by J. R. Trtek
“Yes, and tell Mullin and Smith that I shall be down presently to thank them and see you all off. Your assistance was most valuable.”
“Right, sir,” said Oakes, touching his cap. “Quite wonderful to see you again, Dr. Watson.” The young man turned and started down the stair.
“Good lads, all of them,” said Holmes, who continued to remove more elements of his disguise. “Both in the old century and on into this new one.”
There were more footsteps upon the stair, and in the doorway appeared Mrs. Hudson and the agent Hollins. I delighted in seeing our landlady again, but she declined the attention.
“If it will suit, Mr. Holmes, I wish to be off to bed. The hour is already getting late, and—”
“Of course. Pray, keep to your quarters in the morning, if you will.”
“I’m unlikely to be as decadent as that, sir.”
“Mrs. Hudson, I believe our small affair will reach its end early tomorrow,” said Holmes with a supplicant air. “Perhaps you will consider seriously my suggestion?”
The landlady eyed my friend harshly. “Will that finale include some of the rough and tumble?”
“There is a distinct possibility of that, yes.”
“We shall see,” said Mrs. Hudson with resignation. “I shall insist on providing you all with breakfast beforehand, of course, but I may then remain closeted while your drama concludes.” She pushed past Hollins and retired for the evening.
“The house is secure, Mr. Holmes,” declared Hollins.
“Inside and out?”
“Yes, both front and back.”
“Good. I shall be down shortly,” said Holmes, and with that, Hollins descended the stair, leaving the detective once more alone with me and Miss Adler. “I hope the two of you will forgive my insistence upon real discomfort. Girthwood desired verification by telephone that you were ensconced in Briggs’s criminal lair, and I wished that everything, including your anger and apprehension, seem genuine. I do hope you forgive me for rattling your emotions so. It was rather callous of me.”
“At times the business of this agency necessitates the like, does it not?”
“Good old Watson, ever the trouper!”
“You never travelled to Paris,” said Irene Adler, speaking for the first time in several minutes.
Holmes nodded. “There were intriguing details of the Konstantinides murder that warranted investigation, but, in fact, I did send Shinwell Johnson for that purpose. I trust, Miss Adler, that you have borne your own ordeal well?”
“You say you never left London?” I said.
“No,” Holmes replied. “I did not travel, having in the meanwhile obtained employment with our Mr. Girthwood.”
“He took you on as Briggs?” I asked in astonishment. “How?”
“It was simplicity itself. I merely set as my goal the failed burgling of his hotel room.”
“What?”
“We knew he was a stranger in London, apparently without henchmen following the embarrassment of Mr. Vic Starkey, and that he would seek out other men in desperation. I allowed him to catch me as Briggs in the act of ransacking his rooms at the Waymore. As he confronted me, I”—Holmes changed once more into his alter ego—“I begs him to lay off, as I was an honest thief merely trying to make a grand life of it. And I points out how he might could use me, seeing as he appears to be a gentleman of the trade himself.”
The detective loosened his kerchief as he resumed his normal voice. “Well, he seemed truly taken aback by the bravado of it all and declared this must be, in his words, the top. Yes, he took to me on the spot, and I made certain that I was the man for him.”
“And you seized control of Girthwood’s plans from that moment.”
“Of course. That was my objective, was it not? I convinced him that I and a band of associates could capture the two of you as ransom for the statue. I insisted that I have a free hand, and he complied as a good fellow.”
“Holmes, Girthwood followed us into the City.”
“Yes, more of that later. To continue, after the two of you left Baker Street for your walk down the Strand, I called at 221 with former Irregulars Oakes, Mullin, and Smith—or, as you knew them, Georgie, Johnny, and Shep. I explained everything to Mrs. Hudson and our agents here, who all then graciously hid in the back of the house and awaited your return.”
“And Mercer in the cab?”
“I had previously told him to volunteer for the task of following you, should you choose to tour the town, and to not worry should he lose sight of you and that should such occur, to return to Baker Street and wait outside. When I called at 221 as Briggs, he was there and subsequently joined the others.”
“And so you expected Miss Adler and me to leave during the day.”
“At this moment, Girthwood thinks you are still held captive, though he believes you to be at a different locale,” said Holmes, ignoring my comment. “I, meanwhile, arranged the false telegram, which I showed to Girthwood as well as yourselves, leading our portly friend to believe that I was returning from Paris.”
“And is Girthwood to ring you up upon your supposed arrival?”
“He may do that once the lines are open. Alternatively, he may call in person tomorrow. We shall see.”
“And where does Girthwood believe us to be at this hour?” I asked.
“In the criminal hideout of Uncle Bill Briggs, as I thought I mentioned moments ago.”
“But what if he wishes to speak to you as Briggs?”
My friend smiled. “I merely told Girthwood to wait at his hotel until I contacted him as Briggs, making the argument that should the authorities be brought into the matter and attempt to bring pressure against him, he could truthfully claim to know nothing of your whereabouts. The man has weight in a literal sense, Watson, but against a forceful mind, his own is quite pliable. He accepted my somewhat specious suggestion without objection. But enough of these details. Are you game for a night ride across town, old fellow?”
I glanced to the window and noticed that more time had passed than I had believed. “Now?” I asked, staring at the darkness outside.
“Yes,” my friend replied, striding toward his room. “Or, rather, a few minutes from now, once I’ve had the opportunity to fully change. I shall be out presently.”
My friend exited to his room. Slowly, I walked round the sitting room, which now seemed to me lifeless in the absence of a fire, save for the still smouldering sticks of incense. I glanced over at Irene Adler, who sat quietly in the basket-chair, staring into the dark hearth.
“We can rejoice,” I said, concerned by her long silence after our release. “All is well, after all.”
“Perhaps.”
Moments later, Holmes emerged once more as Holmes, carrying his Swiss clock, which had been lodged in his quarters. He restored it to its usual place, and its ticking once more graced the sitting room. The detective then noted that he had not had time to remove a day’s growth of beard and asked if I would ride with one so uncouth. I answered in the affirmative, whereupon he looked at the clock and then turned toward the woman. “You may go up and get what sleep you can,” he suggested to her. “There are agents inside and out, and Girthwood believes you elsewhere; you will be safe.”
Irene Adler nodded silently. As Holmes turned his back to extinguish the sticks of incense, our guest rose and left without offering even the briefest good-night. Moments later in the waiting room, Holmes and I stood dressed in hats and waterproofs, facing Hollins.
“Recall my admonitions concerning the use of force,” Holmes said to his subordinate.
“Of course, sir.”
“I believe we can assume Girthwood is, at this hour, asleep, dreaming of a particular bird. Still, we should cover all possibilities. Dr. Watson and I shall return within two hours.”
My friend and I walked out into the night, where Mercer had already summoned a hansom.
“Fresno Street, just off Upper Swandam Lane,” Holmes told the cabby. “
It is in the City, north of Cannon Street.”
“I’m well aware of its placement, sir,” our driver replied with a yawn, and almost at once, we set off at a steady pace into the drifting miasma of London.
“Holmes,” I said urgently, even before our cab had reached the end of the block. “I’ve a number of important facts to relay.”
“Begin the enumeration, Watson,” replied the detective as our horse’s hooves echoed off the relatively deserted pavement.
“Jasper Girthwood is Miss Adler’s—”
“Half brother. Yes, I know. Briggs was there listening, was he not?”
“Oh, but of course. Well then, Diarmund Stephenson confessed to me that it was he who removed the shares from Lord Monsbury’s study.”
“He alone?”
“Yes. It appears to have been unrelated to the disappearance of young Hope Maldon. The boy is the natural son of the earl’s late brother—Stephenson is the earl’s nephew, I mean.”
“Truly? Well, those are unexpected facets, though, of course, given the situation in the earl’s household, my suspicion naturally fell upon him at once. Did he tell you why he took them?”
“He was forced to supply collateral for a debt he had incurred. He has the shares back in his possession now, however, and—”
“Wishes us to set matters right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s easily accomplished, isn’t it?”
“Holmes, I must in addition tell you that Robert Hope Maldon is not the natural son of Lord Monsbury.”
Holmes’s eyebrows rose. “Hum. Well, that perhaps explains the familial antipathy.”
“Yes. Stephenson related the background to that as well. Holmes?”
“Yes?”
“Are we, by any chance, travelling now to obtain the statue of the black bird?”
“Of course we are.”
“It is in Fresno Street.”
“Yes.”
“Miss Adler went there to seek it out?”
“You deduce correctly,” my friend said. “It was that act, which you so adroitly coaxed into execution, that revealed to me where it was.”
“My behaviour strikes me as incompetent rather than adroit,” I said, leaning my head back. “I should not have allowed the journey, but I believed the woman had a purpose in mind and set myself to discover it.”
“And so you did, old fellow. Come now,” he said, grasping my arm. “If you plead incompetence, then so must I.”
“I did not follow your directives.”
“I did not direct you to remain in Baker Street, Watson. I gave only general instructions for my trusted second-in-command to use as a guide.”
“But you told Mercer not to pursue us. You knew I would agree to let her go out.”
“No, Watson, I merely hoped you would, and by so doing, you fulfilled my true wishes. If you had not, we would not now be making this journey, bringing us closer to the end.”
“Then why not simply direct me so from the beginning?”
Holmes leaned in my direction. “Watson, in all the years of our association, I confess I have found only one deficiency in you as a member of this agency.”
“Oh?”
“Old fellow, you are a most hopeless actor.”
“What?”
“You are too bluff and honest,” he continued as our cab clacked over the cobblestones. “I hope you will not view me as conceited when I say that I am a somewhat accomplished thespian.”
“Well, you certainly made me fear for my life earlier this evening.”
“I can dissemble even when it comes to character,” the detective went on. “Miss Adler has been upon the stage,” he added wistfully. “And she possesses that same ability. You, on the other hand, lack the capacity to feign an untrue heart. I truly hoped that you would escort Miss Adler out of Baker Street in search of the falcon, for I was certain she knew where it was or would be. I could not, however, directly ask you to do so for fear that your manner would betray my presence behind the scenes. Similarly, when you were held captive and interviewed by Girthwood, it was essential that he truly believe your fear and anger. And so the deceit, old fellow. I suppose,” he said, leaning back beside me, “I should beg forgiveness from you yet again.”
“Nonsense,” I replied. “I quite understand.”
My friend looked me in the eye. “I know you do, Watson. Believe me when I say that I never viewed my actions as deceptions where you were concerned. I merely wished to put you, as it were, in a position where your own abilities would see us through. And so they have. I value you as a partner in my work, Watson, more than I think I have ever had the good sense to convey in all these years.”
“Quite the contrary, Holmes,” I replied. “I am honoured to stand by you—or sit by you as I do now—and I am most grateful that young Stamford brought us together.”
“Young Stamford,” sighed Holmes, leaning back again. “By now should there not be some on this island who know him as old Stamford?”
I smiled. “No doubt there are.”
“Where did the lad wind up? Do you know?”
“He has a practice of moderate success in Potters Bar, but I believe he has his sights now set upon adventure. He is applying to be a member of Huddleston’s next expedition to the South.”
“Stamford in Antarctica. Well, perhaps he can acquaint the penguins with one another.”
“And where, precisely, in Fresno Street is our bird, Holmes?”
“It awaits us as the Aberdeen Shipping Company.”
“Have you done business with that firm previously? The name is familiar.”
“Yes, I’ve utilized their services now and then. Moreover, I believe it played a minor role in one of the cases you wrote of in your first or second brace of stories. The St. Clair matter. Do you recall it?”
“Yes, of course, but I know that I do not recall seeing the establishment in Fresno Street today.”
“Well, you had several distractions at the time.”
“Yes, Jasper Girthwood for one. He followed us there with some thugs. I suppose they were old Irregulars as well, weren’t they?”
“No, they were men from Whitehall.”
“What?” I said as we continued to race down Oxford Street.
“Moreover, the man you mistook for Girthwood today in Fresno Street was, in fact, my brother, Mycroft, decked out in Astrakhan and bowler. He did not enjoy parading about thus, I can assure you. He enjoyed having to get out of his chair in the first place even less.”
“You set him after us?”
“Yes, and while he found the effort of venturing out-of-doors most odious, the Holmes blood is notoriously thick. Moreover, I promised I would investigate for him some trifle at the Russian embassy. It seems a young military attaché by the name of Kemidoff has gotten himself into a rather embarrassing situation.”
“And so you had your brother frighten Miss Adler into cutting off her attempt to retrieve the bird at the last moment.”
“Yes. In that way I knew its approximate location. I had, as previously mentioned, gathered that Miss Adler did not have the statue but did know where it was or soon would be.”
“In a more grand manner, I suppose the ploy was somewhat similar to the ruse you employed against her in your first encounter.”
“The false alarm of fire?” said Holmes, referring to “A Scandal in Bohemia.”
“Precisely.”
“Hum,” said my friend. “I had not considered that. Well, Watson, I’m through with explanation for the moment. Let us savour the rest of this late-night cab ride through London. I fear it may be among the last we shall ever share.”
On that melancholy note, our conversation lapsed for several minutes, and I turned my attention to the passing streetlights, thrice blurred—first by the shifting fog, then by our rapid gallop, and, finally, by eyes brimming with sentiment. At length we entered the City, following the route Miss Adler and I had taken hours before. We passed into Cannon
Street and then found Upper Swandam Lane and, along it, the entrance to Fresno Street. The cab, moving slowly now, followed the deserted lane to the end, where stood the Aberdeen Shipping Company, its office giving out the only light among the darkened store fronts.
Our horse stopped, and we left the cab, Holmes instructing the driver to wait. Stepping up to the shipping office, I noticed a four-wheeler parked nearby, its driver also patiently biding his time.
“There they are, Watson,” said Holmes, and I saw inside the illuminated building three individuals, two of whom were the agents Stannard and Pike. Both greeted us as we entered the company office.
“This is Mr. Charles Galloway, sir,” said Langdale Pike, the languid man, who, in particular, served as my friend’s source of society gossip that continually swirled about the metropolis. “He is the chief clerk. Mr. Galloway, may I present Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.”
“Greetings, gentlemen,” said the clerk, using one hand to stifle a yawn. “These are not our usual business hours, you understand, though I am prepared for the transaction.”
“I do appreciate the cooperation,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Your Mr. Harris explained the necessity of this to you?”
“He did, sir. Now, if you have the signed letter?”
“It is here,” the detective replied, taking from his coat a folded sheet of cream-laid paper and offering it to Mr. Galloway.
The clerk unfolded the sheet and briefly read its contents. “Everything appears to be in order,” he said, comparing it to another paper. “Now, there is but one other matter to attend to.”
“And what is that?” said my friend.
“Have you proof of your identity, sir?” asked the clerk evenly. “Can I be certain you are who you claim to be?”
The detective gave the man an odd look, spent a moment in deep thought, and then said, “Mr. Galloway, you have been employed by Aberdeen Shipping for fewer than five years, having previously experienced the failure of a business you yourself owned. Your wife, who is significantly younger than you, is of German descent. Moreover, you have twin children, a boy and girl, one of whom is left-handed. I suspect it is the boy.”