard a hacking cough and started in momentary terror.
Somewhere a glass or bottle dropped and smashed on the stone. How could this hell on earth exist so close to the warmth of homes with fires and food and laughter?
Holmes was several yards ahead of me. I hurried to keep up with him. This was not the time to indulge in morbid thoughts, and leave him unguarded as he met the kind of men who would kidnap a young woman.
Please heaven they had not held her anywhere like this! She would be half-mad with fear by now.
I strained my eyes to see through the gloom and discern a human figure ahead of us, all the while keeping my hand steady on my revolver.
Holmes walked silently until he was directly under the feeble light above the sign of the Duck and Dragon, then he stopped, signaling me to remain a few yards away, almost concealed.
The dampness condensed and dripped from the eaves. I could hear its steady sound amid the creaking of rotting wood and the slither and scamper of rodent feet. Nothing on earth would have induced me to remain here, but the knowledge that the life of a young woman depended upon us.
Still nothing moved but the wavering shadows as the wind swung the lantern.
Then I saw him, a huge bulk in the gloom, appearing as if from nowhere, his hat drawn down to conceal his features, his coat ragged at the skirts but high-collared. He beckoned to Holmes as if he recognised him. Holmes walked across the slick cobbles toward him, and I moved also, now drawing my revolver out so I could fire it at any moment, should this highly unsavoury man offer any violence.
Holmes reached him and they spoke together so quietly I did not hear the words. Then the man nodded, as if he had agreed to something, and the two of them moved toward an alleyway.
I was apprehensive. Anyone might lurk in the darkness under those dripping eaves, but I had no alternative but to follow, all the while doing my best to mark the way we had come, so I might be able to return.
We emerged from the alley onto a cross street. Ahead of me, Holmes was still talking softly to the huge man, inclining slightly toward him as if listening.
We plunged into more darkness. I felt my way, one hand before me. I wished profoundly that Holmes would charge the man to remain still until they had reached an agreement, but I did not interrupt in case I should destroy some moment of trust.
Once again I came out into relative light. But no one was visible ahead of me. I looked left and right, but there was no sign of either Holmes, or anyone else.
I swiveled around to look the way I had come, but saw only the gaping entrance of the alley. Surely I could not have passed them. I looked again to see if there were any openings that I had missed, but there was nothing! What had happened to Holmes?
Panic swelled up in me. My revolver was useless against someone I could not see! Should I cry out? There was no one
to ask. In the short space that I could see, there seemed to be no living soul but myself.
Then dimly I made out the slumped, motionless shapes of men asleep huddled in doorways, trying to gain some few minutes’ rest, starved and homeless men who lived on the refuse even this desperate neighbourhood did not want. There was little purpose in disturbing them. I already knew had I been sufficiently close behind Holmes I would have seen him when I first emerged had he been on this street. He and his guide must have gone through some doorway hidden in the darkness of the alley.
I turned back, lighting my lantern, now not caring if I were seen, and began to make my way back.
But I did not find him, or his companion. There were doorways surely enough, and wide broken and boarded-up windows, but no indication which of them they had gone through. There were no footprints on the glistening cobbles, no obvious way cleared through the scattering of rubbish, and no one to ask.
Had he lost me on purpose? Was he even now inside one of these damp, creaking buildings negotiating the release and safety of Harris’s daughter?
I had no way of knowing.
What should I do? Wait until he reappeared? Go and look for him? But where?
Time dragged by, five minutes, ten, fifteen. There was silence except for the incessant dripping, and now and then the creak of rotting wood, as if the houses shifted their weight. I found myself shivering violently. The cold ate into my bones, and I confess it, a mounting fear that something terrible had happened to Holmes.
I had let him down. What should I do? It was pointless waiting here any longer, and I had no idea in this foetid warren where I should begin to search for him. At least I knew the way I had come, and could return to Baker Street.
I moved more and more rapidly, in the hope that I should find him there, and we should laugh together over the adventure, and I should regard in hindsight my present fears as ridiculous. By the time I was within a hundred yards, I was at a run.
