"As he had done in his lecture hall, he inspired us that night with his speech. He persuaded us that we should go out again and this time he went with us.
"Dressed once more as beggars, we ventured into the sordid, dark places near the docks, where such as we had never dared go at night. Using the Roman system as a model, he showed us what we had done wrong — and how we could do it right.
"We listened at the right windows. We lurked outside sailors' taverns and heard their coarse, drunken gossip. And suddenly we began to understand how the Secret Mendicant Society had worked so admirably well. Wine loosens men's tongues, and much could be gleaned from attentive listening. For who pays attention to shabby beggars, even among the dregs of our society?
"There were a dozen ship's captains who we could have turned in for smuggling, a handful of murders we could have solved, stolen cargoes that could have been recovered with just a word in the right ear at Scotland Yard.
"We did none of that. It was petty. But we were young and foolish, and Dr Attenborough did nothing but encourage us in our foolishness. Oh, he was a masterful speaker. He could convince you night was day and white was black, if he wanted to. And suddenly he wanted very much to have us working for him. We would be a new Secret Mendicant Society — or, as we chaps liked to call it, an Amateur Mendicant Society. Dabbling, yes, that was a gentleman's way. It was a game to us. As long as we pretended it was a schoolyard lark, it wasn't really a dirty deal.
"I regret to say I took full part in the Amateur Mendicant Society's spying over the following six months. I learned the truth from dishonest men, turned the information over to Dr Attenborough, and he pursued matters from there. What, exactly, he did with the information I can only guess — extortion, blackmail, possibly even worse. However, I do know that suddenly he had a lot of money, and he paid us handsomely for our work. He bought an abandoned warehouse and had a posh gentleman's club outfitted in the basement — though, of course, there were no servants, nobody who could break our secret circle. Later he leased the warehouse out for furniture storage.
"I was not the first to break the circle. Dickie Clarke was. He told me one evening that he had enlisted in the army. His father had used his influence to get him a commission, and he was off to India. 'I'm through with soiling my hands with this nonsense,' he told me. 'I've had enough. Come with me, Oliver. It's not too late' I was shocked, and I refused — to my lasting shame.
"When Attenborough found out, he had an absolute fit he threw things, screamed obscenities, smashed a whole set of dishes against the wall. Then and there I realized I had made a mistake. I had made a pact with a madman. I had to escape.
"The next day I too enlisted. I've been away for nineteen years — I never came back, not even on leave, for fear of what Dr Attenborough might do if he found out. He was that violent.
"I had stayed in touch with Dickie Clarke all through his campaigns and my own, and when he wrote from London to tell me Attenborough was dead, I thought it would be safe to return home. I planned to write my memoirs, you see.
"Only two weeks ago Dickie died. Murdered — I'm sure of it! And then I noticed people, strangers dressed as beggars, loitering near my house, watching me, noting my movements as I had once noted the movements of others. To escape, I simply walked out of my home one day, took a series of cabs until I was certain I hadn't been followed, and haven't been back since."
Sherlock Holmes nodded slowly when Pendleton-Smythe finished. "A most interesting story," he said. "But why would the Amateur Mendicant Society want you dead? Are you certain there isn't something more?"
He raised his head, back stiff. "Sir, I assure you, I have told you everything. As for why — isn't that obvious? Because I know too much. They killed old Dickie, and now they're going to kill me!"
"What of the four others from Eton? What happened to them?"
"The others?" He blinked. "I — I really don't know. I haven't heard from or spoken to any of them in years. I hope they had the good sense to get out and not come back. Heavens above, I certainly wish I hadn't!"
"Quite so," said Holmes. He rose. "Stay here, Colonel. I think you will be safe in Mrs Coram's care for the time being. I must look into a few matters, and then we will talk again."
"So you will take my case?" he asked eagerly.
"Most decidedly." Holmes inclined his head. "I'm certain I'll
be able to help. One last thing. What was the address of the warehouse Attenborough owned?" "Forty-two Kerin Street," he said.
As we headed back toward Baker Street, Holmes seemed in a particularly good mood, smiling and whistling bits of a violin concerto I'd heard him playing earlier that week.
"Well, what is it?" I finally demanded.
"Don't you see, Watson?" he said. "There can only be one answer. We have run into a classic case of two identical organizations colliding. It's nothing short of a trade war between rival groups of beggar-spies."
"You mean there's a real Secret Mendicant Society still at large?"
"The very thing!"
"How is it possible? How could they have survived all these years with nobody knowing about them?"
"Some people can keep secrets," he said.
"It's fantastic!"
"Grant me this conjecture. Imagine, if you will, that the real Secret Mendicant Society has just become aware of its rival, the Amateur Mendicant Society. They have thrived in the shadows for centuries. They have a network of informants in place. It's not hard to see how the two would come face to face eventually, as the Amateur Society expanded into the Secret Society's established territory. Of course, the Secret Mendicant Society could not possibly allow a rival to poach on their grounds. What could they possibly do but strike out in retaliation?"
"Attenborough and Clarke and the others ..."
"Exactly! They have systematically eliminated the amateurs. I would imagine they are now in occupation of the secret club under the old furniture warehouse, where Attenborough's records would have been stored. And those records would have led them, inexorably, to the two Amateurs who got away — Dickie, who they killed at once, and our client, who they have not yet managed to assassinate."
"Ingenious," I said.
"But now Colonel Pendleton-Smythe is in more danger than he believes. He is the last link to the old Amateur Mendicant Society, so it should be a simple matter to — "
Holmes drew up short. Across the street from 22 1 b Baker Street, on the front steps of another house, a raggedly dressed old man with a three-day growth of beard sat as if resting from a long walk.
"He's one of them," I said softly.
Holmes regarded me as though shocked by my revelation. "Watson, must you be so suspicious? Surely that poor unfortunate is catching his second wind. His presence is merest coincidence." I caught the amused gleam in his eye, though.
"I thought you didn't believe in coincidences," I said.
"Ye-es." He drew out the word, then turned and continued on toward our front door at a more leisurely pace. "Let us assume," he said, "that you are right. What shall we do with the devil? Run him off? Have him locked up by Lestrade?"
"That would surely tip our hand," I said. "Rather, let us try to misdirect him."
"You're learning, Watson, you're learning." We reached our house; he opened the door. "I trust you have a plan?"
"I was rather hoping you did," I admitted.
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "But I'm going to need your help ..."
Two hours later, I stood in the drawing room shaking my head. The man before me — thick lips, stubbled chin, rat's nest of chestnut colored hair — bore not the slightest resemblance to my friend. His flare for the dramatic as well as a masterly skill for disguises would have borne him well in the theatre, I thought. I found the transformation remarkable.
"Are you sure this is wise?" I asked.
"Wise?" he said. "Decidedly not. But will it work? I profoundly hope so. Check the window, will you?"
I lifted the d
rape. "The beggar has gone."
"Oh, there are surely other watchers," he said. "They have turned to me as the logical one to whom Colonel Pendleton-Smythe would go for help." He studied his new features in a looking glass, adjusted one bushy eyebrow, then glanced over at me for approval.
"Your own brother wouldn't recognize you," I told him. "Excellent." He folded up his makeup kit, then I followed him to the back door. He slipped out quietly while I began to count.
When I reached a hundred, I went out the front door, turned purposefully, and headed for the bank. I had no real business there; however, it was as good a destination as any for my purpose — which was to serve as a decoy while Holmes observed those who observed me.
I saw nothing to arouse my suspicions as I checked on my accounts, and in due course I returned to our lodgings in exactly the same professional manner. When Holmes did not at once show himself, I knew his plan had been successful; he was now trailing a member of the Secret Mendicant Society.
I had a leisurely tea, then set off to find Inspector Lestrade. He was, as usual, hard at work at his desk. I handed him a note from Sherlock Holmes, which said:
Lestrade,
Come at once to 42 Kerin Street with a dozen of your men. There is a murderer to be had as well as evidence of blackmail and other nefarious deeds.
Sherlock Holmes
Lestrade's eyes widened as he read the note, and a second later he was on his way out the door shouting for assistance.
I accompanied him, and by the time we reached 42 Kerin Street — a crumbling old brick warehouse — he had fifteen men as an entourage. They would have kicked the door in, but a raggedly dressed man with bushy eyebrows reached out and opened it for them: it wasn't so much as latched. Without a glance at the disguised Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade and his men rushed in.
Holmes and I strolled at a more leisurely pace back toward a busier street where we might catch a cab home. He began removing his makeup and slowly the man I knew emerged.
"How did it go?" I asked.
"There were a few tense moments," he said, "but I handled things sufficiently well, I believe."
"Tell me everything," I said.
"For your journals, perhaps?"
"Exactly so."
"Very well. As you headed down the street looking quite purposeful, an elderly gentleman out for a mid-day stroll suddenly altered his course after you. He was well dressed, not a beggar by appearance or demeanor, so I took this to mean he was now watching us. I overtook him, grasped him firmly by the arm, and identified myself to him.
"At once he cried out for assistance. Two elderly men — these dressed for business, not begging — rushed toward me from the sides. I had seen them, but not suspected them of being involved because of their advanced age.
"We tussled for a moment, and then I knocked the beggar down, threw off one of my opponents, and seized the other by his collar. I might have done him some injury had he not shouted that I was under arrest."
Holmes smiled faintly at my surprise.
"Arrest!" I cried, unable to contain myself. "How was this possible?"
"It made me pause, too," Holmes went on. "He might have been bluffing, but I knew I lacked a few key pieces of the puzzle, and this one seemed to fit. I told him, 'Very well, Sir, if you will call off your men and explain yourselves to my satisfaction, I shall gladly accompany you to police headquarters."
"When he nodded, I released him. He straightened his coat as his two fellows collected themselves. Frowning at me, he seemed to be thinking ahead. He had to be sixty-five or seventy years old, I decided.
" 'I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Holmes,' he finally said. 'I believe we may have business to discuss. But not at the police station.'
" 'Exactly so,' I told him. 'Are you at liberty to speak for the whole Society, or must we report to your superiors?'
" 'Come with me.' He dismissed the other two with a nod, turned, and led me to a quiet building on Harley Street. I had been there once before on business with the Foreign Office, but I showed no sign of surprise; indeed, this piece of the puzzle seemed to fit admirably well.
"He took me upstairs to see a rear admiral whose name I agreed not to divulge, and there the whole truth of the Secret Mendicant Society became apparent to me."
I said, "They no longer work for Rome. They work for us." "Quite right, Watson," Holmes said. "This rear admiral took me into their confidence, since they have a file on me and know
I can be trusted. The organization of the Secret Mendicant Society was once quite remarkable, though it seems near its end. Their membership is small and, as far as I can tell, consists largely of septuagenarians or older. The times have changed so much that beggary is dying out; modern spies have much more efficient means of political espionage ... for that is the current goal of the Secret Mendicant Society."
"But what about the murders!" I exclaimed. "Surely not even the Foreign Office would — "
"Not only would they, they did. Politics is becoming less and less a gentleman's game, my dear Watson. For the security of our great country, nothing is above the law for them — laws that must govern the common man, such as you or I — or even poor Pendleton-Smythe."
"So there is nothing you can do to help the colonel," I said bitterly.
"The admiral and I rapidly reached an arrangement," Holmes said, "when I explained what I had done with you and Lestrade. With Scotland Yard about to close in on the headquarters of the Amateur Mendicant Society, there was nothing he could do but agree with me that the Amateurs must be exposed. The publicity surrounding them will camouflage the activities of the real Secret Mendicant Society and allow Pendleton-Smythe the luxury of living out the rest of his days in peace. He, for one, never for an instant suspected the Secret Mendicant Society actually existed. That is his salvation."
"But what of the new Amateur Mendicant Society? Surely they did not agree to surrender so blithely!"
"Indeed, they offered no objection, since with the exception of our client, they are all dead." Holmes paused a second. "After I left Harley Street, I proceeded at once to the warehouse.There I found the proper building, knocked twice sharply, and pushed my way inside when the door opened a crack by a man dressed as a beggar.
" 'Here now — ' he began. He pulled out a knife and pointed it at me. In earlier days he might have hurt or even killed me, but his reflexes had dulled with age. I caught his wrist, bent it back until he gave a moan of pain, and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter.
" 'We have no time for that,' I told him. 'The police have been summoned. You have ten minutes to gather your organization's papers and vacate the building, or you will be captured and implicated in murder.'
" 'Who are you?' he demanded, rubbing his arm.
" 'A friend. Now hurry!'
"He hesitated, looking to the two other men in the room: both were elderly, and both were dressed as gentlemen. They had been going over papers spread out on a table halfway across the room.
" 'This must be Mr Sherlock Holmes,' one of them said.
" 'True,' I said. 'You now have nine minutes.'
"Without another word, he began to gather up papers and stuff them into a case. His assistant did likewise.
" 'Where are Attenborough's files?' I demanded.
" 'In the back room,' he said. 'They were useless to us. Most deal with murder and blackmail.'
" 'Do you object to the police obtaining them?'
" `No. You may do with them as you see fit.
" 'Thank you for the warning. It might have been embarrassing to be found here.'
"When they had gone, I checked the back room and found Attenborough's files. They seemed a complete record of his blackmail schemes. I also found Attenborough's body, tucked away behind a filing cabinet. He had clearly been dead for some months.
" 'I arranged the body to look as though an accident had occurred — a bookcase had fallen on him — then came out just as you and Lestrade arrived. To the untr
ained eyes of Lestrade and his men, it will look as though Attenborough suffered an unfortunate accident.' "
" 'What of Attenborough's files?' I asked. 'Surely they will ruin what remains of Colonel Pendleton-Smythe's reputation.'
" 'That will be handled by the foreign office. Lestrade will uncover the records of the Amateur Mendicant Society, which reveal their wrongdoings in excruciating detail. Their specialty was blackmail and extortion, as we had surmised. The records will be doctored to include, I dare say, the full catalog of murders by Dr Attenborough, as he desperately tried to maintain control of a crumbling criminal empire. The newspapers will, I am certain, find much scandalous material in it — and the colonel will have little choice but to deny his participation and suppress
that part of his memoirs, should he still choose to write them. All the Foreign Service wants, at this point, is to maintain the Secret Mendicant Society's anonymity while contributing whatever small gains it can to the war effort."
"It would seem, then," I said, "that everything has sorted itself out remarkably well. You're fortunate they didn't try to kill you," I commented.
"I believe the admiral considered it. However, I do make my own small contributions to the Foreign Office, as you well know. You might say we have friends in common."
"Your brother for one," I said.
"Just so," he said.
"Then we have reached a successful resolution to the case after a fashion."
"After a fashion," Holmes agreed with a half smile. "After a fashion."
The Adventure of the Silver Buckle - Denis 0. Smith
Holmes continued to throw himself into his cases as 1887 progressed and they did not become any easier. There was the loss of the British barque the Sophy Anderson. I have the details of this case but they are not in a sufficient state yet to present to the reader, though they again indicate the intensity of Holmes's involvement. Soon after this he was involved in the case of the Davenoke family of Shoreswood Hall, a long-unknown case which was identified by the renowned Holmesian scholar Denis Smith, who also rescued the following story. After the Shoreswood Hall case, Holmes investigated the death of Mrs Stewart of Lauder. Although he resolved the murder to his own satisfaction he was not able to find the conclusive evidence needed to convict Sebastian Moran, whom Holmes was convinced was behind the plot. This frustration caused both Holmes's spirit and energy to flag and Watson again became concerned for his health. It was at this stage that the case of the Grice Petersons on the island of Uffa, referred to in "The Five Orange Pips" occurred. Its facts have been unearthed by Denis Smith, who has produced other stories based on his research which I list at the end of this book.
The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures Page 16
