“Come, Watson, I have my spies, and an acquaintance of yours has his in places other than mine. I think he may be prepared to assist if asked.”
I brightened. “Western, you mean? Yes, whatever else the man may be, he strikes me as competent and patriotic. Do you know where we could find him now?”
“Why, in the same hotel as you did, Watson.”
And so we did. He was propping up the bar with an elbow, a glass of cider in one hand while he expounded on the principles of free trade to a scruffy-looking man who watched him suspiciously. Holmes caught me by the arm as I would have advanced.
“Let the man finish his business, Watson,” he murmured. “He won’t thank you for making him conspicuous.”
I stood aside while Western handed over what I took to be money, receiving in turn a small flat case in rubbed crimson leather with gold lettering. Such cases usually contain valuable jewelry, and I had no doubt that this was so. I was disappointed that a man I liked remained dishonest, but once his confederate was gone I approached with a smile.
“Mr. Western. Here is my friend Sherlock Holmes. Would you care to join us for a drink?”
Western nodded to Holmes. “Brandy if you can afford it, sirs. And shall we sit over here?”
Once we had our drinks, he led us to a secluded table in the far corner of the room, where none could approach without being seen, nor could we be overheard. “I suppose you would like information of some sort?”
Holmes placed his glass on the table and nodded. “You have it right, Mr. Western. Firstly, allow me to bring you up to date on events. Thanks to your good offices we found Persimmon Brand—who is now dead—murdered, we believe, by his employer.” I could see that Western was not surprised, and assumed that he must have already heard the news. Holmes continued, laying out all the events that had resulted from Brand’s information, including Holmes’s own belief that the agent in question was Maximillian Liebowitcz, the recovery of a portion of the papers, and our fears that there were still a sufficient number to sell for a high price and enough provocation therein to start a war if the buyers were looking for an excuse—as it was feared they could be.
Western drained his glass, called for another, and when it arrived, sipped thoughtfully. “What you need is to lay hands on this Liebowitcz, or more importantly, the papers. It doesn’t matter that you retrieved some twenty percent. In fact that merely makes the authenticity of the remainder more believable.”
“What?” I started in my chair.
Western eyed me shrewdly. “My friend, you don’t understand that type of foreigner. I’ve had some dealings with their kind. They suspect the perfect. If this man’s buyer were presented with a complete plan, he’d wonder if it wasn’t all a hoax and the papers had been concocted as a plot to gain money. But a set of papers with gaps, now that’s more plausible. Tell a tale of how they were taken before completion, since it was then that the opportunity arose, or say that the remainder were kept separate for some reason, and you took the chance to steal what you could. Perfection is always suspicious.”
Holmes nodded agreement, so I supposed it to be possible. “I cannot think that way,” I said, “but if you are certain of what you say, then the papers are now even more dangerous to England.”
Western looked at me. “They are. What is needed is to find out who is to get this Maximillian Liebowitcz and the papers out of the country. I can set my people looking. It’ll have to be done carefully, as none of them are angels, and they’d sell the information to Liebowitcz if he paid higher. But—ah—I do have some knowledge of moving items in and out from various ports, and if I ask questions I’m likely to receive answers. It then becomes a matter of sifting what we learn for the most likely escape route.”
He emptied his glass again and met Holmes’s gaze. “But that takes time away from my normal business, and may involve a certain outlay to those who expect to be paid for their information. Can I expect some recompense?”
A flicker of Holmes’s eyes in my direction warned me to keep my mouth shut. I obeyed, although I was indignant.
“Yes,” Holmes said. “Lestrade drew on the police fund, and I am empowered to give you this in advance for expenses.” He handed over the envelope Lestrade had given him before we left the office. Western pried back a corner of the seal, glanced inside, and nodded.
“That’s fair.” He met my fulminating gaze. “Look, Doctor, when push comes to shove, I am a patriot I daresay, but what use would I be if I couldn’t pay for information, and make sure I pay enough that mouths stay shut? Those I deal with see it as business, and if there’s no pay, there’s no work. Like your friend said, this is for expenses. I’m not taking a percentage, but the word’s out that Jeb Siddons died for knowing too much, and that Persimmon Brand talked to the coppers and was killed for it. That’s making everyone nervous. No one wants to talk if it means a trip to the cemetery, and I need a good sum to unlock memories and tongues. Understand me?”
I met his stare and relaxed. It was a fair summation and I had been wrong. I said so honestly and he relaxed a fraction.
“Good. Now, is there some place we can meet if I hear something you need to know?”
Holmes considered. “There’s a café not far from our address. If you go there and hand this to the owner, he’ll send word to me.” He gave the café’s name and passed over a small token made from ivory in the shape of a sleeping cat. Western took it and smiled.
“A pretty trifle. All right, you do whatever you’re doing, and I’ll poke around. Don’t expect anything in a hurry. By the way, how’s that young copper? I heard he was pretty badly off.”
I was able to answer, having asked at Scotland Yard while we were there. “The latest word is that he is still unconscious but showing signs of waking. The doctors only hope that he has suffered no lasting brain injury. Whoever hit him hit hard, and struck twice, as well.”
“Yes.” Western looked sober. “I hope the lad recovers. Bad enough for the boy to be hurt by one of our own, but being done in by a foreigner isn’t right.”
I smiled at this parochial viewpoint and Western grinned along with me. He patted me on the shoulder, “Good luck, Doctor, and to you, Mr. Holmes. I’ll be getting along now and if I find anything useful I’ll let you know.” With that he eeled through the crowd by the bar and vanished into the busy street.
I drained my own glass and pondered. “Holmes, do you think he’ll find anything?”
“I think so, for he certainly has motive.”
“And what of the money? He said he wouldn’t touch it for himself.”
“That’s probably true, but he’s of a class that deals in favors given and taken. How often have you heard some noble client assure me that he won’t forget my aid, and speak most sincerely.”
“What favor can you do him?”
Holmes’s lips quirked upwards. “Watson, Watson, why do you think he told you so much about his circumstances?
“Why, he sensed that I was sympathetic.”
“That, yes. But also he knew who you were from the beginning. In his business it pays to know. You came looking for help. I think he did tell you the truth, that he loves England and he abhors, as would any man of sense, the idea that we may be forced into a war. But also he saw the chance to bank a favor. Therefore he told you in great detail how it only wants a letter to return the estate he should inherit. He knew you would tell me in the same detail, and that I might have some idea where to look for the missing epistle and thereby restore him to the status of a gentleman again.”
“And do you?”
“I have an idea or two. We shall see, but for now let us go home. Mrs. Hudson must be despairing of us and our dinner is fast becoming inedible.”
I wanted a bath, too, for being in that tenement felt as if I was grimy by sheer proximity, and the smells still outraged my nostrils.
The sensation of being clean again was almost ecstasy, and we found our dinner quite edible after all. I passed a peacef
ul night and over breakfast I inquired what we should do today.
“Nothing today, Watson, but I am in hopes that we shall hear from Lestrade tomorrow. If Rogers recovers consciousness, he may have a tale to tell.”
“That’s so, and my information was that he might well be awake by then.”
I left Holmes to his own devices while I called on several patients. I also wanted to check on Mr. Abernathy’s chest, as the old man had a persistent cough about which I was unhappy. He opened the door and welcomed my entrance.
“’Tis good to see you, Doctor.”
I handed over a bag of lemons. “Thank you, and here’s something that may help with that cough.”
“I hope you didn’t pay for them.”
“No, a friend of mine has a lemon tree in her greenhouse. It bears heavily and she was very happy for me to take some of the surplus. Now, I want you to make up a mixture of hot water, the juice from one large or two small lemons, a teaspoon of honey, and three drops from this bottle.” I handed over the tincture of opium. “You do have honey?”
“Yes, Doctor.” He grinned toothlessly at me. “M’ son, the one as lives out Hounslow way, he have a couple of hives. He dropped me in a pot of honey only yesterday. But come in and sit a moment.”
Knowing that old people want company often more than medicine, I agreed, and sat, accepting a cup of tea and composing myself to chat for half an hour.
Mr. Abernathy rambled on once he lit on the subject of his family. “I got good lads, Dr. Watson. Well, all but Alf, and he isn’t so bad. With luck he’ll work his way out of that place soon. He’s been offered another job and once he’s in work again he’ll maybe move to a better part of Lunnon.”
I couldn’t recall Alf, so I asked after him, to be told, “Ah, he lost his last place because the boss didn’t like some of the company he keeps.” The old man’s voice faltered. “Nay, truth to tell, it were more than that. A matter of five year back they was burgled, and the boss thought Alf had told those that did it where to find the cash and best goods. I don’t think it was so, but he lost the job anyways.” He sighed. “Alf isn’t a bad man, Doctor, but he got in with a dangerous crowd about that time, and when he lost his position they found him rooms where they all live.”
He began to cough at this point. It went on and on, the old man unable to catch his breath until he fell gasping from his chair. I heard a knocking at the door even as I dropped to my knees before him.
“Come in quickly!” I shouted, unbuttoning Abernathy’s upper garments. The flimsy door slammed open and a tall, well-built man rushed in.
“What’s to do?”
“He’s having trouble breathing. Put the kettle on to boil and bring a towel.”
He obeyed, and after a short but anxious wait while the steam of the inhalation worked, Mr. Abernathy was again breathing comfortably. I made up a jug of the cough mixture and watched him drink half a mug, until at last he sat up and could return to his armchair.
“I’m fine, lad, thanks to you.” He turned to the man beside him. “Alf, this is Dr. Watson. Reckon he saved my life.” I demurred, to be overridden. “Nay, Doctor. You visit me and often wi’out charge, you brought free lemons and that medicine for me, and you sit and talk with an old man when you’ve patients elsewhere. Think I don’t know? I do and I appreciate it. There’s many a doctor charges for every step he takes out of his surgery, and as for giving anything free, he’d rather die. Nay, I know and I’m grateful. You’re a good doctor and a better man.”
My face warmed and the man who had come in smiled. “Don’t like to be thanked, is that right, Doctor? Well, my dad’s thanks’ll serve for us both.” He offered his hand. “I’m Alfred Abernathy and I’m grateful.”
So this was the errant son. He was well enough dressed, and looked to be in good circumstances, so that I wondered how accurate his father had been in his description of his son’s situation. However that was none of my business and I made no comment but shook his hand and assured him that I had been pleased to be of assistance, which was true. His father had been my patient for some years and I knew him to be a decent man, and one who had been a good husband and a loving father. I may have met Alfred once or twice, but that had been many years ago and I would not have recognized him now.
“Well, I’ll leave you in good hands, Mr. Abernathy. You take care, and I’ll call again in a few days.” I glanced back as I left the room, seeing Alfred bending over his father, persuading him to sip a little more of the cough mixture. Yes, bad man or not, he was a son who loved his father, and I was pleased that it be so. It is a fallacy promulgated by the rich that the poor do not care for their families. I have often seen more affection in a humble cottage or single room where a family resides, than in mansions.
The next morning a constable arrived on our doorstep with a note from Harrison to say that we should go at once to the hospital. We hailed a cab as soon as Holmes finished reading. On our arrival, Harrison met us in the waiting room.
“Len’s waking up,” he said briefly. “Come this way.”
We followed him to the ward and stood by the door of the lad’s room. Lestrade was in there, along with a nurse and doctor. Someone was mumbling, and the doctor spoke now and again to Lestrade or gave instructions to the nurse. That continued for some time, until a young man’s voice firmed into clarity.
“What’s to do?” Then, “Oh, sir! Please excuse…”
“Lie down, lad, no need to stand on ceremony,” said Lestrade. “You’re in hospital. You were struck down and injured. You’re recovering, and you did your duty, no need to fret. Now, start with the last thing you remember clearly and go back from there. Don’t fuss and don’t try to force anything, let it come as it will, even if it sounds a bit confused. No need to put it into official language either, just tell it as it happened.”
We moved closer to the door. Len Rogers remembered that he had been detailed to work as a footman in Northgate’s home. However, his primary job was to watch over Northgate, since his superiors had heard some whisper that His Lordship could be in danger. Northgate knew Rogers for what he was and had been always carelessly kind to the boy. In consequence, Rogers, who liked the man, had several times, and without His Lordship knowing, followed him in the city as Northgate went about his affairs. His Lordship disbelieved the warnings, Rogers said, and took no security precautions at all, so that Rogers was worried for him.
“His Lordship told the butler as he was going out. He got into a cab and I followed on foot, as traffic were bad so it weren’t going fast and I could keep up by cutting through some alleys. Lord Northgate got out of the cab after a while and went into a house, After a couple of minutes he came to the front door again and I thought he was leaving. There was movement behind His Lordship and he turned back inside seeming to hear someone speaking to him. Two men stood at the door with him. They took hold of His Lordship, tried to drag him back inside and there was a scuffle, so I ran up calling that they should release him at once, and that’s all I can recall, sir.”
Holmes stepped into the doorway. “Do you remember a cat?” he asked. “A brown cat, very friendly? You gave him something.”
Rogers’s pale face lit with a smile. “The cat, he was licking my face. He had a fancy collar on so I guessed he was a pet. I gave him my dad’s watch and he played with it, then he went off carrying it.”
Holmes spoke in a soft, even voice. “And he came back, so you gave him…”
“I gave him one of my gloves. Seemed like years after that and no one came. Lord Northgate was gone when next I came to. I found his handkerchief by me, spotted with blood, and I thought that might make someone notice. I gave that to the cat next time and he didn’t come back.”
“No, he took the handkerchief to his owner who knows me, and who came to ask my advice. Inspector Lestrade and I returned, and with the cat’s help we tracked down where you were held captive and freed you.”
“A good cat,” Len said, his voice trailing off into si
lence as his eyes closed.
The doctor made the usual checks and looked at us. “He’s weak and he’ll fall asleep like that for days. He mustn’t be tired out more than you can help, and I think it unlikely he’ll remember much more. The initial blows were to the back of the head and he would not have seen his attacker. Someone beat him badly after that; he has cracked ribs, a broken arm, and considerable bruising.”
Harrison followed us to the waiting room and spoke quietly. “The doctor thinks Len will recover completely. I’m glad of that, for I like the boy; he’s honest, hard-working, sensible, and he’ll be a good detective, in time.”
I looked at him. “Isn’t he a detective now?”
Harrison grinned. “Well, he started as a constable, however he’s got some education has Len, and ambition. He was promoted to detective last year, just after he turned twenty-eight. I’ve been bringing him along and letting him shadow me on some cases. If he stays with us he could go far, but he has a lot to learn as yet.”
Holmes stared thoughtfully out of the window. “It’s clear the kidnappers planned to take Northgate. Rogers was an accident; they had to take him before he drew attention, but they dumped him as soon as they could. At some point, Northgate’s handkerchief fell from his pocket.”
“Do you think Northgate is injured?”
“I think they likely knocked him on the head,” Holmes told him. “But there were four of them, and they could easily have held Northgate without doing him real damage.”
“Four?” I asked.
Harrison spoke, ticking the numbers off on his fingers. “The cab driver. He must have been involved or why would he not have raised the alarm? He would have seen some at least of what occurred, but instead he appears to have simply driven away. He may have circled the block and returned to the house by the rear entrance. Then there were two men Rogers saw at the house, and a fourth man, the one who hit Rogers from behind.” I had overlooked that one.
“Could he not have been struck by one of the two men with Northgate?”
Sherlock Holmes in Something the Cat Dragged In Page 5
