"What now?" I asked. "Toby
has lost his character for
infallibility. "
"He acted according to his
lights," said Holmes, lifting
him down from the barrel and
walking him out of the timber-yard. "If
you consider how much creosote
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 scent
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 was no difficulty about
this. On leading Toby to the
place where he 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 creosote-barrel
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 Bel-
mont 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 luck," said
Holmes. "They have taken to 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 placard slung out through
the second window. "Mordecai
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 sharper than I expected.
They seem to have covered their
tracks. There has, I fear, been
preconcerted 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 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 Holmes
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 shillin'," said
he.
"Nothing
you would like
better?"
"I'd like two shillin' better," the
prodigy answered after some thought.
"Here
you are, then!
Catch! -- A
fine child,
Mrs. Smith!"
"Lor'
bless you,
sir, he is
that, and forward.
He gets a'most
too much for me to manage, 'specially
when my man is away days at a
time."
"Away, is he?" said Holmes
in a disappointed voice. "I am
sorry for that, for I wanted
to speak to Mr. Smith."
"He's
been away since
yesterday mornin',
sir, and, truth
to tell,
I am beginnin' 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's what puzzles me,
for I know there ain't more coals
in her than would take her to
about Woolwich and back. If he's
been away in the barge I'd ha'
thought nothin'; for many a time
a job has taken him as far as
Gravesend, and then if there
was much doin' there he might
ha' stayed over. But what good
is a steam launch without coals?"
"He
might have
bought some
at a wharf down the river."
"He
might, sir,
but it weren't
his way. Many a time I've heard
him call out at the prices they
charge for a few odd bags. Besides,
I don't like that wooden-legged
man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish
talk. What did he want always
knockin' about here for?"
"A wooden-legged man?" said
Holmes with bland surprise.
"Yes,
sir, a brown,
monkey-faced
chap that's called more'n once
for my old man. It was him that
roused him up yesternight and,
what's more, my man knew he was
comin', for he had steam up in
the launch. I tell you straight,
sir, I don't feel easy in 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 the 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 o'
thick
and foggy. He tapped at the winder
-- about three it would be. 'Show
a leg, matey,' says he: 'time
to turn out guard.' My old man
woke up Jim -- that's my eldest
-- and away they went without
so much as a word to me. I could
hear the wooden leg clackin'
on the stones."
"And
was this wooden-legged
man alone?"
"Couldn't
say, I am sure,
sir. I didn't
hear no one
else."
"I
am sorry, Mrs.
Smith, for
I wanted a
steam launch,
and
I have heard good reports of
the -- Let me see, what is her
name?"
"The
Aurora, sir."
"Ah!
She's not that
old green launch
with a yellow
line, very
broad in the beam?"
"No,
indeed. She's
as trim a little
thing as any
on the
river. She's been fresh painted,
black with two red streaks."
"Thanks.
I hope that
you will hear
soon from Mr.
Smith. I am
going down the river, and if
I should see anything of the
Aurora I shall let him know that
you are 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 wherry,
Watson. 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 wherry, "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."
"Our course now seems pretty
clear," said I.
"What
would 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 wharf 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
Athelney Jones in at the last
mo- ment. He is not a bad fellow,
and I should not like to do anything
which would injure him professionally.
But I have a fancy for working
it out myself, now that we have
gone so far." "Could we advertise,
then, asking for information
from wharfingers?
"Worse
and worse!
Our men would
know that the chase was hot at
their heels, and they would be
off out of 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 of the case is sure
to push itself into the daily
press, and the runaways will
think that everyone is off on
the wrong scent."
"What are we to do, then?" I
asked as we landed near Millbank
Penitentiary.
"Take
this hansom,
drive home,
have some breakfast, and get
an hour's sleep. It is quite
on the cards that we may be afoot
to-night again. Stop at a 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.
"Whom do you think that is
to?" he asked as we resumed our
journey.
"I
am sure I don't
know."
"You
remember the
Baker Street
division of the detective police
force whom 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 con- scious
of a strong reaction after the
successive excitements of the
night. I was limp and weary,
befogged in mind and fatigued
in 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 Sholto went, I
had heard little good of him
and could feel no intense antipathy
to his murderers. The treasure,
however, was a differ- ent matter.
That, or part of it, belonged
rightfully to Miss Morstan. While
there was a chance of recovering
it I was ready to devote my life
to the one object. True, if I
found it, it would probably put
her forever beyond my reach.
Yet it would be a 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 bath at Baker Street and
a complete change freshened me
up wonderfully. When I came down
to our room I found the break-
fast laid and Holmes pouring
out the coffee.
"Here it is," said he, laughing
and pointing to an open newspaper. "The
energetic Jones and the ubiquitous
reporter have fixed it up between
them. But you 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 Upper Norwood."
About twelve o'clock last night
[said the Standard] Mr.
Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry
Lodge, Upper Nor-
wood, was found dead in his
room under circumstances
which point to foul play. As
far as we can learn, no actual
traces of violence were found
upon Mr. Sholto's person, but
a valuable collection of Indian
gems which the deceased
gentleman had inherited from
his father has been carried
off. The discovery was first
made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes
and Dr. Watson, who had called
at the house with Mr.Thad-
deus Sholto, brother of the
deceased. By a singular piece
of good fortune, Mr. Athelney
Jones, the well-known member
of the detective police force,
happened to be at the 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 Sholto,
has
already been arrested, together
with the housekeeper, Mrs.
Bernstone, an Indian butler
named Lal Rao, and a porter,
or
gatekeeper, named McMurdo.
It is quite certain that the
thief or thieves were well
acquainted with the house, for
Mr. Jones's well-known technical
knowledge and his powers
of minute observation have
enabled him to prove conclusively
that the miscreants 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 trapdoor into a room which
communicated with that in which
the body was found. This
fact, which has been very clearly
made out, proves con-
clusively that it was no mere
haphazard burglary. The prompt
and energetic action of the
officers of the law shows the
great advantage of the presence
on such occasions of a
single vigorous and masterful
mind. We cannot but think
that it supplies an argument
to those who would wish to see
our detectives more decentralized,
and so brought into closer
and more effective touch with
the cases which it is their
duty to investigate.
"Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes,
grinning over his coffee cup. "What
do you think of it?"
"I think that
we have had a 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 this moment there was a
loud ring at the bell, and I
could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady,
raising her voice in a wail of
expostulation and dismay.
"By heavens, Holmes," I said,
half rising, "I believe that
they are really after us."
"No, it's not
quite so bad as that. It is
the unofficial
force -- the Baker Street irregulars."
As he spoke, there came a swift
pattering of naked feet upon
the stairs, a clatter of high
voices, and in rushed a dozen
dirty and ragged little street
Arabs. There was some show of
discipline among them, despite
their tumultuous entry, for they
instantly drew up in line and
stood facing us with expectant
faces. One of their number, taller
and older than the others, stood
forward with an air of lounging
superiority which was very funny
in such a disreputable little
scarecrow.
"Got your message, sir," said
he, "and brought 'em on sharp.
Three bob and a tanner for tickets."
"Here you are," said Holmes,
producing some silver. "In future
they can report to you, 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 to find the whereabouts
of a steam launch called the
Aurora, owner Mordecai 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 Mordecai
Smith's landing-stage opposite
Millbank to say if the boat comes
back. You must divide it out
among yourselves and do both
banks thoroughly. Let me know
the moment you have news. Is
that all clear?"
"Yes, guv'nor," said
Wiggins.
"The old scale
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 water
they will find her," said Holmes
as he rose from the table and
lit his pipe. "They can go every-
where, see everything, overhear
everyone. I expect to hear be-
fore evening that they have spotted
her. In the meanwhile, we can
do nothing but await results.
We cannot pick up the broken
trail until we find either the
Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith."
"Toby could
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 exhausts me completely.
I am going to smoke and to think
over this queer business to which
my fair client has introduced
us. If ever man had an easy task,
this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged
men are not so common, but the
other man must, I should think,
be absolutely unique."
"That 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. Diminutive
footmarks, toes never fettered
by boots, naked feet, stone-headed
wooden mace, great agility, small
poi- soned 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," said he. "When
first I saw signs of strange
weapons I was inclined to think
so, but 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 Hindoo proper has
long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing
Mohammedan has the great toe
well separated from the others
because the thong is com- monly
passed between. These little
darts, too, could only be shot
in one way. They are from a blow-pipe.
Now, then, where are we to find
our savage?"
"South America," I
hazarded.
He stretched his hand up and
took down a bulky volume from
the shelf.
"This is the
first volume of a gazetteer
which is now being
published. It may be looked upon
as the very latest authority.
What have we here?
"Andaman Islands,
situated 340 miles to the north
of Su-
matra, in the Bay of Bengal.
Hum! hum! What's all this?
Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks,
Port Blair. convict barracks,
Rutland Island, cottonwoods --
Ah here we are!
"The aborigines
of the Andaman Islands may
perhaps
claim the distinction of being
the smallest race upon this
earth, though some anthropologists
prefer the Bushmen of
Africa, the Digger Indians
of America, and the Terra del
Fuegians. The average height
is rather below four feet,
although many full-grown adults
may be found who are
very much smaller than this.
They are a fierce, morose,
and intractable people, though
capable of forming most
devoted friendships when their
confidence has once been
gained.
Mark that, Watson. Now, then
listen to this.
"They are naturally
hideous, having large, misshapen
heads,
small fierce eyes, and distorted
features. Their feet and
hands, however, are remarkably
small. So intractable and
fierce are they, that all the
efforts of the British officials
have failed to win them over
in any degree. They have
always been a terror to shipwrecked
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 unaided devices, this
affair might 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 from the Andamans, it
is not so very wonderful that
this islander should be with
him. No doubt we shall know all
about it in time. Look here,
Watson; you look regularly done.
Lie down there 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 improvi-
sation. I have a vague remembrance
of his gaunt limbs, his earnest
face and the rise and fall of
his bow. Then I seemed to be
floated peacefully away upon
a soft sea of sound until I found
myself in dreamland, with the
sweet face of Mary Morstan looking
down upon me. |