The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Improbable Prisoner

by Stuart Douglas

  Pain lanced from my ribs to my shoulder as I pressed against my restraints, but the anger that had boiled inside me since I had been confined in Holloway would not be quelled, no matter how much I might wish it to be. “I should have prevented him, but I did not. And so you slaughtered him, as though he were nothing!”

  Now Galloway’s smile became a full-bellied laugh. “Spied on me? You said it yourself, Watson. He was no more than a child. I have killed more than one man and perhaps I am the butcher you claim, but I don’t kill children for watching me. At worst, I would have had one of my people warn him off.” He shook his head. “You disappoint me, Doctor. I’ve laboured under the misapprehension that there was more to you than bravery and a willingness to be hurt in the cause of Mr. Holmes’s games, but it seems I was mistaken. Spied on me, did he?”

  He laughed again, and there could be no doubting that his amusement was genuine. But if Galloway had not killed my friend, then who had?

  I had not long to wait to find out. Galloway composed himself, and crouched down before me, so that his face was level with my own. Close to, I fancied I could actually see the moment at which amusement left his eyes, to be replaced by a cold hardness. Galloway was all business once more.

  “I’ll tell you who killed your young friend, shall I? Because I know everything that goes on in here. I knew the boy was dead before the guards did. One of my boys saw the act take place, you see. Did Potter not tell you that? I told him to give you fair warning of what lay in your cell. No surprise there, I suppose; he’s no better than a dog, that one. But still… I know who killed the boy. Do you want me to show you?” He stood and stretched, caring little how I replied. “There’s no reason why I shouldn’t do you this one last favour. Your life is assuredly forfeit for saving George Adams, but I am not so cruel as you believe, and won’t send you to your grave unsatisfied. Not in that respect at least.”

  He beckoned to one of his unseen compatriots. “Bring the good doctor his gift, and then we can be done with this business.”

  The man, whoever he was, did no more than grunt, then shuffled past me into the corridor beyond. I heard a door open, I assume the same storage space in which I had watched the earlier meeting of Galloway and his gang, then a muffled thump, as though something heavy had fallen to the floor. In the dying light of the evening, the man entered the room with his back to me, dragging something that I was unable quite to make out. With a final sigh, he allowed his burden to slip to the floor, then stepped back into the shadows.

  A burlap sack lay crumpled at Galloway’s feet. As soon as I saw it, the shape of it, I knew that it must contain a corpse.

  “Here’s your murderer, Dr. Watson. I’ll own up to this killing happily enough.”

  He indicated that the bag should be opened, and one of his men knelt down and pulled at the rope that bound it, then manoeuvred the top of the sack down, exposing the boil-encrusted face of Isaac Collins.

  “You look surprised, Doctor. Were you expecting someone else?”

  “I don’t understand,” I said weakly. “Why should this man kill poor Hardie, when he could as easily have killed me instead?”

  Galloway’s laughter cut through me like a knife. “You think a great deal of yourself, Doctor, don’t you? You’re not quite so important as you believe, not in a place like this. There are any number of reasons why a man might get himself killed inside a prison’s walls, and what you consider your fame is not high on that list. Why, I doubt one man in a hundred has even heard your name, never mind be able to identify you in a crowded prison yard.

  “But steal from any man in here and you take your life in your hands. The lad paid the price he should have known he would when he stole booze from Ikey Collins.”

  Stole booze? Suddenly, I remembered the rough alcohol Hardie and I had shared on my first night. Of course, he had stolen it. He had told me he had just arrived. Where else could it have come from but theft?

  “But the G carved on his cheek?” The question sounded redundant, even as I asked it, but Galloway nodded anyway.

  “Not a G, Doctor, a C. You think I got where I am by signing my corpses?” He chuckled at the thought. “But Collins wanted every inmate to know who killed the boy. I doubt he even knew who you were at first. Probably made it his business to find out after I… intervened, but by then he knew better than to touch you, even if he wanted to. Which I also doubt. I’ll say this for Ikey Collins, he didn’t go looking for trouble. Ran an efficient ship, kept himself out of trouble, didn’t give any warder a reason to bother him. A cut of the takings to Shapley and one or two others, and a blind eye was turned in his direction. But he couldn’t let some wet-eared boy steal from him, now could he?” Galloway’s smile was now as cold as the air in the room. “’Cos if it got about that a miserable nothing like him could take even a portion of what was Ikey’s, and escape without punishment, well – what was to stop someone like me deciding to take it all?”

  There was nothing I could say. I stared blankly at Galloway, my mind empty, aware only that I had begun to shiver. I knew at that moment that I would die in this squalid room. Nothing could save me. That was why Galloway had shown me the body, had admitted to the murder. He wanted me to know that my life would soon be over.

  “So now you know,” he said, still smiling. “Consider the information a last thank you for the favour some say you did me with McLachlan’s aunt. Not that I really believed you did it. Not for long. But I’ve long wished to do Mr. Sherlock Holmes a bad turn. I could hardly ignore an opportunity dropped in my lap like you showing up in the yard at Holloway. And accused of a killing which everyone would otherwise have thought my doing? It was too good a chance. So I made sure that the world was certain you were my man. Shook your hand for all to see, extended my wing over you, claimed you as my own. And then sent that IOU, just to be sure. We did laugh at that, I can tell you. I don’t know who put your head in the noose, and that’s the truth, but I’ve done my level best to make sure it stays there.

  “But that’s all done now, and I’ve pressing business to attend to. I’m afraid I can’t waste any more time on you, Dr. Watson. My boys need to be putting the word out that I’m the man to see for booze now. Time waits for no man, they say. I’m sure you understand.”

  Casually, he kicked the corpse at his feet. “Take this away and dump it in a corner somewhere it’ll be found,” he ordered the man nearest to him. “And you,” he continued, pointing to another, “put an end to Watson here, and leave his body in the same place. There’ll be a bit of noise when they’re discovered, but everyone knows I did all I could to protect the poor doctor. Besides, what am I paying Keegan for, if not to cover up the likes of this? Mind and leave the blade you use beside the bodies. Stick it in Ikey’s hand, maybe. That should help.”

  He turned briskly, and the second man he had spoken to stepped in front of me, a length of sharpened metal in his hand. I willed my eyes to remain open as he approached, determined at least to face death head on, when the most unexpected voice broke the silence.

  “Take one more step towards him and I shall be forced to shoot.”

  I twitched my head towards the speaker, and was astonished to see the man who had dragged in the body step from the shadows, a revolver held steadily before him. Had I not recognised Holmes’s voice, I would not have known him at all. Dressed as he was in the same filthy uniform as the rest of us, his face dirty and partially covered by long stubble, only his eyes, when the last few rays of sunlight caught them, were those of my friend.

  “Cut him loose,” he went on, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “Do it now, or Mr. Galloway dies at the count of three.”

  He moved the revolver slightly, so that it pointed directly at Galloway, then softly said, “One.”

  Galloway was no coward, I’ll say that for him. For a moment, I thought he would rush Holmes. He leant forward, taking all his weight on the balls of his feet, but Holmes murmured, “Two,” and, obviously realising
that the distance between them was too great, he rocked back and snarled, “Do what he says. Cut the doctor loose.”

  My would-be killer stepped around me, and I felt the bonds at my wrists and then my ankles loosen and fall away. I pushed myself to my feet and swayed to one side as the blood resumed its interrupted course, sending a sharp pain through my legs.

  “How—?” I muttered, but Holmes shushed me quietly.

  “In a moment, Watson,” he said, taking my elbow with one hand, while the revolver in the other retained its steady aim at Galloway’s heart.

  Slowly, we backed out of the room. Once we were outside, Holmes slid a bolt across and locked the door behind us, trapping the men inside. The circulation had fully returned to my legs by then, and I was eager to be away, but Holmes held fast to my elbow and bade me wait.

  I had not long to do so. No more than a couple of minutes passed before I heard footsteps climbing the staircase towards us and then, emerging from the gloom, the eager face of Inspector Lestrade, with two uniformed constables behind him.

  “Inside is he, Mr. Holmes?” Lestrade asked, glancing across at me as he did so.

  “He, sundry members of his gang, and the body of one of his victims, Inspector. At least one of them is armed with a home-made knife, so I suggest you take this.” He handed Lestrade the revolver. “There will no doubt be other charges, but for the moment, the murder of one Isaac Collins will suffice.”

  “And Dr. Watson?”

  “To the infirmary would be best, I think. With a police guard, to be on the safe side. But first, I must have a word with him in private.”

  My head was still heavy and my hands still shaking, but I had strength and will enough to take a seat on the top step of the stairs and wait for Holmes to join me.

  “I feared I would be too late,” he began as soon as he was seated. “I was delayed returning from a necessary errand, and though I came straight to your cell dressed as Andrews, you were, of course, already gone. Fortunately, there are only so many places you could have been taken at one o’clock in the morning and I gambled correctly that it would not be the pump house.

  “I rushed here, and discovered a large sack where we now sit – the same sack you saw containing the late Mr. Collins, of course. I was just wondering how best to effect entry when Galloway sent his confederate out to fetch Collins. After that, it was the work of a moment to render him unconscious and take his place. The rest you know.”

  I still had many questions, but I knew they could wait for now. Holmes gestured to a nearby constable for assistance and, with an exhausted sigh, I allowed him to help me up, then preceded him down the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In the infirmary, the doctor I had seen earlier took me efficiently in hand. To my relief, none of my injuries were serious, only a second cracked rib and a deep cut to my scalp requiring no more treatment than antiseptic ointment.

  As my ribs were being re-strapped, word arrived from Lestrade that I was required in the governor’s office. The doctor protested that I needed rest – a distinct change in attitude from my previous time under his “care”, I noted – but I assured him that I already felt much recovered and he, with a great show of reluctance, eventually agreed to release me. With the constable who had escorted me at my side, ready to steady me if I should stumble, I made what haste I could to Keegan’s office.

  Here too, much had changed from my earlier visit. Of Keegan himself, there was no sign, though as the hour was still early, that was no great surprise. Lestrade sat in the governor’s chair, with Holmes perched on the edge of another, still in the begrimed prison uniform he had worn during my rescue. Galloway, too, was present, handcuffed to the wrist of a burly police sergeant, standing before the governor’s desk. As I entered the room, Holmes looked up and in the artificial light I saw a look of relief flash across his eyes.

  “Take a seat, Watson,” he said. “Galloway has been telling us a most fascinating tale. I am certain that he would have no objection to recounting it again for your benefit.”

  I sat, and examined the man who, not an hour earlier, had ordered my death. He appeared composed and alert, and perfectly willing to look me in the eye as he spoke.

  “It’s straightforward enough, Doctor. I’m not keen to swing for Collins’s death, but I won’t give up any of my lads to prevent it. Loyalty is everything in a business like mine, but it’s only through trust that you breed loyalty. And how could any one of my lads trust me again if I did that? No, I’d rather be topped myself than send one of them to the rope.

  “But that don’t apply to everyone. Some of them I employ, they don’t understand loyalty. They just put their hands out and I fill them with money or information, or whatever they need. They’d turn on me and mine in a second if they thought it’d save their skins, so I reckon I owe them nothing in return. That’s reasonable, wouldn’t you say?”

  I said nothing, and Galloway gave a tiny shrug. Holmes waved a hand, encouraging him to continue.

  “Like Governor Keegan, for instance?” Holmes said. “Even allowing for all the palms you greased among the guards, I realised as soon as I worked my first shift that the degree of freedom you had required collusion from the very top.” He turned to me, his face downcast. “I attempted to warn you not to trust him, but we were interrupted, and then I was unavoidably called away.”

  Galloway looked at each of us in turn, ensuring he had our attention, before he replied. “Keegan? Of course. I’ve been greasing his palm for years. Regular payments too, to make sure that any of my lads who end up passing through his gates gets treated right. And a bit more now and again, when special arrangements need to be made. A prison can be a dangerous place – well, I don’t need to tell you that, do I, Doctor? – and if someone happens to fall down a stairwell now and again, or manages to hang himself in his cell, well, who’s to say what happened? Not Governor Keegan, that’s for sure, and not his guards. Not the ones who count, anyway. Same goes if I want to see someone sweating on the treadmill for a bit. Teaches folk respect, doesn’t it?”

  “Let’s be quite clear here, Galloway,” Lestrade interrupted. “You are saying that you’ve paid Governor Keegan to turn a blind eye to torture and murder inside his own prison? And you’d be willing to put that in a statement, and repeat it in court?”

  “I said I would, didn’t I? I told you, I owe him nothing. Nor Potter.”

  Inspector Potter’s name was obviously a new addition to the conversation, for I heard Lestrade suck the air in through his teeth, and Holmes moved forward, until he was all but crouched in front of his chair.

  “Thank you, Galloway. I wondered when you would mention Inspector Potter.” Holmes spoke before Lestrade could respond, his eyes glistening brightly and his mouth set in a thin-lipped line. “I would be obliged if you would allow me to lay out what we already know in respect of the inspector, and you can make additions and corrections as necessary?”

  Galloway shrugged, as though the matter were of supreme indifference to him. Lestrade glowered, but remained silent, as Holmes re-settled himself in his chair and began to speak.

  “You have been working with Inspector Potter for some time; since his original fall from grace, in fact. You approached him, I think. No matter the flaws in his character, a man such as Potter would not turn to one like yourself of his own volition. Not readily, at least. But you caught him at his lowest ebb; betrayed, as he saw it, by those who should have supported him.

  “So you contacted him, offering to provide information which would help him recover the standing he had lost. Something small, at first. Details of a crime to be committed by one of your rivals, an unpleasant matter, but a trivial one in the grand scheme of things. Evidence of your good faith, as it were. Perhaps you presented yourself as that most illogical of beasts, the honest criminal. One of the old school, a man who respected the unspoken rules of the game. I can imagine Potter reacting well to an approach of that nature.

  “And thus you c
ultivated the inspector. You supplied him with a steady stream of information, and watched his fortunes rise once more. Always, however, alongside your own. For you too benefited; how could you not, for every blow he struck against this gang or that was a blow against one of your competitors. Your business expanded as each rival fell, the vacuum created in their wake filled by you or one of your men, until you were in a position to spring the trap you had built around him.”

  Holmes’s recital came to a halt, and he looked across at Galloway, one eyebrow raised, seeking confirmation. Galloway nodded once. “That’s about right,” he said. “He thought he had me in the palm of his hand, told me to my face that he could break me any time he wanted. But he was wrong there.”

  Holmes returned the gesture. “Because though Potter is no fool, he is, at heart, a simple man. Even the professional reversal he had suffered had not taught him caution. Just as he had once set himself up against the establishment, convinced that because he was in the right, he could not be gainsaid, now he allowed himself to believe that his own honesty provided him with a shield that would protect him against you. But it did not; it could not. Watson will tell you that I do not generally care to conjecture, but it is safe to say that some of the arrests he made, using the information you provided, implicated him in a degree of illegality which, if made public, he would struggle to refute.”

  Again, he stopped, and waited for Galloway to speak.

  “Something like that. I made sure that I had witnesses to certain of our dealings. Men of good character who would swear, if need be, that Potter was a bought man, who took my coin knowing that he was working for me.”

  “But he took no money from you, did he?”

  “Not a penny. But who’d believe that? Even if they did, would his own vanity seem a more acceptable price, once the newspapers twisted the story? It’s no secret, there’s more than one newspaperman who’ll print anything if it brings a copper low.”