The Abduction of Pretty Penny

by Leonard Goldberg

  “As do I,” said Joanna, but her eyes brightened with anticipation.

  Once the door closed, my father asked, “What do you make of this?”

  “Prepare yourself for a surprise,” Joanna replied. “You must keep in mind that the Baker Street Irregulars have seen, heard, or witnessed virtually every misdeed you can name or imagine. They are streetwise and hardened because of it, so it requires a most unusual event to set them off.”

  “I can’t remember them ever reporting back at such a late hour, even during my days with Sherlock Holmes,” said my father.

  “Which denotes the gravity of their call.”

  We heard the chatter and footsteps of the Irregulars coming up the stairs and repositioned our chairs, so that each of us would be facing the visitors. I added a log to the fire, for the night had turned most chilly, as evidenced by the ice crystals forming on our windows.

  The door opened without a preceding knock, and the three Irregulars rushed in and over to the fireplace to warm their ungloved hands. They were dressed in work clothes which consisted of heavy, well-worn outer coats and faded multicolored scarves around their necks. Only Wiggins wore a woolen cap that was pulled down over his ears.

  “I take it you bring important news that could not wait until morning,” said Joanna.

  “Indeed, madam, for I am certain you will wish to hear it now,” Wiggins informed.

  “Why so?”

  “Because it concerns Pretty Penny.”

  The lad now had our immediate and undivided attention and knew it. “I believe that portion of our report will merit a guinea, madam.”

  “We shall see,” Joanna said, and hid any signs of impatience. She reached for a Turkish cigarette and slowly lighted it. “You must begin at the very beginning and leave out no detail.”

  “At the start, then.” Wiggins took a deep breath and cleared his throat, like an individual about to give a formal presentation. “Little Alfie and Sara The Gypsy had placed themselves in the shadows across the street from the Black Lamb to await my signal. A half a block down, my good friend Lewis was parked in his taxi, motor off of course.”

  “Does he work for a taxi company?” Joanna asked.

  “In a way he does.”

  Joanna’s face hardened. “It was a bad idea to bring in an outsider, for he might tell of his adventure, which would not be to our advantage.”

  “He will not talk, madam,” Wiggins assured. “You see, he is a mechanic in a garage which services taxis. We—shall I say—borrowed one for a few hours, which could cost him his position if discovered. To cover matters, I gave him a pound and promised the same to the night guard at the garage. I told them we were following a man who was believed to be cheating on his wife.”

  “Well done,” said she. “Please proceed.”

  “I entered the Black Lamb, which was quite crowded, and had a beer or two while I waited. The usual locals were there, laborers, tradesmen, and more than a few Unfortunates. Just after eight, the gentleman drifters made their entrance and were warmly greeted by the Unfortunates. I must say that at first I did not recognize them, for they were wearing top hats and frock coats. Apparently one of the crowd took offense at the presence of the gentleman drifters and tried to provoke a fight. He shouted out, ‘Here to look down on us, are you? Go back to Mayfair where you belong!’ Of course the pub went silent on that note and expected violence on the drinker’s part. But the biggest bloke of the three gentlemen, the one with the broad shoulders and heavy chest, stepped forward and threatened to smash the troublemaker’s face in.”

  That description fit Thaddeus Rudd, who had a bad temper and the strength and size to back it up.

  “Did a brawl occur?” Joanna asked as she crushed out her cigarette.

  “No, madam. The barkeep quickly intervened and threw the agitator out, for the gentleman drifters would spend ten times more in a night than the troublemaker would in a week. Yet tension remained high in the pub and it would not take much for an argy-bargy to ensue.”

  “Is argy-bargy cockney for a full-blown fight?” my father asked.

  “It is, sir.”

  “Please continue.”

  “For this reason, I suspect, the three gentlemen departed, much to the unhappiness of the Unfortunates. I stayed put for a few ticks on the clock, then followed them out. They hurried along their way and I feared their evening out had ended. I signaled Little Alfie and Sarah The Gypsy to track two of the gentlemen as best they could, while I trailed the big bloke I just mentioned, for I thought he was the one you would be most interested in.”

  “Were they not going to their carriages?” asked my father. “That being the case, Little Alfie and Sarah The Gypsy could not hope to keep up.”

  “But luck was with us, for the gentlemen walked only a few blocks to the next nearest pub, called the Randy Tar. I followed them in and could immediately tell they were well-known, for they were warmly greeted by the barmaid and entire lot of Unfortunates. It was clear that the gentlemen had experience with these Unfortunates, for they called them by their first names.”

  “Do you recall any of the first names?” Joanna interrupted.

  “Alice and Mary or Marie come to mind,” Wiggins answered.

  “Any last names?”

  “No, madam.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Well then, the gentlemen stayed for a while and had a jolly good time, with plenty of drinks and a round or two of darts. They were always surrounded by eager Unfortunates who were looking for work. Eventually two of the gentlemen paired off with their selections and went outside.”

  “Which of the trio remained in the pub?”

  “The youngest and best-looking one.”

  “Did he not pair up?” Joanna asked at once.

  “Oh, yes, and with the prettiest of the Unfortunates,” Wiggins replied. “Yet they seemed to be in serious talk, without laughter or touching.”

  “What transpired next?”

  “I stepped out to signal Little Alfie and Sarah The Gypsy, who were well hidden in the shadows. He was instructed to follow the big, tough bloke, while she was to watch the older gentleman. I then returned to my place at the bar to keep a close eye on the handsome one, who was still chatting up the same Unfortunate. Now things turned interesting, as Sarah and Little Alfie will testify to.”

  Sarah The Gypsy took a step forward and spoke in an emotionless voice. “The older gentleman and his selection went into a dark passageway to conduct their business. I stayed back a good distance, so as not to be discovered, but I could still clearly hear their grunts and groans. He was encouraging her with words like, ‘Go, my beauty, go!’ It was then I heard a woman’s scream and the sound of Little Alfie’s whistle. The pair I was watching came running out of the darkness and reentered the pub moments before a constable arrived. I remained hidden in the passageway, so only Little Alfie can describe what happened next.”

  Joanna quickly interrupted and said to Little Alfie, “Begin with the big gentleman leaving the Randy Tar with his selection.”

  “There was nothing untoward at first,” Little Alfie recalled. “They walked out of the pub hand in hand, with him offering an additional fee for a special service. They seemed to agree on a price without bargaining. Into the darkness they went and disappeared from sight, for I remained crouched down and hidden behind a bloody big garbage bin. Things became rough, with her telling him to stop, which he did not do, for she cried out even louder for him to stop. That was when she let out a bloody shriek that chilled to the bone. I thought it best to blow my whistle and prevent further harm to her.”

  “How much time passed before a patrolling constable arrived on the scene?” Joanna asked.

  “A few minutes at most.”

  “Did the Unfortunate come running out of the passageway?”

  “At first I heard her footsteps approaching my position, but then she stopped abruptly. Not on her own accord, mind you, for she yelled at him to release her.”


  “Did he?”

  “Only after she bargained for another fee.”

  “I want to hear that portion of their conversation word for word,” Joanna requested. “The more you can remember the closer you come to placing a guinea in your pocket.”

  Little Alfie hesitated, as he thought back in time, and tried to retrieve every sentence that was uttered. A guinea, which equaled one pound one shilling, was a most tempting offer to a street urchin who had rarely ever seen a pound note. His lips moved silently as more and more of the conversation returned from his memory bank. Finally, he announced, “I will repeat it in a he said–she said fashion, if that is good with you.”

  “It is.”

  “I heard his footsteps come up to her, and that is when he must have grabbed her.”

  “And the first words he spoke?” Joanna prompted.

  “He said, ‘I meant you no harm.’”

  “She then said, ‘You intended to hurt me.’”

  “He then said, ‘I became overly aroused.’”

  “She then said, ‘By squeezing my throat?’”

  “He then said, ‘It was unintentional.’”

  “She then said, ‘Tell that to the police.’”

  “Were those their exact words?” Joanna asked, and watched for the street urchin’s reaction.

  “Pretty much so, madam,” Little Alfie replied.

  Wiggins interjected, “I should tell you, madam, that Little Alfie has the best memory of all of us. He can still remember lines from books he read while in school.”

  “Which book did you enjoy the most?” Joanna asked Little Alfie.

  “The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling.”

  “Can you recall its most famous line?”

  Little Alfie nodded and recited, “The Law of the Jungle—which is by far the oldest law in the world.”

  I looked on in astonishment, for although we knew Little Alfie had some education and was the smartest of the lot, his memory from a story read long ago was quite remarkable.

  “Excellent,” Joanna praised, “for I, too, am familiar with the book.”

  “I once had a copy, but someone swiped it,” Little Alfie said unhappily.

  “I shall see you get another.”

  “Thank you, madam.”

  “Now, do go on with the conversation between the two before the police arrived.”

  “She threatened to tell the constable and he pleaded with her not to,” Little Alfie continued on. “He offered her a pound to make up a story that her scream was one of joy and pleasure. She refused and demanded more for her lie. They settled on two guineas. That is when the constable arrived and listened to her story. I suspect he recognized the big bloke as being from the upper class and let the matter go, with a warning to the Unfortunate.”

  “Did she reenter the Randy Tar?” Joanna asked.

  “She went on her way, while the two gentleman drifters hurried to their carriages, which raced away,” Sarah replied.

  Joanna turned back to Wiggins. “What of the handsome gentleman you were watching at the pub?”

  “When I entered, he was still chatting up the Unfortunate, all the while checking his timepiece,” Wiggins replied. “Then he bought her a drink and dashed out to his carriage all by himself. I strolled down to my waiting taxi, which allowed me to follow the gentleman’s coach at a distance. My driver, Lewis, was very good at not being seen or detected. He would suddenly park and turn off the vehicle’s lights, for he knew the carriage would have to stop at the next major intersection. When the carriage continued on, Lewis turned the motor on and stayed on the chase. After a somewhat roundabout route, the carriage came to a stop at Mitre Square. There it waited.”

  “For what purpose?” I asked impatiently.

  “For an Unfortunate who came out of the shadows,” Wiggins replied. “She climbed into the carriage, but it did not drive away.”

  “Could you determine if they were conducting business?” my father asked.

  “If you are inquiring if the carriage was bouncing up and down, the answer is no,” Wiggins reported. “But I knew you would inquire as to what transpired inside the coach, so in the darkness I crept closer and closer until I reached a side alleyway at the rear of the carriage. And that is when I heard them discussing Pretty Penny. I could clearly hear her name over and over.”

  “On both of their parts?” Joanna asked promptly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you hear complete sentences?”

  “That was most difficult, for other carriages and motor vehicles were producing noise as they passed by, and the bloody horse kept whinnying. But I heard them mentioning who and when along with Pretty Penny’s name. I suspect they reached some sort of agreement because she finally said, ‘That is how it will occur.’ And with that, she bounded out of the carriage and disappeared into the darkness.”

  “Well done,” Joanna approved, and gave Wiggins a five-pound note. “One pound for the Irregulars uncovering a most important clue, a second is for the night guard at the taxi repair garage, and the next two are for Lewis and the garage guard for your upcoming outing to track the gentleman drifters.”

  “And the final pound of the five-pound note?”

  “Find the Unfortunate who was in the carriage and offer her a pound for the conversation she had with the handsome gentleman.”

  “I am afraid, madam, that I did not obtain a good look at her face, and only saw her in profile,” Higgins said honestly. “Moreover, she may not wish to discuss that secret conversation.”

  “Ask around and learn her identity,” Joanna coaxed. “There will be a fiver in it if you can discover her name and address.”

  Wiggins licked his lips at the irresistible offer. Five pounds was the equivalent of a hundred shillings, which was a hundred times greater than the daily fee paid for the services of an Irregular. They would scour the streets and work day and night to find that woman’s name and whereabouts. “What are your instructions when we return as lookouts at the Randy Tar?”

  “I would think it unfeasible to have three taxis waiting near the pub.”

  “Totally, madam. There is no possible way to snatch three taxis from the garage without being noticed. And to have three taxis outside the Randy Tar late at night would surely draw attention and suspicion.”

  “Then make do with one.”

  “Which of the three gentleman drifters should I follow?”

  “The one who departs without a carriage.”

  “Done.”

  The Baker Street Irregulars hurried out, no doubt anxious to begin their search for the Unfortunate who met and carried on a secret conversation with Maxwell Anderson. It seemed like a hopeless task, but I had learned from past experience not to underestimate the cleverness of the Irregulars.

  “What do you make of all this, Joanna?” my father asked.

  “I make that it takes us one step closer to Pretty Penny,” said she.

  “I agree, particularly with the information we have on Maxwell Anderson,” my father concurred. “Should we now not confront him and learn of his conversation with the Unfortunate?”

  “Not yet,” Joanna advised.

  “But he could surely advance our case.”

  “He could also invent a dozen stories to cover his meeting at Mitre Square.”

  “Such as?”

  “He could state that the Unfortunate recognized him as an actor from the playhouse and offered him information on the whereabouts of Pretty Penny. With this tempting offer, he agreed to meet her secretly at Mitre Square where she would be given a substantial reward for her knowledge. But alas, it all turned out to be a hoax.”

  “Or the truth,” I opined.

  “Either way, we must play our cards carefully and wait for the opportune moment to confront Maxwell Anderson.”

  With that final statement, Joanna lighted a Turkish cigarette and began pacing across our parlor, for it was clear that all the pieces of the puzzle had not yet come together.
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  CHAPTER 19

  The Threat

  The letter arrived mixed in with the remainder of the morning mail to 221b Baker Street. But it was uniquely different in that the addressee was THE DAUGHTER OF SHERLOCK HOLMES spelled in block letters which had been pasted onto the envelope. We immediately recognized who had sent the letter and that was enough to cause a chill to run down our collective spines.

  “It’s him,” Joanna whispered under her breath.

  “He means to taunt us at home,” I surmised.

  “We shall see.” After donning rubber gloves, Joanna carefully opened the envelope and inspected its interior before extracting a neatly folded letter and placing it on the dining table for all to see.

  It read:

  STILL PUZZLED?

  ASK THE BOSS ABOUT JOHN GILL

  YOURS

  NEMO

  “Could it be a hoax?” my father asked.

  “Probably not,” Joanna replied. “Note that he uses the term BOSS, which was how Jack the Ripper referred to the Metropolitan Police Commissioner in his letters to Scotland Yard twenty-eight years ago. It is his method of telling us this mail is genuine.”

  I reread the letter and wondered about its purpose. “Who is this John Gill?”

  Joanna shrugged. “I have no idea, but obviously the commissioner does.”

  “And why did he sign it with the name Nemo?” I asked.

  “That, too, is beyond me,” said she. “But again, he is leaving two clues we must follow.”

  Joanna reached for the phone and dialed Inspector Lestrade’s number, which she had long ago committed to memory. She requested he immediately set up a meeting with the commissioner on a most important matter dealing with Jack the Ripper. Although the letter was mentioned, she decided to give none of the details.

  Joanna placed the phone down, saying, “He will call back shortly.” She examined the letter again and held it up to the light for further study. “It carries the watermark of A Pirie and Sons, just as did the earlier message.”

  “I wonder if the cut-out block letters of the alphabet come from the same source?” I queried. “Perhaps they could be traced.”

  “This is to be determined,” she replied. “But it is the content of the letter, not its composition, which merits our closest attention and that of Scotland Yard. It is the mention of John Gill and Nemo which is most worrisome, for I fear they point to yet another victim.”