The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories, Part VI

by David Marcum

  “Do you mean the handcuffs?” my friend inquired.

  “Well, yes. How could a man expect to ride a bicycle in such an unwieldy position?”

  “It is not a matter of whether he could expect to. It is a matter of whether he did. I wonder what he went back to the house for? Even young Meadows found something odd about that, and yet the rooms were not searched by the police. However, it may not be too late. If Miller has not been back yet, whatever he left will likely still be there.”

  “A passport, perhaps?”

  “Really, Watson. If you were fleeing the country as a known murderer, would you stop to collect a document proclaiming your identity to all and sundry the moment you stopped to use it?”

  “I suppose not. Money, then.”

  “Not money. He had already taken it from the till that day and been caught in the act, leading to the argument in which he killed his employer.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” I asked.

  “I am not yet certain, but I intend to find out. It may be the key to finding Miller, and all the official force have done is to chase a stolen bicycle halfway across London. I should have expected no less. Lestrade is abominably slow on the uptake, even at his best. Although, to give him his due, I have never known him let a prisoner escape before. It will be a new experience for him, not to mention a jolt to his pride. I should not have liked to have been in Constable Meadows’ shoes at the time.”

  “But what exactly do you intend to do now?”

  “To go to Miller’s rooms and see what he has left there. Which may, of course, be nothing; but that would be equally as interesting as if we were to find something.” Further than this Holmes refused to be drawn, but he knocked upon the roof of the cab and shouted to the driver our new destination. “No doubt there will be a policeman at the door to admit us,” he remarked absently, before settling back in his seat and closing his eyes, effectively putting a stop to any further conversation.

  It took us some little time to reach our destination, which proved to be a respectable-looking boarding-house in the area nearing Blackfriars. As Holmes had predicted, a bearded constable was standing stolidly outside the front door. He recognised us, however, and gave us a welcome.

  “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. Were you thinking of going inside, gentlemen?”

  “If you have no objection, constable,” answered Holmes. “We have spoken to Inspector Lestrade about it.”

  “Well, then, I don’t see that it would hurt, sir. You’ll find the room you want second from the left on the top floor; I must stay here to keep an eye on anyone trying to come in.”

  “There is someone at the back entrance as well?” queried Holmes.

  “Peters is stationed in the back yard, sir, in case the fellow should try getting in that way.”

  “I see. Well, no doubt it will suffice. Come, Watson, let us investigate Miller’s room.”

  We entered the house, and climbed three flights of stairs to the floor the constable had indicated. It contained a series of somewhat dingy attic rooms, Miller’s being one which overlooked the rear yard of the property.

  “I fear Peters will not prove much of a deterrent, if his present behaviour is anything to go by,” Holmes remarked, opening the window and craning his neck out for a better view. He beckoned me across, and pointed out to me the grizzled police constable warming his hands around a mug of tea, whilst deep in animated conversation with a middle-aged woman whom I took to be the housekeeper. “However, it makes very little difference to us for the moment.” Holmes slid the window shut once more, thankfully cutting off most of the icy draught to which we were being subjected. “We must turn our attention to the contents of this room.” He began to search through the few possessions which Miller had left scattered. I watched his every movement, knowing I could not help in finding the unknown object for which he was looking, but alert for the moment when his purpose would be revealed.

  “Such dust speaks of a slovenly housekeeper,” he complained, sweeping a hand under the bed. “I can only trust that Miller was not paying too exorbitant a rent.” He continued to the drawers of the chest which stood against the wall. “There must be something here. A man is not about to risk his life for a clean collar and a bar of soap to take on his travels.” Holmes threw the offending articles which he had found to one side as he spoke. He then went over the rest of the room in minute detail, a perplexed frown growing ever deeper on his face, until with a cry of triumph, his expression cleared and he dropped to the floor on his knees.

  “I have found it, Watson! Quickly - have you a blade?”

  “I have my pocket knife, if that will suffice,” I said, approaching the spot where he knelt.

  “That will do... Carefully, Watson; we must not lose it! Pass me the knife, if you will.” He held out his hand for it and, opening the blade, he jabbed it firmly into what appeared to be a tiny fragment of cardboard jammed between the floorboards, then drew it gently upwards.

  “I think we have the key to the mystery,” he said, handing the knife back to me. I stood, mystified, as he got to his feet once more and held out his prize for me to view. “You observe what it is?”

  “It appears to be a pawnbroker’s ticket,” I answered. “But I am afraid I do not see its significance. Is this really what Miller went to the trouble of returning for? It hardly seems worth taking such a risk, especially given the paltry sum of money which I see recorded upon it.”

  “That amount is of the greatest importance, my dear Watson,” replied Holmes, scrutinising the ticket, “As is the date upon it.” He turned his gaze to me. “You are no doubt aware that should an article be pawned for less than ten shillings, and a year and seven days allowed to elapse before it is reclaimed, then that article becomes the property of the pawnbroker in lieu of repayment. That time elapsed for Miller yesterday, according to the date upon this ticket. Yesterday, when he was caught in the act of stealing from his master’s till, and was rendered desperate enough to kill as a result. I think we have found the reason behind his actions, although no doubt there remain a few details to be explained.”

  “I understand all that, Holmes; but how is it to help us find Miller now?”

  “I think it may be a very great help indeed,” said Holmes, slipping the ticket into the pocket of his coat. “Well, we have got what we came here for. We need not linger, I think. You may care to return to Baker Street alone, Watson. I have a little business of my own to attend to in the meantime.”

  Holmes had not returned to our rooms by the time dusk had settled into darkness, and I was just beginning to wonder what had become of him when I heard a tread upon the stair. That it was not my friend was evident from the footsteps, but I laid down my pipe and went to the door, curious as to who our visitor could be.

  “Lestrade!” I exclaimed, recognising the familiar figure who was now trailing somewhat wearily up our staircase. He looked no better than when I had seen him last, and I felt compelled to ask, “But what are you doing here? I thought you were to go home to your bed.”

  “So I would have done by now, Dr. Watson, if I hadn’t had a telegram from Mr. Holmes asking me to be here at six o’clock,” he answered, looking about the room for some sign of my friend’s presence.

  “He isn’t here yet,” I explained, “But I dare say he will not be long, if he has asked you to join us. Come and sit down while we wait.” I made sure Lestrade had the chair nearest the fire before sitting down myself. Then I asked, “Did Holmes tell you what he was about?”

  “Not exactly. All I could gather was that he wanted to know whether there had been any robberies reported at a pawnbroker’s shop near Blackfriars. There’s been nothing that I know of, and I don’t see what bearing it has on the matter in hand, either. It’s Miller I am after, not anyone else. I hope he has not dragged me out on a wild goose-chase.”

  �
�I’m sure he hasn’t,” I soothed my ruffled companion. “I know he had high hopes of catching Miller when I last saw him. If he has called you out, it must be because he is certain of laying his hands on the fellow tonight.”

  Lestrade shrugged, and repressed a shiver. “Well, I suppose Mr. Holmes has been right in these things before,” he admitted grudgingly. “Although I still don’t see what McNulty’s pawnbroking shop has to do with it.”

  I was about to explain to him the discovery of the pawnbroker’s ticket which had so excited Holmes earlier in the day, when the hurried steps of a new arrival were heard upon the stair. This time it was Holmes himself, for he threw open the door and strode in, regarding us both with an air of satisfaction.

  “I believe we have him, Watson,” he announced. “Lestrade, I am pleased you could join us. You may yet have Miller in the bag tonight. There have been no disturbances reported yet at McNulty’s shop, I take it?”

  “No, Mr. Holmes. But-”

  “That is good. And you have done as I asked?”

  “Yes. There are six men stationed within hailing distance of the place, in addition to the regular beat constable.”

  “Excellent!” Holmes glanced at the clock. “Then I suggest we delay no longer. There is a cab waiting outside.”

  We followed him to the waiting four-wheeler, Lestrade casting inquiring glances at me on the way. As I knew little more than he, I was unable to provide an answer, but Holmes called to the cab driver as we climbed aboard, “Tarleton Street.”

  The question of our destination having been settled, he took the seat opposite me and glanced across at Lestrade, who was seated by the far window, wearing a rather sorry expression.

  “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you to come tonight, Lestrade, but I imagined you would rather be present at Miller’s arrest yourself than give that satisfaction to one of your colleagues.”

  “Most definitely, Mr. Holmes,” agreed our companion fervently, before launching into another of his coughing fits as our cab lurched over a pot-hole.

  Holmes winced. “There is no need for you to return the favour by sharing your unfortunate malady with us,” he protested. “Watson, is there nothing you can do about it?”

  “No, Holmes. Certainly not here.”

  “It is vital that there be no unnecessary sound to alert anyone to our presence during tonight’s proceedings,” he went on, looking pointedly at Lestrade.

  “I’ll try my best, Mr. Holmes,” said the little detective, in a nettled tone. This answer did not appear to appease Holmes entirely, but he accepted it for the moment. We rode in silence the rest of the way to Tarleton Street, where the cab eventually pulled up in front of a small pawnbroker’s establishment. The shutters were up for the night; but Holmes walked smartly up to the door and rapped upon it with his cane. We waited as the bolts were drawn back from inside, and the door opened a crack.

  “Is this how you usually treat old friends, McNulty?” demanded Holmes. “I fail to see how we can have our rubber if you will not let us in.”

  The door opened fully, revealing a little, balding, middle-aged man. What remained of his hair stood up untidily around his crown, as if he had been running his fingers through it, and his eyes darted nervously behind a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, but there was only the faintest tremor to his voice as he answered,

  “You can never be too careful these days. Don’t you read your newspapers? But come in, come in, boys. The table’s ready and waiting.”

  We stepped into the shop after the little pawnbroker, and waited as he shut and bolted the door once more.

  “There has been no sign of anyone so far, I take it, Mr. McNulty?” queried Holmes, when this operation was done.

  “No, Mr. Holmes, no one. I have done exactly as you told me. But are you sure it will be safe? I don’t ask for myself, you understand, but my wife and the children are upstairs.”

  “I thought I recommended you to send them to a safe place for the night!” said Holmes sharply.

  “My wife refuses to go, Mr. Holmes. She refuses to be frightened out of her home by a common criminal, she says.” McNulty gave a nervous shrug. “She seems to be confident of your ability to catch the villain before he causes any danger.” He looked doubtfully at us in the dim light of the shop.

  “She must be a courageous woman,” I said.

  McNulty brightened. “I suppose that is so. And the children take after her, for it was all I could do to persuade them not to come down and join us.”

  Holmes gave a distant smile. “I think we will manage well enough without their help, although your eldest lad was certainly enthusiastic about his prospects as a detective when I met him earlier.”

  “If he would attend more to his work than to yellow-backed novels, I would be better pleased,” grumbled McNulty. “It was he who issued the pawn-ticket which started this business, half-wit that he is.”

  “Pawn-ticket?” queried Lestrade, who had followed this exchange in evident confusion. “What...”

  “There is no time to explain now,” interrupted Holmes. “Miller may arrive at any minute. He will be desperate enough to risk coming earlier than we might otherwise have expected. You will show us where we may remain concealed in the shop, Mr. McNulty.”

  The pawnbroker led us behind the shop counter, and gestured to a space cleared beneath it.

  “It is the best I could do, gentlemen,” he apologised.

  “It will serve,” answered Holmes. “Will you stay with us?”

  “If you wish me to do so, Mr. Holmes. If you are sure my wife and the children will be safe upstairs.” McNulty’s answer spoke much for his own courage, for he was obviously half-terrified by the prospect of meeting our murderous quarry. He could not quite hide his relief when Holmes replied, “On second thought, it would perhaps be better if you were there to restrain your boys from joining the fray. Will you turn down the gas on your way? Thank you.”

  “Of course, gentlemen. Good luck.” McNulty hurried back to his family before we could change our minds, turning down the gas to such a level that we were left in almost complete blackness. We squeezed ourselves into the space he had left us, although it was scarce large enough for three grown men, and I feared the cramped conditions would begin to tell upon us before long.

  “Is there really nowhere else for us to sit, Holmes?” I protested.

  “It appears not,” replied my friend with a mixture of resignation and suppressed amusement. “It is as well none of us are particularly large, although friend McNulty does seem to be under the impression that we are a pygmy tribe.”

  “Are we going to be here long, Mr. Holmes?” asked Lestrade, in a tone which could not quite disguise the fact that he was shivering violently beside me.

  “You are cold,” observed Holmes. “I trust we will not be here all night. However, the possibility is a very real one. Patience, Lestrade. I think you will find it is well rewarded. Until then, we can only wait.”

  It seemed that our fears were well justified, for it felt to me that we had been forced into our uncomfortable hiding place for days before a faint scrabbling at the window shutters reached our ears, warning us that we had a visitor. Instantly I felt Holmes stiffen beside me, alert for the next move. I nudged Lestrade, who appeared to have fallen into a feverish doze some time before. To his credit, he awoke without the faintest exclamation. The shutters rattled again, more loudly this time.

  “Here he comes,” breathed Holmes. We waited, holding our breath, as the rattling and scuffling continued. Then came a sharp crack, followed by a few moments’ silence, which I took to mean that Miller was waiting to see if the noise had alerted anyone to his efforts. He was obviously reassured by the lack of response, for when he deemed enough time to have elapsed, the scrabbling began again, this time followed by the shattering of glass
.

  We sat completely still, not daring to shift our cramped limbs even an inch for fear we should alert Miller to our presence. There was a muffled curse as he climbed in at the broken window. Evidently he had cut himself on the shattered glass, although not badly enough to worry him unduly, for he carried on almost immediately. He came creeping silently across the room, making so little noise that, had we not been listening for his footsteps, we would have undoubtedly missed them altogether. As it was, we were prepared for the sight of the shadowy figure which crept up to the shelves in front of us, where the pawnbroker kept many of the smaller articles in his shop, and began to search them with the aid of a dark lantern.

  Miller appeared to be by no means methodical in his search; but he was nonetheless just on the point of taking something, it seemed, when our position was inadvertently given away. After the warning Holmes had given us earlier, we had contrived to remain silent. But holding back the cough which currently plagued him must have taken some considerable effort for Lestrade, and now that it came to the last moment he proved unequal to the strain. He suddenly choked violently, causing Miller to jump visibly at the unexpected noise. Our intruder turned for immediate flight, although not before sweeping his chosen trophy from the shelf. Had he left it, he might still have escaped us, but that bare moment’s hesitation was enough for Holmes to spring out from our hiding place and grasp our quarry firmly by the arm. Miller struggled, but I was barely an instant later than my friend, and between us it was a simple matter to subdue him for long enough to enable Lestrade to get the handcuffs on him once more. We did not loosen our grip, however, until a sharp blast of Lestrade’s whistle brought the men he had posted earlier to our aid. Assured that Miller no longer had any chance of escape, Holmes crossed the room and turned up the gas, throwing the light on to our prisoner so that we saw him clearly for the first time.

  Miller was a weak-looking young man, with a lank blond fringe falling across a face which might have been described as ordinary under normal circumstances, although it was currently disfigured by a petulant scowl.