by Ashton, Hugh
“I hope the clerk whom we just passed will be able to locate his young lady in this crowd,” remarked my friend. Thanks to Holmes’ tuition, I had been able to remark the double crease on the right sleeve marking a man who spends his working hours in the production of written documents, and the small bouquet of flowers that he carried, while looking anxiously around him.
“That was a simple deduction, even for me,” I smiled. “What of this, then?” indicating as inconspicuously as I could a lady dressed in the latest modes, holding the hand of a darling infant, not more than four years of age, gazing into the window of the famous toyshop that stands at the heart of Regent Street.
“An interesting case,” remarked Holmes. “Most interesting,” he added, with an inscrutable smile, as the mother and child turned from the window towards the carriageway and started to walk away from us.
I continued to watch their retreating backs. With no warning, someone in the crowd, unseen by me, jostled the mother, who stumbled against the child.
“My God!” I shouted, and dashed forward to save the infant, who had been thrown down by the impact, and was now lying in the path of an approaching omnibus. I scooped up the squalling child in my arms, and lifted him to safety, with seconds to spare before the approaching horses’ hooves crushed him.
“Oh, how can I thank you enough?” exclaimed the mother, embracing the boy while he was still in my arms. “You have saved my precious little larrikin!” The child had not ceased his wails and continued to howl at the top of his lungs while she attempted to comfort him. At last, the sounds of woe ceased, much to my relief.
“I am a doctor,” I informed the lady, “and it is my strong opinion that you should take your son home as soon as possible and allow him to rest in order to recover from the shock he has received. I would also advise asking your family physician to examine him at the earliest possible opportunity. Maybe you will allow me to summon a cab for you? Or perhaps you have your own carriage waiting?” I suggested.
She thanked me gravely. “We did not take the carriage today. If you would be so kind...” I raised my hand to summon a passing hansom cab, and I helped her and the child into it. Holmes assisted me in handing the lady to her seat.
“Return to Baker Street now,” he hissed at me as the hansom trotted off in the direction of Regent’s Park. “Ask me no questions,” he added, hailing a cab himself. As he sprang into the hansom, I heard him rap on the roof with his stick and instruct the cabbie to follow the vehicle into which we had just placed the lady and her child.
I was not yet as accustomed to Holmes’ fancies as I was to become later in our friendship, and I stood in astonishment as I watched the departing cab bearing my friend. I guessed that it was now time for my return to Baker Street, regardless of Holmes’ mysterious instruction, and reached for my watch to confirm this, only to find that I was seemingly in possession of the chain alone, with the watch apparently having slipped from its mounting, and now nowhere to be found in my pockets. Not a little angry at this mishap, for the article in question had been an inscribed presentation from my regiment when I retired from the Army, and apart from having this sentimental value, was a costly timepiece in its own right, I examined the end of the chain to see how the watch might have been lost. I was more than a little astonished to discover that the links had been cut through, and there was no question of the watch’s having accidentally become detached from the chain.
Obviously I had been the victim of a skilled pickpocket, and I took the opportunity of checking my other belongings to ensure that all was in its appointed place. Happily, it appeared that the watch was my only loss, but I rapidly abandoned any thought of the police being able to locate and apprehend the thief. Holmes and I had passed literally hundreds of people in our walk along the crowded streets – any of whom might well now be sporting my watch or handing it in to a pawnbroker in exchange for a sum well below the value of the object.
It was with a heavy heart that I resigned myself to the loss of my valued timepiece, and turned back to retrace my steps towards Baker Street.
-oOo-
I was still brooding over my loss some two hours later when Holmes returned.
“Do you have the time?” he asked me, and chuckled as he watched me unthinkingly pull the chain out of my waistcoat pocket, having temporarily failed to remember that my watch was no longer attached to it.
“It is not amusing,” I told him, more than a little irritated by his laughter. “The chain was cut and my pocket picked while we were on our walk this afternoon.”
“I know,” he replied calmly. “I observed it.”
“You observed my pocket being picked, and you took no action?” I replied with some heat. “Even for one of your detached nature, Holmes, this is going too far!”
“I never claimed that I took no action,” he smiled, drawing his hand out of his pocket and displaying my watch resting in the palm.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “How on earth did you...?”
“I flatter myself that my skills as a pickpocket are at least equal to those of she who took it from you originally,” he laughed.
“‘She’?” I asked, somewhat taken aback.
“Yes, the woman with the child whom you saved from the wheels of the omnibus.”
“I cannot believe it!” I retorted. “The mother of that sweet little child!”
“That was not her child. As you saw, I hired a cab and followed her cab, which stopped, with the child leaving it, it a little after it reached the Park. A woman, dressed in a style not in keeping with the child’s clothing, met it and led it away by the hand. I was more interested, as you can imagine, in the woman, and continued following her cab, which drove on, passing Baker Street, and then turned down the Edgware Road, dropping its fare at Marble Arch. I alighted, and followed her to her house in Upper Grosvenor Street, where the door was opened for her by a liveried footman.”
“But my watch!” I cried. “What of that?”
“I had observed her while she embraced the child. She had a small pair of strong scissors which she used to sever your watch chain before removing the watch itself from your pocket.”
“How did you come to observe that?”
“I was expecting something of the sort. It was obvious to me that she was not the mother of that child,” he replied enigmatically. “Her action in pushing the child into the roadway hardly makes her appear a loving parent,” he added in explanation.
“Holmes, you cannot be serious in making that accusation! That would have been murder if the results had been other than what they were.”
He shrugged in reply. “I believe she chose her time to carry out her deed precisely in the expectation that there would be time for an active man, such as yourself, to rescue the child. I believe she could have performed the rescue herself had you been a little slower.”
“And the watch?” I asked again.
“I marked the location in her clothing where she secreted it, and retrieved it from there when I helped her into the cab. In my early days, I acquired a certain small skill in picking pockets from a man who was a true master of the art. Sadly, he is no longer plying his trade. He has reformed his ways, and is currently the pastor of a small evangelical church in the Midlands, where his flock have no knowledge of his past. This means that I am now unable to call on his services as I was accustomed to do.”
“Thank you,” I replied as he handed my watch to me, somewhat bewildered by this latest addition to my knowledge of Holmes’ skills and his acquaintances. “What do you make of the woman who took this from me?”
“She is unfamiliar to me,” admitted Holmes. “She appeared to me to be dressed fashionably, but I lack your interest in such matters, Watson.” His eyes twinkled as he said these words.
“She was indeed dressed in the height of fashion,” I declared. “The hat was of the very latest style, and I could not help but remark the gloves that she was wearing, with the coral buttons, which are a very recent tr
end.”
“So you would assume that she is a lady of some standing?” asked Holmes. “I would concur with that judgment, given what I observed. Since the front door was opened to her, and she had no occasion to ring, I think it is safe for me to assume that 45 Upper Grosvenor Street is her abode.” He strode to the bookcase and pulled down a thick reference volume – a directory of central London.
“That address is given here is that of the Marquess of Cirencester,” he declared. “But, if I recall correctly, the Marquess is of advanced years, and is childless. Be so good as to reach me that Debrett’s,” he requested. “As I thought, the Marquess and Marchioness are both over seventy years old and are childless. The woman we saw is known to them and the household, however, or the servant would never have opened the door to her.”
“A guest who is currently residing there” I hazarded.
“Obviously that must be the case,” replied Holmes. “Tell me, did you notice anything strange about the woman’s speech?”
“She hardly said anything.”
“Even so, there was a distinct timbre to her voice that was not entirely English. Something of the Antipodes, if I am not mistaken. And that word, ‘larrikin’ that she employed,” he mused. “I believe that is chiefly an Australian term of affection. It has much the same meaning as our term ‘hooligan’, I believe, but though it comes from an English dialect phrase, it is my understanding that Australians use the term much more frequently than do we. Furthermore, it is not the kind of vocabulary I would expect to be employed by a woman of the class that was suggested by the dress of our acquaintance.”
“I have met very few Australians,” I confessed, “and I would not undertake to identify the way of speaking.”
“Tomorrow I shall find out all there is to know about this woman, never fear.”
“How will you achieve that?” I asked, full of curiosity.
Holmes declined to answer the question, but merely commented upon an article in the evening paper describing the theft of some jewellery at a ball the previous evening. “This is the fourth such case in as many weeks,” he remarked. “I am somewhat surprised that Lestrade has not yet contacted me regarding his inability to solve the problem. It may be that we can expect a visit from that quarter in the near future.”
-oOo-
In the event, Holmes’ prophecy was fulfilled the next day. I awoke to discover on the breakfast table a note in the familiar writing of Sherlock Holmes, “Will be out all day. Expect me for dinner. S.H.”
I fell on the waiting bacon and eggs with a good appetite, and had barely finished my meal when Mrs Hudson announced the arrival of Inspector Lestrade.
The little Scotland Yard detective entered the room with a cheerful greeting on his lips, which died as he peered about the room and failed to discover my friend. “Where is he?” were his words, not taking the trouble to name the object of his inquiry.
“To be frank with you, I am not entirely certain,” I replied. “He left the house before I awoke, and will not be returning until the evening.”
Lestrade’s face fell a little at the news. “I was hoping that he might be able to lend us some assistance with a problem whose solution seems to be temporarily beyond our grasp,” he said, seemingly more than a little embarrassed at the confession of the failure of the official guardians of law and order.
“This is in connection with the jewel thefts from the society balls and parties?” I asked. The effect of my words upon Lestrade was remarkable. His mouth dropped open, and he stared at me. Then he started to laugh heartily.
“Dr Watson,” he exclaimed, between his fits of merriment. “I would have sworn to you that no-one except Sherlock Holmes, and maybe not even he, could have guessed my errand, and almost before I have opened my mouth, you tell me my own business! By all that’s remarkable, I feel that Sherlock Holmes will soon meet his match in the business of impudence and nerve, in the person of John Watson!” He made an ironic bow in my direction.
“If you relate the facts to me, I shall be happy to present them to Sherlock Holmes upon his return,” I offered, amused despite myself at Lestrade’s reaction.
“That’s very decent of you, Doctor,” answered Lestrade, accepting the cigar I offered him and settling himself comfortably in an armchair. “You probably know that there have been four such robberies reported over the past month or so. A fact of which you may not be aware, however, is that there have been several more losses, sustained under similar circumstances, which have remained unreported in the Press for reasons of discretion.”
“All occurring at society functions, then?” I enquired.
“You are correct there. And none of these losses is valued at under one thousand pounds,” he replied. “The thief, whoever he may be, obviously has an eye for quality.”
“And those attending the functions?” I went on. “Is there no one person who has attended all these functions, and who therefore can be regarded as a suspect?”
Lestrade threw back his head and laughed once more. “My dear Doctor,” he informed me. “Those who attend are what is sometimes known, I believe, as ‘the Smart Set’. The same group moves from ball to ball, and from party to party, and retains essentially the same composition, no matter where the event is held, or who is acting as host. To make matters more difficult for us, these people are typically of the highest rank, and do not take kindly to the sound of police boots echoing in their hallway. Even the act of questioning is regarded as an outright accusation, and we are shown the door pretty smartly under these circumstances, I can tell you.”
“I begin to see your difficulties,” I replied. “Have you not attempted to place some of your plain-clothes men at these functions, as waiters or as other servants?”
“Police detectives do not usually make the best footmen or servants, we have discovered. We did attempt such an operation, but with a lamentable lack of success.”
“And your request, then?”
“Is for you and Sherlock Holmes to attend these functions in the future, as guests.”
“We do not move in such exalted circles,” I protested. “I scarcely think that we would find ourselves invited as guests to these parties and balls and so on.”
“It could easily be arranged with a word from the right quarter,” smiled Lestrade. “Please consider the matter and put it to Holmes when he returns. The purpose, of course, is for you and he to keep your eyes and ears open for any thefts or suspicious persons and report them to us.”
“Do you have a list of the missing items, together with their owners and the circumstances surrounding them?” I asked. “I think that Holmes would appreciate such information.”
“I guessed that request would be made, and I have accordingly prepared such a list,” replied Lestrade, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to me. “There is one other thing I would like to mention while I am here,” he went on. “There have been several reports of pickpockets operating in the West End recently. If you or Holmes were to see or hear anything relating to this outbreak, believe me, Scotland Yard would be more than grateful for such information.”
I mentioned yesterday’s incident to Lestrade, but omitted Holmes’ actions in retrieving the watch, or his subsequent following of the woman who had purloined the article. Lestrade thanked me, and commiserated with me on my loss.
“This is all very good of you, Doctor,” replied Lestrade, rising to his feet and reaching for his hat. “As you know, Mr Holmes has been very close to solving a number of cases in the past where we have reached an impasse, and his hints have enabled us to bring a number of villains to justice.”
Lestrade’s vanity, as Holmes had remarked to me on several occasions, was such that he was unable to admit the value of others’ work in the solution of the puzzles to which he sought answers. Far from being offended by this attitude, however, Holmes regarded it with a detached amusement, seeing the satisfaction of solving these puzzles as its own reward, without seeking public re
cognition or financial reward.
I pondered the prospect of Holmes and myself making an entry into the layer of society that Lestrade had named as the “Smart Set”, and smiled to myself at the thought of the celebrated detective waltzing with Society beauties. For myself, I rather welcomed the thought of such an evening, as it had been some time since I had experienced such an entertainment.
-oOo-
In the afternoon, I left the house for a constitutional stroll, remembering, as I had promised Lestrade, to keep watch for the pickpockets that he claimed were infesting the metropolis, but saw nothing to engage my attention in that regard.
On my return to Baker Street, Mrs Hudson stopped me as I was going up the stairs.
“I hope you don’t mind, sir, but there’s a man waiting outside your rooms. He wouldn’t go away, and he’s just standing there on the landing.”
“How long has he been there?” I asked.
“A good thirty minutes, I’d say, sir.”
“A gentleman, would you say, Mrs Hudson?”
“Oh no, sir. Quite the opposite, if you want my opinion.”
I mounted the stairs to our rooms to discover a somewhat dishevelled elderly man standing outside the door, with his most distinctive feature being a shock of white hair standing out from his head in all directions. He was dressed in garments that might have been smart once, but had certainly seen better days when they belonged to someone other than their present wearer. The disparity between the dimensions of the legs of the trousers and the length of the legs of their current occupier, despite his stooped posture, informed me that they had not been purchased by our visitor.
“Beggin’ your pardon, guv’nor, but you must be Mr Sherlock Holmes?” he demanded of me in a strong Cockney accent.
“I regret to inform you that I am not. I am a friend of Mr Holmes, whom I believe to be absent at this moment, and whom I am expecting to return soon. May I enquire your business with him?”
“That’s for me to say and him to hear,” replied the other truculently. “If you let me in, I’ll wait for him.”
