Books at bedtime. The sign of the four. Chapter 8. The Baker Street Irregulars.
"What now?" I asked. Toby has lost his character of infallibility. He acted, according
to his light, said Holmes, lifting him down from the barrel and walking him out of the
timber yard. "If you consider how much creasod is carted about London in one day, it is
no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used now, especially
for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame."
We must get on the main centre again, I suppose. Yes, and, fortunately, we have no distance
to go. Evidently, what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's place was that there
were two different trails running in opposite directions. We took the wrong one. It only
remains to follow the other. There is no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place
where we had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally dashed off
in a fresh direction. We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where
the creasote battle came from I observed. I had thought of that, but you notice that
he keeps on the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the
true scent now. It tended down towards the riverside, running through Belmont Place
and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street, it ran right down to the water's edge, where
there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this and there stood
whining, looking out on the dark current beyond. We are out of Laxat homes. They have taken
a boat here. Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on the edge
of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but though he sniffed earnestly, he
made no sign. Close to the rude landing stage was a small brick house with a wooden plaque
hard slung out through the second window. Mordekai Smith was printed across it in large
letters and underneath boats to hire by the hour or day. A second inscription above the
door informed us that a steam launch was kept, a statement which was confirmed by a great
pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round and his face assumed
an ominous expression. "This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharp than I expected.
They seem to have covered their tracks. Their has, I fear, been, pre-concerted management
here." He was approaching the door of the house when it opened and a little curly headed
lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish red faced woman with a large sponge
in her hand. "You come back here and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back, you young
imp. For if your father comes home and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of it."
Dear little chap said home strategically. "What a rosy, cheeked young rascal."
"Now, Jack. Is there anything you would like?"
The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shilling," said he. "Nothing you would like
better. I'd like two shilling better, the prodigy answered after some thought. Here you are,
catch. A fine child, Mrs Smith." "Lord, bless you, sir. He is at that, and forward. You
get the most too much for me to manage, especially when my man is always away days at a time."
"Away," he said, homes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry for that. For I wanted to speak
to Mr Smith." "He's been away since yesterday morning, sir, and
treats to tell I'm beginning to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a boat, sir,
maybe I could serve as well. I wanted to hire his steam launch."
"Why?" "Bless you, sir. It is in the steam launch that he has gone. That worked puzzled
to me. For I know, there ain't more coals in it than would take her to about Wollitchenback.
If he had been away in the barge, I'd have thought nothing. For many a time, a job is
taking his father's graves in. And then, if there was much doing there, he might have stayed
over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?"
He might have bought at the Wharf down the river. He might, sir, but it weren't his way.
Many a time I heard him call out the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I don't
like that wooden-legged man with his ugly face in Outland just talk. What did he always
go knocking on about here for? A wooden-legged man said Holmes, with bland surprise.
"Yes, sir, a brown monkey-faced chap that called more once for my old man."
"It was him that roused him up yesterday night, and what's more, my man knew he was coming,
free of steam up in the launch. I tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy my mind about
it." "But, my dear Mrs Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "You are frightening
yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell that it was a wooden-legged man who came
in the night? I don't quite understand how you can be so sure?"
His voice, sir, I knew his voice, which is kind of thick and foggy. He tapped at the
grinder about three it would be. "Show a leg, matey," said he, "time to turn out guard."
My old man woke up to him. That's my oldest. And a way they went, without so much as a word
to me. I could hear the wooden-legged clacking on the stones.
And what's the wooden-legged man alone? Couldn't say I'm sure, sir. I didn't hear
no one else. I am sorry, Mrs Smith. For I wanted a steam launch, and I've heard good
reports of the, let me see, what's her name? The aurora, sir. Ah, she's not that old green
launch with the yellow line with broad on the beam. No indeed. She's a trim little thing.
As any on the river, she's been fresh-painted, black with two red strings.
"Thanks." "I hope that you'll hear soon from Mr Smith. I'm going down the river, and if
I should see anything at the aurora, I shall let him know that you're uneasy."
"A black funnel, you say? No, sir. Black with a white band."
"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good morning, Mrs Smith. There is a boatman
here with a wary. What's it? We shall take it and cross the river."
The main thing with people of that sort, said Holmes, as we sat in the sheets of the wary,
is never to let them think that their information can be of the slightest importance to you.
If you do, they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them under protest,
as it were, you are very likely to get what you want.
Of course, now seems pretty clear, said I. "What will you do then? I would engage a launch
and go down the river on the track of the aurora." My dear fellow, it would be a colossal
task. She may have touched at any warmth on either side of the stream between here and
Greenwich. Below the bridge, there is a perfect labyrinth of landing places for miles. It
would take you days and days to exhaust them if you set about it alone.
Employ the police then? No. I shall probably call Athenley Jones in the last moment. He is
not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would injure him professionally.
Did I ever fancy for working it out myself? Now that we have gone so far.
Could we advertise then? Asking for information from warfingers? Worse and worse. Our men would
know that the chase is hot on their heels, and they would be off and out in the country.
As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly
safe, they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his view on
the case is sure to push itself into the daily press, and the runaways will think that everyone
is off on the wrong send. "What are we going to do then?" I asked, as we landed near Milbrook
Penitentiary. "Take this handsome. Drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's sleep.
It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot tonight again. Stop at the telegraph office,
Cabby. We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet."
We pulled up at the great Peter Street Post Office, and Holmes dispatched his wire. "Do you
think that is too?" he asked, as we resumed our journey. "I am sure I don't know."
"Do you remember the Baker Street Division of the Detective Police Form who I employed
in the Jefferson Hope case?" "Well, said I laughing." "This is just the case where they might
be invaluable. If they fail, I have other resources, but I shall try them first."
That wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang
will be with us before we have finished our breakfast. It was between eight and nine o'clock
now, and I was conscious of a strong reaction up to the successive excitement of the night.
I was limp and wary, be fogged in the mind and fatigued in the body. I had not the professional
enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract
intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Shalt, I went, I had heard little
glit of him, and could feel no intense antithopathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a different
matter. That, all part of it belonged rightfully to Miss Morston's. While there was a chance
of recovering, I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True. If I found it, it
would probably put a fiever beyond my reach. Yet it would be petty and selfish love which
would be influenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals,
I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bar for Baker Street, and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully. When I came down
to our room, I found the breakfast laid, and Holmes pouring out the coffee. Here it is,
said he, laughing and pointing at an open newspaper. The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter
have fixed up between them, but they have had enough of the case, better have your ham and
eggs first. I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed "mysterious
business" at Appanord. "About twelve o'clock last night," said the
standard. "Mr. Bartholomey's shelter of Pondickery Lodge, Appanord, was found dead in
his room under circumstances which point fell play. As far as we can learn, no actual traces
of violence were found upon Miss Shaltos' body, but a valuable collection of Indian gems
which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his father had been carried off. The discovery
was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr.
Thaddeus Shaltos, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athanely
Jones and the well-known member of the Detective Police Force happened to be at Norwood Police
station and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced
faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the criminals. With the gratifying
result that the brother Thaddeus Shaltos has already been arrested, together with the
Housekeeper Mrs. Bernstein, an Indian butler named Laurow and a porter or gatekeeper named
MacMurdo. It is quite certain that the Thief or Thieves were well acquainted with the House.
For Mr. Jones' well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation had enabled
him to prove conclusively that the Miss Gryants could not have entered by the door or by the
window, but must have made their way across the roof of the building and so through a trap
door into the room which communicated with that in which the body was found.
This fact which has been very clearly made out proves conclusively that it was no mere
haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of the offices of the law shows the
great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a singular vigorous and masterful mind.
We cannot but think of it, supplies an argument to those who had wished to see our detectives
more decentralized and so brought into closer more effective touch with the cases of which
is their duty to investigate.
"Isn't it gorgeous," said Holmes, grinning over his coffee cap. "What do you think of it?"
I think that we have had to close shave ourselves of being arrested for the crime. So do I. I
wouldn't answer for our safety now if he should happen to have another of his attacks of
energy. At that moment there was a loud ring at the bell and I could hear Mrs. Hudson,
our land lady, raising her voice in a wall of exposculation in dismay. "By heaven's homes,"
I said half-rising, "I believe that they are really after us."
No, it's not quite so bad is that. It's an unofficial force, the Baker Street to regulars.
As he spoke, there came a swift pattern of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of high
voices, and in rushed, a dozen dirty and ragged little street tariffs. There was some show
of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in a line
and stood facing us with expectant faces.
One of their numbers, taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging
superiority, which was very funny in such a deserpetal little scarecrow. "I got your message,"
sir, said he, and brought him on sharp, free-bobbing a tanner for the tickets.
"Here you are," said Holmes, "producing some silver. In future you can report to me,
Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded in this way. However, it is just as
well that you should all hear the instructions. I want you to find the whereabouts of a steam
launch called the aurora, owner, Mordekai Smith, black with two red streaks, funnel black with
a white band. She is down the river somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordekai Smith's
landing stage opposite Milbrank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it out amongst
yourselves and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Is that
all clear?" "Yes, Governor," said Wiggins.
The old scourlet of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat, "Here's a day in advance,
now off you go." He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and
I saw them a moment later streaming down the street.
"If the launch is above the water, they will find her," said Holmes, as he rose from the
table and lit his pipe. "They can go everywhere, see everything, over here, everyone. I expect
to hear before evening what they have spotted."
In the meanwhile, we can do nothing but wait the results. We cannot pick up the broken
trail until we find either the aurora or Mr Mordekai Smith.
"Obey, could he eat these scraps, I dare say? Are you going to bed, Holmes?"
"No, I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember feeling tired by work, though
idleness exhaust me completely. I am going to smoke and to think over the queer business to
which my fair client is introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this avar's ought
to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, I should think, be
absolutely unique."
The other man again? "I have no wish to make a mystery of him, to you anyway, but you must
have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data. Dominulative footmarks, toes never
fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great adulity, small poison darts.
What do you make of all this?"
"A savage, I exclaimed. Perhaps one of those Indians who were the associates of Jonathan
Small."
Hardly that city. When first I saw signs of strange weapons, I was inclined to think so,
that the remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the
inhabitants of the Indian peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks
as that. The Hindu proper has long and thin feet. The sandal wearing, mahumidians have the
great toe well separated from the others, because the tongue is commonly passed between.
These little darts too could only be shot in one way. They are from a blowpipe. Now, then.
Where are we to find our savage?"
South American, I hazarded. He stretched his hands up and took down a bulky volume from
the shelf. This is the first volume of a gazettea which is now being published. It may be looked
upon as the very latest authority. "What have we here?"
Anderman islands. Situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra in the Bay of Bengal.
Hmm. What's all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, port Blair, convict barracks,
Rutland Island, cottonwoods. "I hear, here we are."
The aborigines of the Anderman Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest
race upon the earth. Through some anthropodjelistic prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the digger Indians
of America and the Tierra del Fuegians. The average height is rather below 4 feet, although
many full grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this. They are a fierce,
a roast, an intractable people, though capable of forming most voted friendships when their
confidence has once been gained. Mark that Watson. Now, then listen to this. They are naturally
hideous, having large, missape in heads, small, fierce eyes and distorted features. Their
feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they, that
all efforts of the British official, have failed to win them over in any degree. They have
always been a terror to ship wreck crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs
or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by
a cannibal feast. Nice, amiable people, Watson. If this fellow had been left to his own
unnated devices, this affair may have taken an even more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even
as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not to have employed him. But how came
he to have so singular a companion? Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we
had already determined that Small had come to the Andermans, it is not so very wonderful
that this islander should be with him. No doubt, wish we'll know all about it in time.
Look here, Watson. You look regularly done. Lie down here on the sofa and see if I can
put you to sleep. He took up his violin, from the corner, and as I stretched myself out,
he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air, his own no doubt, for he had a remarkable
gift for him for a vization. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face,
and the rise and fall of his bow. But then, I seem to be floated peacefully away upon a soft
sea of sound, until I found myself in Dreamland, with the sweet face of Mary Morston, looking
down upon me.