I awoke the next morning to the sound of the maid entering the sitting room where I had fallen asleep over my book. A broken whisky tumbler was lying on the floor beside my chair.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“It is ten o’clock sir; I did not wish to awaken you.”
“Has Mrs. Watson come in yet?”
“No sir,” she replied cleaning up the debris of my evening’s entertainment.
In ten minutes I had hailed a cab and was on my way to Baker Street. I offered the cabby an extra half crown if he could get me there within half an hour and within the allotted thirty minutes I had arrived at the door of my old rooms. I took the stairs two at a time.
“Come in Watson,” Holmes called out even before I could knock on the door.
I entered the familiar rooms and saw Holmes sitting by the large bow window. He turned around to face me and I could see that he looked as tired as I felt. I noticed his syringe lying on the mantelpiece, but I had too much on my mind to rebuke him for indulging in this, his most loathsome method of self poisoning.
“You knew it was me at the door,” I said breathlessly, wishing the moment I had uttered the words, that I had said nothing. Of course he would have recognized my familiar tread upon the stairs but to my surprise he did not reply with one of his all too common patronizing comments.
“Pray sit, Watson,” he said motioning me to my old chair. “I see by the state of your beard and suit that you did not get much sleep last night, and that you left home in a rush this morning.”
“Holmes,” I blurted out, ignoring these rather trivial observations, “Mary left to visit Kate Whitney in Woolwich three days ago and has not yet returned. I expected her to return home yesterday afternoon but there has of yet been no sign of her.”
For what seemed like a long time he sat there his chin resting on his steepled fingers. He did not look at me.
“Holmes, did you hear what I said?”
He continued to look out into the street. “I heard you Watson. You want me to investigate the whereabouts of your wife. That will not be necessary Doctor, for I already know where she is.”
“Where is she then?” I asked him excitedly, “and what has caused her disappearance?”
“She is with friends,” Holmes said, “and it was I who caused her disappearance.”
CHAPTER 3
“Thank God, Holmes, I thought for a moment that she had met with foul play.”
It was then the import of his words struck me.
“You have done this?” I said rising to my feet almost overturning my chair while doing so.
“Calm yourself, Watson. Your wife is perfectly safe,” he said soothingly.
“I will not calm myself. Not only has my wife vanished but now I find that it was my best friend who has caused her disappearance. You had best explain yourself, Holmes.”
“Sit down, Watson,” he said a little more sharply.
I sat down. He walked over to the sideboard and mixed a whisky and soda.
“Let me repeat Watson, your wife is perfectly safe. There is no great mystery here. Two days ago when you were in these rooms you mentioned that you had foolishly let her travel alone to Woolwich. I knew....”
“I had no choice but to let her go alone, Holmes as I had a patient who required my services.”
“Be that as it may Watson, you should have forbidden her to go unchaperoned.”
I thought of how little my friend knew of Mary. No one, myself included, could prevent my wife from doing what her heart would dictate. It was this spirit of independence which I found so endearing in her.
Holmes continued. “It seemed to me that if it was someone’s intent to do Mrs. Watson harm they may seize upon this opportunity. When you told me on Friday that she had gone away upon her errand of mercy I made it my business to act as her guardian. Yesterday morning as I took a cab to the Whitney residence I saw a familiar figure on the pavement of Kashgar Road.”
“The disreputable fruit seller who has been watching my house?” I asked.
“No, Watson. That particular gentleman seems to have vanished for now.”
“Who then?” I asked.
“It was none other than Colonel Sebastian Moran,” said Holmes.
His words sent shivers down my spine.
“Why should he be interested in my wife?”
“Let us not jump to conclusions, Doctor. It may have been Mrs. Whitney or even yourself who was the object of his scrutiny, however I must admit the odds are against it.”
“If it is vengeance for the death of Professor Moriarty which he seeks why not attempt to murder you or I. Neither my wife nor Kate Whitney had anything to do with the Professor’s demise.”
“I think that there is more to this than the death of the late Professor. I do not yet have all of the data but I do know for a fact that Colonel Moran and Mrs. Watson’s father were in the same regiment in India.”
“Mary has never spoken of it,” I said.
“And why should she, Watson? The name would probably mean nothing to her. It has after all been fifteen years sine her father’s death.
“I suppose you are right. So what do you think brought him to Woolwich?”
“I can’t really say but if he did have some mischief in mind, yesterday morning would have been an ideal time for him to bring to fruition any such plan, whether a kidnapping or something even worse.”
“You think he would dare kidnap a respectable woman right off the streets of London in broad daylight?” I asked doubtfully.
“Such a man would risk anything and an unescorted lady alone in a cab would be easy prey. There exists the very real possibility that she could have become the victim of an unscrupulous cab driver in the Colonel’s employ, who could have simply taken her to a place of Moran’s choosing. He has used such a device before. Or possibly an accident would be staged which would cause the cab to be held up in traffic. In the resulting confusion she could have been snatched from the inside of the vehicle with no one being the wiser. It would be child’s play.”
“So what happened when you confronted him?” I asked.
“That would not have been prudent at the time. I retreated back down the pavement and approached the house by way of the back garden.”
“Kate never mentioned your visit.”
“As Mrs. Whitney remains for the most part bedridden she never knew of it.”
“And what of the maid?”
“When I asked her if Mrs. Watson was in her first instinct was to turn me away but a five pound note and the mention of your name helped decide the matter in my favour. I cajoled and pleaded with your wife to come with me, advising her of how it would now be too dangerous to return home, however she was unwilling to believe that she was in any danger from which you could not safeguard her.”
“I would like to think that she is right, Holmes. I do not fear Moran or others of his ilk.
“No one doubts your bravery old fellow however you could not always be there to protect her.”
“I could sell the practice and move elsewhere; to Scotland or even Canada perhaps.”
“That would be no more than a temporary solution, Watson. The man is a hunter by nature, sooner or later he would find you. Our best option, I believe, is to secrete your wife at a location where she could be protected while we set our sights on Moran. Once we have dealt with him your lives can then return to normal.”
“Holmes,” I said, “why not just ask Mary if she knows anything of this Colonel Moran? If, as I suspect, she knows nothing of the man’s antecedents we could make him aware of this, then perhaps he would leave her alone and if it turns out that she does know anything of a criminal nature concerning the man, then we could go to the police.”
“A rather idealistic solution Watson. In the first place if we were to tell Moran that your wife knows nothing of his past life and that his name means nothing to her, I do not expect that he would believe us.
“In the second place
if Mrs. Watson does possess knowledge, unknowingly or otherwise, of Moran’s activities and it these activities were illegal the police could do nothing without corroborating evidence; evidence which at the moment we do not possess. With no proof her information would be little more than useless.”
“Surely with your powers Holmes you would be able to find such proof.”
“You flatter me Doctor. However if a crime was indeed committed, and if evidence of such does exist it will take some time for me to ferret out the relevant details especially if it is as I think, an army matter.”
“Holmes. Do you really think Mary’s father knew anything of an illegal nature concerning Moran?”
“You know Watson that I never theorize without the facts, and at this moment we do not know that Captain Morstan knew anything whatsoever about Moran. However anytime one man knows another man’s secrets the possibility of blackmail exists.”
“You think Captain Morstan was blackmailing Moran?”
“I did not say so, Watson.”
“You intimated as much.”
He shrugged.
I let the matter drop for the moment.
“So is it your intention for Mary to stay here?” I asked. “We could share my old bedroom.”
“No, that would not do.”
“Where then?”
“I think I will keep that information to myself for now, Watson,” he replied.
“What do you mean you will keep it to yourself? Damn you Holmes she is my wife. I, more than anyone have a right to know.”
“I am not denying that you have every right to know Watson, but it is the safety of your wife which concerns me most.”
“How does my knowing her whereabouts endanger her safety?” I asked.
“If you knew where she was you would understandably rush to her side. And while your actions would by noble you would be like the proverbial bull in the china shop.”
“What do you mean?”
My friend spoke to me in the manner of a father lecturing his child. “Come, Watson. Moran was the finest tracker and big game hunter in Her Majesty’s army. He would have little trouble tracking you through the brick and mortar jungle in which we live. Even I had to constantly be on my guard when I went to look in on her, this morning.”
“You seem to have based your actions on very scant knowledge of the facts, Holmes,” I said.
“I have done what I think best in the short amount of time available,” he replied.
We sat in silence for several minutes, a silence broken only by the ticking of the clock in the corner. “You will go to see her again?”
“Naturally Watson, I would not leave her in the total care of a complete stranger.”
“There is another who knows of her whereabouts then?”
“Of course. I can not be with her twenty four hours a day, and continue my investigations.”
“Who is this person, Holmes?”
“That too must remain my secret for now. Suffice it to say that aside from yourself and my brother Mycroft he is the one man I would trust completely.”
“But now I must cut our visit short. I have promised your wife that I would arrive at 3 P.M.,” he said disappearing into his bedroom. “I must prepare myself.”
I wandered over to the window and stared out at the traffic passing along Baker Street. An omnibus rolled by rumbling like distant cannon fire, and for a moment it brought back memories of Maiwand, and for the first time in months I felt the ache in my shoulder where I had been wounded in that battle of so long ago. I stood, absentmindedly rearranging the bottles which littered the top of Holmes’ deal topped chemical table.
“Watson,” Holmes called out. “I have had Harris’ in the Strand make me a new pair of shoes. They are in the wardrobe of your old room. Would you be kind enough to bring them to me?” I knew that Holmes now used that chamber as a store room where he kept many of the tools of his trade, among them his assortment of disguises.
“Of course Holmes,” I replied. I stepped out into the passage and after closing the door to our old chambers I called down to Billy, Mrs. Hudson’s page boy and whispered in his ear.
Following this I went up to the bedroom where I had slept for many years. In the bottom of the closet were an ordinary looking pair of black shoes however when I picked them up I noticed the soles were very thin and had no heel. I took the shoes into the sitting room. While I waited I smoked three of Holmes’ cigarettes which he kept in a small box on the table beside his chair. After about ten minutes in which the room took on the characteristics of a London fog I was shocked to see Holmes’ landlady emerge from his bedroom.
“Mrs. Hudson, I did not hear you come up,” I said.
At that moment there came a knock at the sitting room door. Since I was closest to it I stepped over and turned the knob. My head swam as standing in the doorway was a mirror image of the woman who had just come from Holmes’ bedroom. I spun around and there, still at the entrance of Holmes’ bedroom, stood the landlady. I slowly turned to face the apparition in the doorway.
“Mrs. Hudson......,” I stammered.
Behind me I heard Holmes laugh. “Calm yourself, Doctor; you are not in the presence of a doppelganger.”
I turned and there stood a barely recognizable Holmes. He was dressed in a frock identical to that worn by the landlady and the theatrical makeup was expertly applied. The resemblance to Mrs. Hudson was uncanny. Only the fact that he had removed the gray wig allowed me to identify the detective.
“I am sorry to startle you, old friend but as you know I can seldom resist a sense of the dramatic.”
“My God, Holmes it is marvelous,” I said.
“Yes Mr. Holmes, it is as if I am looking in a mirror,” Mrs. Hudson said giggling girlishly.
“All thanks to you, dear lady.”
“But why disguise yourself as Mrs. Hudson?” I asked.
“If someone should be watching Baker Street, who other than Mrs. Hudson could they expect to see leave these premises. I don’t wish to worry you Watson, but you may also be followed when you leave.”
“That matters little as I have nowhere else to go at the moment. But why the special shoes, Holmes? With that dress on no one can see your feet anyway.”
“I can disguise my face with an application of exonia paste, attach a wig and alter my wardrobe but I can do little to disguise the fact that I am seven inches taller than Mrs. Hudson. I can take three or four inches off my height by altering my posture. The thin soled shoes will also take another inch off of my normal height. It is a device that I have used before with some success and it should be enough to deceive Moran.”
As if by example the Holmes-Hudson amalgam seemed to melt in front of my eyes.
“That’s amazing Holmes. How is it done?”
“As a physician you will have noted that most old people have rounded shoulders and tend to stoop. This makes them appear to be shorter than they actually are. By doing this and by keeping my knees slightly bent under these voluminous female garments I am able to take about five inches from my normal height. It is not a posture I could maintain for a long period but for the brief time that anyone will see me upright it will be suitable.”
“Now if you will hand me those shoes I shall be off. Thank you Mrs. Hudson for your assistance with my little demonstration.”
I puffed heavily on a cigar as Holmes pulled on the shoes and one of Mrs. Hudson’s mob caps.
“Will you whistle for a cab Watson, while I finish dressing? When it arrives, see me out and express your condolences and best wishes to my.... or rather Mrs. Hudson’s sister.”
I went down the stairs and blew on my cab whistle. A few moments later a hansom drew up to the kerb and Holmes, his posture and stride identical to that of Mrs. Hudson, walked out of the front door. I helped him into the cab and expressed my hopes for a speedy recovery for the fictitious ailing sister.
“Holmes,” I whispered “please give my love to Mary and tell her I will see her
soon.”
“Of course, Watson,” he said quietly and patted my hand with one of his gloved ones.
I stepped back and the driver was off in a clatter of hooves and wheels.
The moment the cab was out of sight Billy ran up to me. “Is it done?” I asked him hurriedly.
“Yes, it is all arranged.”
“Thank you for your help,” I said slipping a shilling into his protesting hand.
The lad waved for the cab which he had waiting further down the street. I knew that Holmes would be on his mettle and even though he was in disguise he would take great precautions to ensure that he wasn’t followed, however I had other ideas. I gave the “jarvey” his instructions and implored him to hurry. We virtually flew down Regent Street, past St. James Park and Whitehall, and over Westminster Bridge. In no more than twenty five minutes we came to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, the home of old Mr. Sherman the amateur ornithologist. The door opened as I alighted from the cab.
“Ah Dr. Watson, how good it is too see you again. You have come from Mr. Sherlock I trust,” said the old fellow standing in the doorway.
“Yes indeed Mr. Sherman, Mr. Holmes has great need of Toby.”
At the mention of his name an ugly, long haired, brown and white mongrel appeared at the door.
“The telegram which I received from someone named Billy said urgency was a must, so I have him here waiting for you,” croaked the old man.
“Thank you, Mr. Sherman,” said I holding out a lump of sugar to the little animal. “I will return him as soon as possible.”
Anticipating more treats the friendly little dog needed little additional coaxing to follow me into the cab. We made our way back to Baker Street with as much haste as possible. Dodging pedestrians, delivery waggons and the ever present omnibuses with their advertisements for Pears Soap and Ogden’s Cigarettes we arrived in Baker Street later than I hoped. The sky had become overcast and if my plan was to meet with success I must hope for the rain to hold off.
The Adventure of the Tired Captain A Sherlock Holmes Case Page 4