by David Marcum
“The boy somehow managed to run away and hide himself in the inn where I was staying while waiting to board the ship back to England. The child was half-dead with hunger and quite injured when I found him, collapsed on the floor of my room. He had climbed up the pipes and entered through the window. I administered basic medical assistance and he told me his story when he awoke. I brought him back to England with me, adopted him, and sent him to school. Thankfully, he had already been well-schooled in India, and he was a bright child to begin with. He performed well, and was able to get into Cambridge after finishing his schooling. He is now a doctor and helps me with my work. I’m proud to call him my son.” Brown smiled fondly, and pulled out a diary from his pocket. He flipped through the pages and handed me a photograph of a good-looking young fellow. “That is Albert,” he said proudly.
“A fine young man,” I told him, returning the picture. I did not see, however, what that had to do with Holmes.
As if reading my thoughts, Brown smiled slightly. “Ah, I am sure you’re wondering why I’m rambling about my son when I said that I would tell you how Mr. Holmes saved us.” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Unlike you, I’m not a master storyteller, Doctor.”
I could feel the heat rise up in cheeks at that comment. Brown, however, remained oblivious.
“You see,” he continued. “A few years after our return to England, it appeared that the organisation that held Albert’s father’s debts discovered that he was in England and that I had adopted him. Two rogues approached Albert and demanded that he steal from me to pay his real father’s debt. Darling child that he is, he refused immediately. They beat him half to death and left him at my doorstep. It was only after much persuasion that the boy divulged the details. I notified the police immediately, but they couldn’t find anything. This shadow organisation was more discreet and powerful than anything I had previously imagined, for not even the police knew of them. In fact, they assured us that no such organisation existed,” he paused for a moment. “Has Mr. Holmes ever spoken to you about... the Professor?”
“The Professor?” I repeated, being deliberately vague. I had no idea how much this man knew of Professor Moriarty, and it wasn’t my place to share information. “We’ve had two or three cases where professors were involved, but I’m unsure of which one you refer.”
Brown looked troubled for a moment. “My apologies. I digress too much,” he said quietly. “Returning to the story... In light of the assault on Albert, the police appointed a constable to guard the house, but when nothing happened after a week and their investigations failed, the constable was recalled. However, I knew that the thugs wouldn’t let go of Albert so easily. I’m not a poor man, Doctor, and the sum owed by Albert’s real father, while significant, wouldn’t have bankrupted me. I spent the week attempting to convince the boy to let me pay off the debt, but Albert was adamant. He told me that he would be killed regardless of whether I paid the debt or not, because that was how these villains operated. Moreover, he insisted that if I paid them once, they would keep threatening us over and over until I had exhausted all my funds.
“However, with the constable gone, danger appeared imminent. Our fears came to pass the very next day. A dead pigeon was pinned to the dining table with a knife, along with a letter that appeared to have been written in blood, demanding only one-thousand pounds, a fraction of the debt that was owed. Albert and I were immediately suspicious, for the thugs that had chased Albert in India had always demanded the full amount. It was then that I remembered Victor telling me about his friend Sherlock Holmes, who was supposed to be more skilled than the police. I enquired and was given his address - Mr. Holmes used to live in Montague Street near the Museum back then. I went to see him immediately. He was very kind and accompanied me back to my house.
“When we reached home, however, the place was in an uproar. While I was away, Albert had been abducted, and another dead pigeon was left on his bed with a note, this time asking for twice the amount demanded of Albert when he was beaten, but still not equal to the full amount owed. The note instructed me to bring the money in a bag to an abandoned neighbourhood church at midnight in exchange for Albert. Mr. Holmes gave the note a cursory glance and proceeded look around the room, while I sent my butler off to Scotland Yard to report the abduction.
“Finally, Mr. Holmes stood up and turned to the household staff assembled in the room. Other than the butler, we had a valet, a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener, two maids, and two footmen. I introduced each of them to Mr. Holmes. He greeted everyone politely, and then he asked, ‘Who discovered that the boy was missing?’
“One the maids spoke up. ‘It was me, sir. I went in to ask the young master what he would like for lunch and found him gone, with that ghastly bird left in his place...’ She burst into tears.
“Mr. Holmes was sympathetic. ‘It must have been a shock,’ he said gently. ‘Could you tell us exactly what happened? Please start from the moment you came up the stairs. Your help would be invaluable in retrieving the boy.’
“The maid, Maria, nodded tearfully, eager to help. Everyone in the house adored Albert, you see. They still do. Maria did as Mr. Holmes said and began her narration. ‘The young master was still recovering from last week’s injury, so he was resting in his room. Mrs. Finn, the cook, told me to ask him what he would like for lunch, so I went upstairs. I was surprised to the see his door standing wide open, and when I entered, he was gone. The window was open, and there was a strange smell in the room. I looked out of the window, but there was no sign of anything. The blanket was missing and the sheets were dishevelled, as you can see now. I saw the bird and cried out in horror. Mr. Richards, the butler, heard me and came running. He told me not to touch anything and sent everyone else to look for the young master on the grounds until the master returned.’
“Mr. Holmes thanked her kindly and asked if anyone had visited the house after my departure, but before Albert was discovered to be missing. ‘Only the doctor’s assistant, Mr. Boone,’ she replied. ‘He’s come to check up on the young master every day since the beating. Usually he comes with Dr. Saintsbury, but today he was alone. He was with the young master for nearly an hour today. As he left, he told us that the young master was recovering well and currently sleeping, and we shouldn’t disturb him before lunch.’
“Mr. Holmes nodded absently and turned to the valet, Smith. ‘Could you check the closet and tell me if any of his clothes are missing?’
“Smith obeyed wordlessly. He opened the closet and looked thoroughly before shaking his head. ‘Everything is in its place. Not even a sock is gone,’ he declared.
“Mr. Holmes faced the staff. “Can you tell me where you were this morning while Albert was sleeping?” Their answers confirmed that each had been busy with their usual tasks and, more importantly, the stairs and outside doors had never been unobserved during the entire time.
“Nodding absently, Mr. Holmes walked to the door. ‘I shall return in a few moments. Please wait here.’ Then we heard him go downstairs, and then out through the front door.
“No one spoke while he was gone, each wrapped in our own thoughts and fears. Before long, Mr. Holmes returned and began to examine the bedroom carefully, much to the shock of myself and my staff. You’ve described him as a bloodhound, Dr. Watson, crawling about on all fours, sniffing and picking at random. It was the first time that I had seen him in action, and I have to confess that I was afraid that I’d invited a lunatic into my house. He paused after examining the bedside table. ‘Something is missing from here,’ he said. ‘Small and roughly round.’
“I stepped to the table and saw several circular marks in the delicate varnish. Even as I recognized what had caused them, Maria and Smith also glanced at the spot he indicated and both exclaimed, ‘The Indian brooch!’ It was the only memento Albert had of his late mother. It was a pretty thing, made of solid gold and exquisitely crafted in the
shape of a dancing peacock, set with rubies for eyes, and emeralds, topazes, and sapphires for feathers.
“I explained this to Mr. Holmes quickly. ‘Is the pin sharp?’ he asked. I nodded, having stabbed myself accidentally the first time Albert had shown it to me. Mr. Holmes went through the bed clothes. He didn’t find the brooch, but he curiously lifted the pillow to his nose and sniffed. Then, replacing it on the bed, he pulled out the table to look behind it. Finding nothing, he flattened himself on the floor and reached his arm under the bed. After a few moments, he stood and held out his palm. The gold brooch lay in his hand. “There was a chance that it had been taken, but fortunately not.” He examined it carefully. ‘It appears that Albert managed to stab his assailant with this. There are traces of blood at the tip of the pin. Clever boy.’
“Mr. Holmes looked up at us. ‘Could you fetch Dr. Saintsbury and Mr. Boone?’ he asked. We stared at him, shocked.
My valet was the first to recover. ‘Certainly,’ Smith replied and took his leave.
“Mr. Holmes walked to the window and inspected it again. ‘Does the doctor use a carriage?’ he asked. Maria nodded.
“ ‘Did Mr. Boone use it today?’
“ ‘Today it was a cab,” Marie replied. She glanced at two of the men standing beside her. ‘George and Nelson and Jarvis found the cabbie lurking about in the gardens, in fact.’
“The two footmen nodded anxiously. ‘Mr. Boone had the cab deliver him right up to the door,’ Jarvis said. ‘I led the cabbie away after Mr. Boone alighted, but about half-an-hour later, George was tending to the garden as usual and saw the man wandering about where he had no business. He immediately informed Nelson. We caught him immediately and sent him back to his cab to wait for Mr. Boone. I stayed with him until Mr. Boone left.’
“Mr. Holmes nodded thoughtfully. He walked to the window. ‘Where was he when you retrieved him?’
“Nelson stepped to the window. ‘Down there, near the house but towards the right.’
“Mr. Holmes smiled slightly. ‘As I thought,’ he muttered. ‘You foiled their plans.’ Mr. Holmes turned to me. ‘You sketch rather well, do you not?’ he asked.
“Bewildered, I asked, ‘How did you know?’
“He glanced at one of my drawings of Albert that my son had hung upon his bedroom wall, and then at my hands. ‘Yours fingers told me,’ he said enigmatically. ‘There are traces of artist’s charcoal residue under your fingernails, indicating that it’s a regular pastime, and the position of that sketch on the wall shows how much your son treasures it. No matter where you sit in this room, that portrait is visible.’
“Tears spilled from my eyes and Mr. Holmes looked uncomfortable. ‘Please save Albert,’ I begged him. ‘I shall have the money ready in a few minutes, Mr. Holmes. I just wish for my child to be back.’
“He shook his head. ‘There is no need to raid your safe just yet, Mr. Brown.
“Mr. Holmes turned away. ‘One last question, Mr. Brown. How long have you known Dr. Saintsbury and Mr. Boone?’
“I blinked, surprised. ‘Surely you do not suspect them, Mr. Holmes? The doctor has been my G.P. since the day I was born.’
“Mr. Holmes ignored my protests and asked, ‘Is the doctor aware of Albert’s history?’
I nodded.
“Mr. Holmes’s eyes were steady as he regarded me. ‘And Mr. Boone?’
“Mrs. Hatcher replied. ‘He’s been visiting for about a year now,’ she said, frowning. ‘He used to be in America before that. He came to England to visit his aunt, but he found that she had passed away. He was out of funds, and fortunately he saw an advertisement by Dr. Saintsbury looking for a qualified assistant. He applied immediately. The doctor has never complained.’
“Mr. Holmes smiled. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, Mr. Brown. Your son is safe. I do need a favour from you, though. Would you be so kind as to sketch a likeness of the errant cabbie that your footmen saw today?’ The, without another word, he climbed out of the first-floor window and disappeared, nimble as an ape, while we stared open-mouthed.
“We rushed to the window and looked out to see that he was walking along the ledge easily, as if striding along a road. He stopped at a window about twenty feet away, just above where Nelson indicated that the cabbie had been located, and tugged it open. Next, he carefully examined the sturdy pipe next to it. Then he abruptly climbed down the pipe and stepped on to the grounds below. He looked up at us, waved, and climbed back up the pipe again. When he reached the window that he had opened, he slipped inside.
“We all watched, dumbfounded. Maria was the first to break the silence. “That’s the window to the store-room!” she said. We left Albert’s room and hurried down the hallway. Mrs. Hatcher withdrew the bunch of keys from her apron and unlocked the store-room door quickly.
“As it opened, we saw Mr. Holmes standing with Albert in his arms. A blanket and ropes lay on the floor. Mr. Holmes looked at me, his eyes gentle. ‘He’s fine,’ he said softly. ‘He’ll wake up soon. They used chloroform. His pillow still had traces of it.’
“Jarvis was the one to ask the question that all of us wished to vocalise. ‘How did you know where to find the young master?’
“Mr. Holmes smiled slightly as Nelson took Albert. ‘My examination downstairs confirmed that there were no signs of a break-in. Nothing was carried out of the house - there are too many of you for that to have happened unseen - and I know of no organisations that use dead pigeons to leave messages. The assailant had to be someone who was allowed access into the house. Mr. Boone was the only outsider who visited Albert today, and he was also the last person to see him.
“ ‘From the missing blanket, it was likely that the boy was wrapped in it and taken somewhere. If he hadn’t been taken outside, as confirmed by the fact that no one could have passed unobserved through the staff downstairs, then it stood to reason that he was still in the house. There were some shoe marks on the window sill. I observed a nearby window next to a sturdy pipe, which seemed ideal, and sure enough, the latch was broken. I suspect that the cabbie, an accomplice and probably one of the two men who beat Albert last week, was supposed to climb up the pipe and retrieve Albert from the room where Boone had left him - but thanks to George, Nelson, and Jarvis, their plans were foiled. I must commend your staff, Mr. Brown.’
“Light-hearted with relief, we took Albert to my own room, and I drew the face of the cabbie, as requested by Mr. Holmes, based on the description provided by Nelson and Jarvis. Mrs. Finn and Maria left to prepare a light meal for Albert.
“When I finished the sketch, Nelson and Jarvis confirmed that it was a facsimile of the cabbie. Mr. Holmes wrote a note, handed it to Nelson, along with the sketch, and instructed, ‘Please take it to Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard. In case he is already on his way here with your butler, give it to Inspector Gregson instead.’
“Soon, Mrs. Finn and Maria were back with hot cocoa and soup, and Albert was blinking sleepily as he regained consciousness. ‘Papa?’ he called groggily, catching sight of me.
“Tears of relief spilled down my cheeks as I hugged the child. ‘How do you feel?’ I asked him.
“He smiled blearily and muttered, ‘Hungry.’
“Instantly, Maria placed the hot cocoa and soup before him. We watched fondly as he finished them off. ‘I shall make your favourite dinner tonight,’ Mrs. Finn promised him. Albert grinned up at us and spotted Mr. Holmes. “I don’t know you,” he said. He rubbed his temples as his memories returned. He looked up at me, his eyes full of fear, ‘Papa, Mr. Boone, he...’
“I gathered my son in my arms and rubbed his back to calm him down. ‘It’s all right now, child,’ I murmured. ‘We will catch them. Mr. Holmes is here to help.’
“Albert stopped trembling and I released him. He looked up at Mr. Holmes hopefully, who smiled gently and said, ‘You have been very br
ave, Albert. You stabbed Boone with your mother’s brooch, did you not?’ Albert nodded and Mr. Holmes continued. ‘Very well done. We need some more assistance from you, and I promise they will never bother you again. Could you identify this man?’ He held up the sketch that I had made.
“Albert examined them carefully. ‘This is one of the men that attacked me a week ago,’ he said finally. ‘Will the police arrest them?’
“Mr. Holmes nodded. ‘I believe these men - the cabbie and the other - will be in gaol in a few hours. As for Boone - he will arrive shortly with the doctor.’ He turned to me. ‘These men have nothing to do with the collection of the Indian debt. This was simply an opportunity claimed by an opportunist.’ He indicated the sketch. “This fellow is known to me - an associate of a certain Professor that I know.” Then he glanced at the door. ‘I believe that Scotland Yard has arrived.’
“He was right, of course. Richards walked in with an inspector and two constables. The inspector was introduced as Lestrade, and his eyes widened at the sight of Mr. Holmes. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked, clearly annoyed. Then he spotted Albert on the bed. ‘Is this the boy that was supposedly abducted?’
“Albert sat up straighter. ‘Mr. Holmes rescued me!’ he declared. Everyone in the room agreed loyally.
“Mr. Holmes chuckled. ‘Cheer up, Lestrade,’ he said mirthfully. ‘You, my friend, are about to make an arrest in a few minutes. Shall we head downstairs?’
“Leaving the ladies to watch over Albert, the rest of us followed Mr. Holmes to my office. He said a few quiet words to the policemen, who hid themselves in nearby rooms. Soon enough, Smith returned with Dr. Saintsbury and Mr. Boone. The doctor entered the office and rushed to me immediately. ‘I heard from Smith about Albert’s abduction. Have you notified the police yet?’
“Mr. Holmes stepped in and answered for me. ‘It’s usually better not to contact the police,’ he said smoothly. ‘Dr. Saintsbury, did you divulge Albert’s history to anyone?’