by Val Andrews
I nodded and said, ‘I have noticed her. But I am extremely puzzled by the boldness of this suggestion. Surely he must know that it would be easy for you to watch for whoever collected the money from this woman?’
Holmes waved aside my remark. ‘No, his plan is a good one, this woman does a thriving business, partly from the quality of her wares and partly through the inherent kindness of the public concerning her affliction. If you hand her an envelope, which she doubtless expects through prior consultation with our quarry, he would doubtless collect it from her when her trade is at its briskest. Perhaps this might occur at about four in the afternoon, when many shoppers are making their way to the underground railway.’
I could see his point; it would be impossible to follow a suspect where he could be one of dozens. I said without conviction, ‘Maybe one of us could dress as a tramp and hang around the flower seller so that we could actually see an envelope change hands. Then we could follow the fellow who took it from her.’
Holmes considered, then asked, ‘Are you actually volunteering to dress as a tramp and stand around near the flower seller for an hour or two, Watson?’
I was hurt by his implication that I might not be willing to perform any service helpful to our cause and said, warmly, ‘Certainly, if it will help.’
My friend said, ‘Then I thank you, my dear fellow, for your plan can do no harm and might possibly do some good.’
I had half hoped that he would turn down my offer but I could hardly wriggle out of it. Holmes laid the plan of action. ‘Mr Forrage, you will take an envelope to the blind woman at about noon, telling her your name, which I am sure is all you will need to do. The envelope can be stuffed with pieces of paper to feel like banknotes, and securely sealed. As you turn to leave, Watson will start to lounge about in his disguise, as near to the flower seller as possible. Well, you both have your roles to enact and I am sure that Mr Forrage can arrange for your disguise in his theatrical department.’
As Holmes rose to leave us I dared to enquire, ‘What will you be doing yourself ?’
My friend assumed his most casual air and said, ‘I, Watson, shall spend a diverting hour or two in the conjuring department. I will see you back at Baker Street for dinner and we will compare our experiences.’
Forrage was about to take me to his disguise section when a rather pronounced ticking noise, like a cheap alarm clock but louder, could plainly be heard. Forrage muttered and crossed to a rather strange-looking device which was standing upon a filing cabinet. The machine was emitting a ribbon of paper as it ticked. After a few seconds Forrage tore the ribbon from the machine and studied it. He looked back at us dolefully, and said, ‘This is my latest toy, Holmes; it is rather like a telegraphy set-up. It conveys messages directly to me from certain centres. This one is from the Stock Exchange from whence I have received the tidings that the shares in A.W. Forrage Ltd have dropped in value, just at the time of year when one would expect them to go up. It has all leaked out, obviously. I could be ruined if this business does not become resolved. There is a board meeting tonight, and I have to tell my leading stockholders the bad news without being able to give them any sort of reason or excuse!’
I had never seen such a machine before, but had other things on my mind. Holmes made his way in the opposite direction to get the lift down to the first floor and the conjuring department as Forrage bundled me towards his theatrical area.
A young woman in an overall soon managed to give me a suitably trampish complexion and headgear, but there was no tramp costume amongst the stock. However, Forrage managed to borrow some breeches and jacket from one of the gardeners on the roof. These doubtless once-natty garments gave me a definite air of being down on my luck.
I suppose ‘A.W.’ and I were an oddly assorted couple as we emerged from Forrage’s and espied the flower seller from afar. Forrage said, ‘I suggest, Watson, that you go first, just cross the road and hang about near the old woman. I’ll follow and give her the envelope. Then, well, then it is up to you.’
I dodged the brewers’ drays, taxi cabs and hansoms, not to mention one of the old horse buses and a motor car or two, in order to reach my goal. Then I looked back and noted with wonder how Forrage managed to cross the road entirely without difficulty. The sight of the famous A.W. Forrage was enough to make cabbies pull up their horses and motorists to drop their speed to almost nothing. I had heard the expression ‘stopping the traffic’ before but now I had witnessed a real demonstration!
Over what next occurred, dear reader, I will draw a veil, because you will hear of it in its right and proper place.
Chapter Three - An Exchange of Experiences
‘My dear Watson, what on earth has detained you?’
My friend studied his watch and made clicking noises with his tongue as he rang for Mrs Hudson to bring the dinner. But I raised an admonishing hand and said, ‘Holmes, surely you can see that I am not yet suitably attired for the dinner table. I must wash and change into more suitable clothing.’
I retired to remove my disguise and change into clean but comfortable apparel. As I took my place at the table, Holmes smiled benevolently at me and said, ‘A great improvement, Watson, if a little below your normal sartorial standard. Why did you not change out of your tramp’s clothing and back into your Saville Row grey, with the gloves and shoes from St James’s before you returned?’
I stabbed a baked potato with my fork, angrily. There was nothing wrong with that roasted tuber, just with the sarcasm that my friend was playing out to me. I understood that he had a good idea as to the answers to his foolish questions, yet he insisted upon a full narration concerning all that had happened to me since he last saw me. I took a deep breath and despite the fact that I was still dining, I made a start, being direct and truthful despite the irony to which he had subjected me. ‘Well, Holmes, once I had made a death-defying transference of myself to the opposite side of High Holborn to that occupied by Forrage’s, I stationed myself near to the blind florist and watched ‘A.W.’ cross in his turn. He walked straight up to her, tipped his derby and handed her the padded-out envelope, tipped his hat again and retreated. Now she showed no surprise so obviously she was expecting him and the article in question. She placed it into a small box beneath her tiny stall and continued to implore passers-by to purchase her blooms, or “pretty flahs” as she called them. Her trade was quite brisk, for she is good at her job. She speaks with a cajoling style that is hard to refuse in light of the darkened spectacles which she wears.
‘I waited nearly an hour before anything of moment occurred. Then she quite deliberately and unexpectedly handed the envelope, or that which I took to be it, to a seedy-looking fellow dressed like a bookmaker. I made to shadow him, when to my amazement she handed another, exactly similar-looking padded envelope to a second shady-looking character!’
At this point I had eaten my fill and waved away an excellent fruit tart to smoke a pipe by the fireside. Holmes annoyed me by insisting on eating his fill at his own speed, so that I had to raise my voice a little to reach his ear across the room. I persevered. ‘So you see I had no idea which of the two to follow, but just as I had decided to shadow the first man, a third presented himself, taking a flower, tendering a coin, and walking away with a third padded envelope. I tell you, Holmes, from the distance at which I stood, which by now was as close as I dared, it was impossible to tell which of these three envelopes was the one that Forrage had left her.’
Holmes had ceased at last, thankfully, to treat me like a child and, eyes wide with interest, joined me by the fire. I did not speak again until he had charged his pipe. Then once I knew that I had his full attention I continued. ‘Then a woman, very smartly dressed, presented herself, purchased a bunch of flowers and got a padded envelope along with her change. I made a quick decision and started after her as discreetly as I was able. She crossed the road, and I thought at first she might enter Forrage’s, but fortunately she did not. (I say fortunately, for I imagined I woul
d have been ejected by a major domo had I attempted to enter the store in my tramp’s attire.) Instead she passed the windows and made off towards New Oxford Street, stopping now and then to gaze into the odd shop window. She entered Smith’s, the umbrella maker, and I waited around on the pavement. I pretended to be begging and someone actually dropped a penny into my outheld hat, saying, “Do not spend it all at once, and do not use it to buy drink!” Then the woman, smart, youngish and dark, emerged with a brand new umbrella in a silver grey to match her coat.
‘I again took to following her but then the worst possible thing happened. She suddenly stopped, turned, glared at me and said, “Stop following me, you disgusting creature!” Did I say that it was the worst thing that happened? Well, it was just the start of a long run of bad luck. It so happened that a burly police constable was standing in a shop doorway and heard what she said to me. He stepped forward, his right hand descending upon my left shoulder. He saluted her and said, “Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll take care of his nibs here.” She smiled sweetly at him and went on her way.’
I paused, aware that my voice had begun to shake, as had my right hand which held my pipe. Holmes, to give him his due, instantly comforted me with a glass charged from the spirit flask and gasogene bottle. He said, ‘My dear fellow, you really have suffered in my cause and I apologise for being the unwitting cause of these trials. Please compose yourself and then continue with your fascinating narrative.’
Kind words from Sherlock Holmes, and sincere ones at that, were rare and had the effect of soothing my frayed nerves. I continued my sad story. ‘Well, I thought perhaps that the constable would utter some words of warning and that I would explain who I was, without of course bringing your name and present activities into it, and that I would be allowed to go on my way.’
‘That was not the case?’
‘No, instead he frogmarched me to the central West End police station, not listening to my excuses. He stood me in front of a sort of counter behind which sat a sergeant upon a high stool. That worthy listened to the constable’s account of his reason for my arrest. Then he addressed me, saying, “What have you got to say for yourself, cully?” I pulled myself up to my full height and said, “I am an ex-army man, and a doctor of medicine, but just at the moment I am in disguise.” He grunted. “Humph, very well-disguised if I may say so! Now listen to me, because you are an old soldier down on your luck I am going to let you go, as no actual charge has been made. But if we catch you begging or annoying anyone again it’s chokey for you, my lad.” I tell you, Holmes, it was one of the most galling moments of my life as I walked out of the police station, realising that further argument would have led to my actual incarceration. I tell you, I say that even in this enlightened year of 1903, there is no justice for those who cannot present a respectable appearance.’
Holmes nodded. ‘We are grateful for authorities such as the police force; it is only when one is misjudged by them that one realises how the poor and destitute live, without security or justice. But pray continue.’
‘I walked in the direction of Forrage’s, realising for the first time that I would only be able to enter that establishment with the utmost difficulty. I must trudge those heavy two miles, for I could hardly hail a cab or even ride an omnibus, having, as I thought, not the wherewithal to pay. Then fortunately my fingers stumbled upon the penny which I had been given when mistaken for a begger. So I climbed upon a ’bus and rode to Forrage’s, being forced to sit on the open top with “the other layabouts” as the conductor so charmingly put it. But alas, my troubles had only just begun. By the time I reached and alighted at the store it had closed; I had no way of obtaining admission or reclaiming my clothes. Moreover, I had spent my only penny and could only make the long trudge back here to Baker Street.’
There was a pause, then Holmes enquired, ‘What did Mrs Hudson say when you presented yourself at the door? After all, you obviously had no keys save those still inside Forrage’s.’
I told him that which I really wished to forget. ‘She refused to recognise me or let me in for a full two minutes. Then I managed to shift some of the cosmetic dirt upon my face.’
Holmes handed me another drink and said, ‘My dear fellow, what a truly horrific experience. I mean, things just seemed to get worse as time passed . . .’
Suddenly he ceased to speak and a strange gasping and wheezing emanated from his throat. I thought at first he had suddenly become asthmatic; instead the sound was the prelude to the rarest sounds of all, the hearty laughter of Sherlock Holmes! When he was again able to speak he said, ‘Oh, my dear Watson, I do apologise, but I just cannot control myself, with the mental picture of you begging in the street, and being arrested and . . . oh dear . . .’
He had started to laugh again, but this time he did not laugh alone, for I had quite regained my sense of humour. It was a full quarter of an hour of the clock before we were both in full control of ourselves. Then, as we recovered, I asked, ‘But what of your own adventures, Holmes, how did you spend your afternoon?’
He shook his head. ‘Nowhere near as entertainingly as your own experiences, Watson, but there were developments, I assure you. Yes, there were developments.’
He sat back in his chair and played out his story, like a playwright trying to intrigue an actor-manager.
‘I left Forrage to spend an interesting couple of hours in the conjuring department. You know, Watson, I have spent most of my adult life in solving mysteries, yet when faced with a first-class conjurer, I am as putty in his hands. I honestly believe that if one of these worthies turned to crime, with his misdirection and deft sleight of hand he would be as formidable an adversary as I have faced. A sort of magical Moriarty, a Maskelyne of wrongdoers. At first I stood well back and enjoyed the experience of seeing the children laughing and gasping in turns as the demonstrator caught silver coins from out of the thin air and made a shower of comfits appear in a singularly innocent-looking glass vase. I was surprised to learn that quite such impressive “miracles” were for sale. But when I learned of the prices charged I realised that the idly curious would be scarcely likely to buy them. Indeed, most of the customers, and trade was brisk, were distinctly theatrical-looking, some of them even sporting fierce waxed moustaches and sharply pointed goatees. Now and then there would be a jolly uncle type who obviously was not a theatrical but wished to impress his nephews with a performance on Boxing Day. These mostly purchased trick boxes and tubes of which even I had some inkling as to their mechanics.
‘There was a lull in the activity at around five, and I managed to engage the demonstrator in conversation. His name was Collins and he told me that the department had a brand new manager, a Mr Will Goldston, lately arrived from Liverpool in which great city he had been operating his own magical emporium, numbering among his customers the Great Houdini, Horace Goldin and a Mr Carl Hertz, all of whom I was assured are professional illusionists at the very peak of their calling. Mr Collins was a dapper man with a well-trained moustache and an engagingly precise manner. He was good enough to introduce me to the celebrated Mr Goldston who emerged from behind a glass door, which evidently housed a cupboard of a department manager’s office. He was surprisingly young for his high position, being I would judge no more than about five and twenty though deceptively bald. He proved to be a shrewd man who had drawn his own conclusions from the rumoured troubles of which he had heard. He recognised me, unfortunately, from Paget’s illustrations to your sensationalised accounts of my exploits but I feel that I can trust him to keep his own counsel regarding our involvement.’
Holmes appeared to have spent a far more congenial afternoon and evening than had I. He continued. ‘No doubt you are thinking that I simply spent my time in unfettered enjoyment of the entertainment provided and in such congenial company whilst you suffered your indignities?’
I nodded. ‘Well, Holmes, you have rather read my mind.’
‘Ah, Watson, I weep for you, as the walrus said, I deeply sympathise. B
ut I have not finished the account of my adventures yet. You see, something occurred which proved my attention to the threatened department was warranted. Not long before the closing bell a rather singular event was to occur. A man of rather theatrical appearance entered upon the scene and demanded of Mr Collins a demonstration of that which he called “The clay pipes mystery”. Collins nodded and picked up two clay pipes from behind the counters and blew through each in turn indicating that both were empty of bowl and free of obstruction. He then placed the two bowls together and produced clouds of smoke, but rather spoiled the effect of it all by coughing, spluttering and ultimately collapsing to the ground. Goldston soon had him up and seated upon a chair and caused a glass of water to be brought.
‘As Collins slowly recovered, Goldston turned to me and said, “Such an experienced demonstrator, but anyone can make a mistake. You see, Mr Holmes, there are two boxes of clay pipes behind the counter. Box A contains pipes, the bowls of which have been treated with ammonia. In box B are pipes with bowls that have been similarly treated with hydrochloric acid. As a student of chemistry you will understand that when the bowls are placed together clouds of smoke will result, which, if not inhaled can be taken into the mouth and blown forth by the demonstrator. However, in so doing he must be careful not to suck in upon the pipe that has been treated with the acid. You have seen what can happen if a mistake is made.”
‘Collins had recovered enough to splutter, “I made no mistake: the wrong pipe was in the ammonia box!”
‘Goldston examined the boxes of pipes and discovered that all of the ammonia treated pipes were in box B and vice versa. I suggested, “An easy mistake surely, for if the back of the counter were to be tidied by an underling the pipes might get into the wrong boxes?”
‘Both conjurers shook their heads. Goldston explained, “As an added precaution the pipes are individually marked ‘H’ for the acid and ‘A’ for ammonia. Step round here, Holmes, and see for yourself.”
