by David Marcum
The colour seemed to drain from Mendoza’s face as he stared at my colleague in astonishment. He then cast a glance in my direction. Being used to such pronouncements, my face remained impassive, and when he turned back to Holmes and attempted to respond, his voice wavered momentarily. “I... I find myself at a loss to know how any man could possibly guess at such facts, Mr. Holmes. It is just not possible...”
Holmes chuckled. “There is no guesswork involved, just the science of deduction, my life’s work. Your telegram was sent yesterday evening. It summarised your concerns regarding the Radicant Munificent Society and hinted at the events of recent weeks. It then talked about ‘pressing fiduciary matters’. I know something of Mr. Merrill-Adams’ form in undermining successful businesses. Coupled with what you told us earlier, it seemed likely that he was up to his old tricks in using his banking connections to put out the word that your business enterprise is not to be trusted, and thereby prompting your new bankers to act. And as you appear to be a man who acts with some alacrity, it seemed safe to assume that you had received the letter the same day.”
Mendoza looked on, spellbound, as Holmes continued: “There are visible black and white hairs on your trousers and the right-hand sleeve of your frockcoat. And yet you are immaculately turned out and prone, I would venture, to some fastidiousness. That you have had no opportunity to brush your clothing suggests that the hairs were picked up earlier this morning. Coupled with the distinct tooth marks on your elegant cane, this hints at a dog for which you have some affection, and the lead and collar still visible in your outer pocket confirm the matter. The traces of red mud and brick dust on the sides of your boots lead me to believe that you were walking your dog close to some of the new building work on Saffron Hill. That it has gone missing is evident from the fact that you still carry the lead and collar. And yet, you would not have abandoned the beloved creature without a thorough search and a check to ensure that it had not returned home. Having done so, you could only have concluded that someone had taken the dog. A fear no doubt exacerbated by the other events of recent weeks.”
“Truly remarkable, Mr. Holmes. But my pocket watch can only have been taken in the last hour. I had to give up the fruitless search for young Bengal, my Newfoundland, to be certain of meeting you, as arranged, at this time. I checked the watch just before I hailed a cab on the Gray’s Inn Road. And yet when I reached Baker Street, I realised that it had gone.”
As Mendoza delivered the last few words, Holmes leapt from his chair and took up a position to the side of one of the curtains near the main window of the study. “Yes indeed, I watched you from this very window. It was the first action you took having paid the cabbie. Your hand went to the pocket of your waistcoat and I could see the discomfort on your face as you realised that the watch and its chain were missing, a treasured family heirloom, most likely once the property of your great-great-grandfather.”
Mendoza again looked stunned. “You are not wrong. How did you know?”
“When I first mentioned your sporting ancestor, your hand went initially to the cut above your eyebrow and then to the pocket of your waistcoat, a clear indication that the timepiece had once belonged to Dan Mendoza. The pained expression again convinced me that the watch was missing. And it can only have been stolen while you ambled along the Gray’s Inn Road. Taken no doubt by one of Merrill-Adams’ henchmen.”
“Is that likely?” I queried.
“Oh yes. Merrill-Adams means to finish the task he has embarked upon. Your robber was no opportunist, Mr. Mendoza. He was instructed to follow you and to find every opportunity to frustrate your movements, which would have included the theft of the dog. Tell me, as you were hailing the cab, do you remember seeing anyone else?”
Mendoza fell silent for a few seconds and then his face lit up. “Yes! Now I remember. It was busy and there were lots of people out walking. I stood on the kerb and waved as I saw a cab approaching. It took a short while to reach me. As I did so, a young fellow in a tweed jacket collided with me and nearly sent me tumbling. He was very apologetic, and as I assured him that no harm had been done, the cab pulled up and I climbed in.”
“A ruse,” said Holmes. “And one that has given Merrill-Adams a head start on me.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“This young fellow you referred to. Was he also wearing a straw boater?”
“He was.”
“In that case, the same man is now stood on the pavement opposite, facing 221b and doing a very poor job of pretending to read a newspaper. I fear it will be but a short time before he reports back to Merrill-Adams that the man he has been tailing has sought a consultation with London’s only consulting detective. Unless, of course, we can apprehend him first!”
With that, Holmes moved quickly from the window and turned to our guest. “Mr. Mendoza, I require your assistance. I would like you to make your way back down the stairs and out on to the street. There you will make a very visible display of hailing the first cab that you see and engaging the cabbie in a lengthy enquiry. I am hoping that our watcher will linger for a while longer, curious to know what you are up to. In that time, Watson and I will do our best to confront him. Come, Watson, we leave by the back door!”
I had but a few seconds to grab a small cudgel that lay on a sideboard just inside the door. The three of us then took to the stairs, Holmes and I making for the rear of 221b. Some moments later, we had emerged onto a narrow passageway that ran towards Dorset Street. From there, it was a brisk trot back to Baker Street. We crossed the road and did our best to negotiate our way along the busy thoroughfare, walking at speed, but trying not to draw any particular attention to ourselves. Within twenty yards, Holmes turned to me quickly and whispered, “Up ahead, Watson, and he has his back to us!”
As we approached the man, I glanced across the road and saw that Mendoza had played his part. A hackney carriage stood outside 221b, its jarvey deep in conversation. Our quarry was watching attentively over the top of his raised newspaper, unaware that we were now upon him. Deftly, Holmes sidled up to the man and with his right hand snapped one half of a pair of handcuffs onto the left wrist of our prey. Startled, he dropped his newspaper and tried instinctively to pull his wrist away, but found that he was now attached to a grinning Sherlock Holmes. A look of anger flashed across his face and I could see that he was contemplating a resort to violence. I stepped around my colleague and brought the cudgel up into his view. His shoulders slumped instantly and his face took on a look of visible dejection.
“Now, who do we have here?” asked Holmes brightly. He stared directly at the fellow, who looked to be no older than nineteen or twenty. “There is no mistaking the ginger hair, thin nose, and freckled face, Watson. And with a talent for pickpocketing, this has to be Curly Jamieson’s lad, Ned.”
The young lad smiled uneasily. “How’d you know ’bout me and my old man, mister? I ain’t never seen you before.”
Holmes laughed. “We may not have met, but you will have heard of me. I live across the street, in the house that you were watching. Sherlock Holmes is the name.” Jamieson looked startled at the revelation and tried once again to pull his left wrist away from my colleague.
“Steady, young fellow!” I cautioned. “We have a few questions, so it would be in your best interests to calm down and accompany us across the street to the house in question.”
Jamieson put up no further resistance. Holmes and I marched him across the street where we joined the waiting Mendoza. He merely nodded in confirmation that this was indeed the young chap who had collided with him earlier in the day. At Holmes’s direction, I then paid the waiting driver for his time, explaining that his services were not needed after all.
When settled back in 221b, Holmes removed the handcuffs from our now timorous prisoner. “Just how is your father, Mr. Jamieson? I should explain that I first met him five years ago, when he was sti
ll performing his magic tricks as part of a circus act. When that line of work dried up, he began to get more inventive with his hands, pickpocketing unsuspecting gentlemen in Kensington and Chelsea. I had no idea that his only son had gone into the same line.”
Jamieson looked at him defiantly. “My father is the best at what he does. And what I do is my own affair. I knows you’re some sort of clever clogs, but ’ave no idea why you’ve brought me ’ere.”
Holmes dispensed with the pleasantries. “In that case, we’ll get straight down to business.” He pointed his open hand in the direction of Mendoza. “Firstly, I think you should return this gentleman’s pocket watch. We know that you stole it earlier and I checked as we came up the stairs. You have it in the right outer pocket of your jacket.”
Jamieson had little option but to comply. Mendoza looked greatly relieved as he was passed the watch and chain. Holmes then continued: “Now, perhaps you would be good enough to tell us where we might locate Mr. Mendoza’s missing Newfoundland puppy?”
The youngster looked a little more unsettled at the mention of the dog and tried to box clever. “Mr. Holmes. Let’s just say I do ’appen to know where the mutt is. ’Ow much would that sort of information be worth?”
I could see that Mendoza was bristling, doing his best to maintain his composure, as was Holmes. My colleague’s jaw was set hard as he continued: “Mr. Jamieson. For the theft of the watch and the kidnapping of the animal, you could be looking at a seven-year stretch in Pentonville. Now, I’m taking it as read that the information about the dog will be forthcoming. Beyond that, if you wish to escape any charges in connection with your activities today, I suggest you tell us how you came to be working for Mr. Morley Merrill-Adams.”
The name was enough to provoke some alarm. Jamieson looked from Holmes towards Mendoza and then said quickly, “The dog was taken by a colleague of mine to my gaff in Clerkenwell. I live on Kirby Street. I can take you there, so no ’arm has been done. But I won’t say nuffin’ about Merrill-Adams. It’s more than me life’s worth.”
“In that case, you will accompany Mr. Mendoza to Kirby Street, and if the dog is reunited with him unharmed, I will do my best to protect you from any charges in connection with this affair.” Mendoza was poised to raise an objection, but Holmes shot him a look and raised a finger, before continuing. “But I require one further piece of information from you. How many other ‘colleagues’ have been employed by Merrill-Adams to do the sort of work you have been engaged in?”
Jamieson was clearly more willing to talk about his criminal associates than he was his employer. “A dozen of us, all smart lads from the East End who have done time. I know a few of ’em, and a couple are mighty handy with their fists.”
I could tell by my colleague’s fierce concentration that he had a clear line of enquiry. “Would I be right in assuming that you were all recruited by the same man?”
“Yeah. Merrill-Adams doesn’t like to get his ’ands dirty. Has this sidekick - tall fella, with a long scar on his left cheek. Some sort of copper. That’s how he knew ’bout us. Said we had been specially chosen and offered us good money for two months’ work.”
“Inspector Ridgeley?”
“Aye, that’s him.”
Holmes exchanged another glance with Mendoza, who merely smiled at the disclosure. My colleague then jumped up excitedly and directed a question at him: “Are you comfortable to travel with Mr. Jamieson to retrieve your dog?” Mendoza grinned from ear to ear and then looked very directly at Jamieson. “More than content, Mr. Holmes, more than content...”
“Good. And should there be any problems, you must despatch a telegram to me immediately. In the absence of any further communication from you, I would ask that you meet Dr. Watson and me here, at Baker Street, at nine o’clock tomorrow. I am optimistic that we will have further news for you then.”
The two men headed off. Holmes watched from the upstairs window as they hailed a cab and departed. I could see the first droplets of rain beginning to tap lightly against the glass. “A fascinating development, Watson, and much to our advantage.” He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and glanced at the time. “The main proceedings of the Radicant Munificent Society begin at twelve o’clock sharp. We have sufficient time to send a quick telegram to Inspector Athelney Jones before making our way to the East End. Looks like we will need umbrellas, Macintosh’s, and... I might just take something I have been working on in recent weeks...”
He disappeared into the makeshift laboratory at the corner of the study, moving glass vials, opening drawers, and generally clanking around, before emerging somewhat jubilantly with two small metal cannisters in his hand.
I was at once intrigued. “New toys, Holmes?”
“Yes, they may prove useful. You’ll have to wait to see what they do!”
We headed downstairs and equipped ourselves with raincoats and umbrellas from the cast iron stand within the hallway. Holmes placed the mysterious cannisters in an outer pocket of his Macintosh and selected a bowler from one of the coat hooks. We then set off on foot to the nearest telegraph office, the umbrellas protecting us from the worst of the now-heavy downfall.
It took Holmes but a few minutes to compose his telegram to Athelney Jones, and when we re-emerged from the telegraph office, we found that the downpour had intensified. The streets had cleared of walkers and every available hansom was suddenly in demand. Sheltering as best we could within the entrance to a large department store, we waited almost twenty minutes before securing a ride to Shadwell.
Sitting in the cab, I used the opportunity to quiz Holmes, who had, to that point, been wholly uncommunicative. “Why the need for Athelney Jones?”
He continued to stare ahead, his brow furrowed and his keen eyes alert to every sight and sound as the hansom moved slowly through the busy traffic of the Shadwell Fish Market. “A precaution, Watson, as I have a strong feeling that Merrill-Adams’ campaign of intimidation is about to enter a new phase. With Inspector Ridgeley’s help, he has hired a dozen well-known heavies for a brief but timely period. I am certain that he has clear plans for them, and will use his inaugural public address to the recipients of the society’s penny bundles to try and ferment further attacks on Jewish business owners. I have asked Jones to muster as many plainclothes officers as he can. As well as keeping the peace, I am sure that he will be keenly interested to know what Inspector Ridgeley is up to when not serving as a metropolitan officer.”
He gave the side of the carriage a sharp knock and the obliging cabbie pulled over, depositing us outside a shabby baker’s shop with a cracked front window and an unappealing display of cottage loaves and assorted pastries. Holmes tipped the driver and nodded his appreciation, before once more opening up his umbrella. He then strode off along a narrow thoroughfare, tip-toeing around puddles of muddy water and side-stepping the itinerant labourers, streetwalkers, and beggars that continued with their activities, despite the foul weather. A short while later, we emerged on to a more expansive open street, which appeared to house a great many artisan businesses and tradesmen.
The pungent smell of fish had not diminished as we approached our destination, a large Presbyterian meeting house, outside of which was assembled a crowd of many hundreds: Men, women and children, most of whom looked distressingly down-trodden and wretched. We made our way through the teeming masses and ducked into a small public house just beyond the hall. Inspector Jones and his men were not difficult to spot. Even out of their uniforms, the men looked healthy, well-fed, and neatly groomed compared to the majority of the drinkers and revellers around us. There was a considerable hubbub within the tap room and, while nodding to a couple of the constables I recognised, I noted that Holmes was deep in conversation with the cheery-looking inspector.
We had planned our arrival to perfection. With no time to contemplate even a half-pint of ale, another noise then demanded our
attention. Back outside in the street, a brass band had struck up with a stirring rendition of God Save the Queen, and moments later we were able to watch as a procession of musicians filed past in the direction of the meeting house, accompanied by all manner of jugglers, plate-spinners, gymnasts, and dancers. Tucked in behind them was a lone figure in a dark blue hooded cloak carrying a long gold mace, whom I guessed to be Morley Merrill-Adams. Behind him, and walking two abreast, were the remaining two-dozen members of the Radicant Munificent Society. Their cloaks were a variety of individual colours, and on the back of each was displayed the crest and motto of the society. Like their leader, all of the men were hooded, protecting them from the rain and neatly preserving their anonymity.
With a quick nod from Inspector Jones, the undercover officers move swiftly towards the door. Holmes and I followed. Out on the street they began to disperse, mingling in with others following the parade, but remaining in view of Athelney Jones at all times. Up ahead, the brass band had come to a halt outside the Presbyterian hall and played out the final few bars of the National Anthem. The crowd then fell silent, with those amassed outside the meeting house parting to allow the president of the society to approach the double doors. Having raised the ceremonial mace, he struck the right door firmly and, with continuing pageantry, was then admitted to the building by a uniformed doorman. In single file, the remaining members of the society were then granted entry to the hall before the door was once again closed.
The spectacle was greeted by a loud cheer from the crowd and the silence was from that time broken. I peeked at Holmes and raised both eyebrows. He neatly interpreted my query and whispered: “At twelve-fifteen the double doors will be open to the public. Those wishing to receive a penny bundle make their way to the left of the hall where they line up to be received by the president of the society. Of course, the event is strictly choreographed, so that only two hundred bundles are given out. I imagine that some of the hired heavies will ensure that order is kept. Many others attend the ceremony in a civic capacity, local worthies and aldermen, who are invited by the society to maintain its charade of respectability.”