“Surely I can come with you, then?” said I.
“No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?”
“Most certainly.”
“I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I get back.”
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast time. On opening the Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the business.
With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy [it remarked] we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any moment.
“That is satisfactory so far as it goes,” thought I. “Friend Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be, though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder.”
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:
LOST–Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son Jim, left Smith’s Wharf at or about three o’clock last Tuesday morning in the steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to anyone who can give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith’s Wharf, or at 221B, Baker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch Aurora.
This was clearly Holmes’s doing. The Baker Street address was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious because it might be read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion’s reasoning? Might he not be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong, and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his logic–his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves but all tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that even if Holmes’s explanation were incorrect the true theory must be equally outré and startling.
At three o’clock on the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.
“Good-day, sir; good-day,” said he. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I understand.”
“Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars.”
“Thank you; I don’t mind if I do,” said he, mopping his face with a red bandanna handkerchief.
“And a whisky and soda?”
“Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year, and I have had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this Norwood case?”
“I remember that you expressed one.”
“Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. From the time that he left his brother’s room he was never out of sight of someone or other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through trapdoors. It’s a very dark case, and my professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little assistance.”
“We all need help sometimes,” said I.
“Your friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful man, sir,” said he in a husky and confidential voice. “He’s a man who is not to be beat. I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in his methods and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I don’t care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business. Here is his message.”
He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was dated from Poplar at twelve o’clock.
Go to Baker Street at once [it said]. If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish.
“This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again,” said I.
“Ah, then he has been at fault too,” exclaimed Jones with evident satisfaction. “Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is someone at the door. Perhaps this is he.”
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a coloured scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows and long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.
“What is it, my man?” I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
“Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?” said he.
“No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have for him.”
“It was to him himself I was to tell it,” said he.
“But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai Smith’s boat?”
“Yes. I knows well where it is. An’ I knows where the men he is after are. An’ I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it.”
“Then tell me, and I shall let him know.”
“It was to him I was to tell it,” he repeated with the petulant obstinacy of a very old man.
“Well, you must wait for him.”
“No, no; I ain’t goin’ to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr. Holmes ain’t here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself. I don’t care about the look of either of you, and I won’t tell a word.”
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.
“Wait a b
it, my friend,” said he. “You have important information, and you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not, until our friend returns.”
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness of resistance.
“Pretty sort o’ treatment this!” he cried, stamping his stick. “I come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!”
“You will be none the worse,” I said. “We shall recompense you for the loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have long to wait.”
He came across sullenly enough and seated himself with his face resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes’s voice broke in upon us.
“I think that you might offer me a cigar too,” he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “You here! But where is the old man?”
“Here is the old man,” said he, holding out a heap of white hair. “Here he is–wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test.”
“Ah, you rogue!” cried Jones, highly delighted. “You would have made an actor and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the glint of your eye, though. You didn’t get away from us so easily, you see.”
“I have been working in that get-up all day,” said he, lighting his cigar. “You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know me–especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise like this. You got my wire?”
“Yes; that was what brought me here.”
“How has your case prospered?”
“It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two.”
“Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But you must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the official credit, but you must act on the lines that I point out. Is that agreed?”
“Entirely, if you will help me to the men.”
“Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat–a steam launch–to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o’clock.”
“That is easily managed. There is always one about there, but I can step across the road and telephone to make sure.”
“Then I shall want two staunch men in case of resistance.”
“There will be two or three in the boat. What else?”
“When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the first to open it. Eh, Watson?”
“It would be a great pleasure to me.”
“Rather an irregular proceeding,” said Jones, shaking his head. “However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities until after the official investigation.”
“Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much like to have a few details about this matter from the lips of Jonathan Small himself. You know I like to work the details of my cases out. There is no objection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?”
“Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of the existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him, I don’t see how I can refuse you an interview with him.”
“That is understood, then?”
“Perfectly. Is there anything else?”
“Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little choice in white wines.–Watson, you have never yet recognized my merits as a housekeeper.”
Chapter 10
THE END OF THE ISLANDER
OUR MEAL WAS a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects–on miracle plays, on mediæval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future–handling each as though he had made a special study of it. His bright humour marked the reaction from his black depression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hours of relaxation and faced his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of Holmes’s gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared Holmes glanced at his watch and filled up three glasses with port.
“One bumper,” said he, “to the success of our little expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you a pistol, Watson?”
“I have my old service-revolver in my desk.”
“You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six.”
It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.
“Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?”
“Yes, that green lamp at the side.”
“Then take it off.”
The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward.
“Where to?” asked Jones.
“To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite to Jacobson’s Yard.”
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines of loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.
“We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,” he said.
“Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us.”
“We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for being a clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how annoyed I was at being baulked by so small a thing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up the river and down the river without result. The launch was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hide their traces, though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew that this man Small had a certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a product of higher education. I then reflected that since he had certainly been in London some time–as we had evidence that he maintained a continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge–he could hardly leave at a moment’s notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate.”
“It seems to me to be a little weak,” said I; “it is more probable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his expedition.”
“No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he could do without it. But a second consideration struck me. Jonathan Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion
, however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from their headquarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad light. Now, it was past three o’clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and people would be about in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they had time to see what view the papers took, and whether there was any suspicion, they would make their way under cover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they had already arranged for passages to America or the Colonies.”
“But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings.”
“Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small and looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably consider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How, then, could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted? I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I could only think of one way of doing it. I might hand the launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling change in her. She would then be removed to his shed or yard, and so be effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at a few hours’ notice.”
“That seems simple enough.”
“It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at once in this harmless seaman’s rig and inquired at all the yards down the river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth–Jacobson’s–I learned that the Aurora had been handed over to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to her rudder. ‘There ain’t naught amiss with her rudder,’ said the foreman. ‘There she lies, with the red streaks.’ At that moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner. He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of his launch. ‘I want her to-night at eight o’clock,’ said he–‘eight o’clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who won’t be kept waiting.’ They had evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of money, chucking shillings about to the men. I followed him some distance, but he subsided into an alehouse; so I went back to the yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand at the water’s edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not take men, treasure, and all.”
The Complete Sherlock Holmes Page 22
