Again, he smiled, and as he fell silent, I remembered what Holmes had asked of me, and did my level best to gauge the man. His clothes, of course, told me nothing, for he was dressed exactly as we all were. There was the silver cigarette case, which argued for comparative wealth, but I knew Holmes would expect more from me, and I found myself considering just how he had contrived to maintain possession of so valuable and conspicuous an item. If the search I had undergone on my arrival were standard, it would have been impossible to smuggle so much as a hairpin into the prison. The cigarette he had given me was of high quality and Turkish, but again that was evidence only of his wealth, which was never in doubt, according to Hardie. What else would I be able to tell Holmes?
I had no time to draw further conclusions in any case, for Galloway spoke up once again. “You may be wondering why I tell you all this, Doctor,” he said. “It is so you may understand why I acknowledged you as I did in the yard earlier. You have done me a good turn—” Again, my attempts at protest came to nothing as he pressed on regardless. “Now, now, no need to say a word. Of course, you did no such thing. You are an innocent man, guilty of no crime, as are so many souls in this place. But even so, the belief in the world at large is that you have – how shall I put it? – done me a right good turn. And as a businessman, I know that good work must be rewarded, and rewarded publicly, so that everyone can see the benefits of such. So think of that handshake as your payment. There’s more than one of the other types of criminal in here who bears you terrible ill will, Doctor, and might, left unchecked, have done you a mischief. Now they know that you’re under my protection, and to harm you would be to cross me.
“And they’d be very foolhardy to cross me. Very foolhardy indeed.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left the cell. The two thugs who held me released their grip and followed a moment later, leaving me slumped, a cold chill settling on my spine. I heard Hardie’s voice as though he were some distance away but could make out nothing of what he said. All my attention was focused on one solitary, unpleasant truth.
Whether what had just occurred placed me in greater or lesser immediate jeopardy I could not say, but one thing was eminently clear. By placing myself, however unwillingly, under Galloway’s protection, I had allied myself in the eyes of the world at large with a known criminal. I could see no way in which that was a development to be welcomed.
Hardie, however, insisted that Galloway’s visit was a positive one.
“Stands to reason, if you ask me,” he said, once the immediate effect of our rough handling had abated. “Bloke like Galloway, he don’t care to be in anybody’s debt, so he pays you back in protection, and makes sure everyone knows it too. I tell you, John, it’s no more than him keeping things even.”
“Balancing the books, you mean?” I interposed, recalling Galloway’s description of himself as a shopkeeper.
“Something like,” agreed Hardie. “In his line of work, it don’t do to be seen to be owing favours.”
It was at least a possible explanation for Galloway’s otherwise inexplicable amity – such as it was – but I could not rid myself of the faint feeling that there was more to recent events than met the eye. Galloway was a gang leader, I must never forget, and would benefit from a curtailment of Major McLachlan’s investigations as much as any man. It seemed far-fetched, but could he be in some way responsible for Miss McLachlan’s death, and was his protection nothing but a ruse designed to cast further suspicion on me? Holmes was due to visit later in the day, and I would mention the possibility to him then.
In the meantime, the day continued along already familiar lines, though I was excused the daily exercise period on account of the previous morning’s fracas. Hardie, however, refused to stay inside, and returned, once his hour was complete, with news.
“You’re the talk of the yard, John. Nobody’s talking about anything else but your run-ins with Ikey Collins and Matty Galloway. Collins is in a punishment cell, of course, and won’t be out for a day or two, but I managed to get close enough to some of Galloway’s lads to hear them talking.”
I protested at the risk he had taken, and reminded him of his promise of the night before, but he waved away my worries as he threw himself on his bed.
“Calm yourself, John! I was just sitting nearby, enjoying the fresh air, wasn’t I? No reason why anyone should look at me twice. And besides, you’ll be pleased I did, once you hear what they were saying.”
In spite of myself, I had to admit the truth of his words. The more information we had, the more likely that we would be able to discern a motive for Galloway’s unexpected largesse. Perhaps it would have nothing to do with my own case, but even if it did not directly do so, the mystery of Matthew Galloway was one that required thought on its own merits. Grudgingly, therefore, I settled back to listen, and Hardie described the scene in the yard.
“There was three of them. Two I don’t know, and one who’s always at Galloway’s side. Don’t know his name, but he was here earlier, the one with the dragon tattoo on his neck. He was the one doing most of the talking too. ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ he was saying when I managed to get near enough to hear. ‘Galloway always has his reasons, you know that,’ he says, and the other two, they nodded but they didn’t look convinced. ‘He’s called a meeting,’ says Dragon Tattoo, ‘in the usual place, and he says he’s got something to tell everyone.’ One of the others pipes up then, and asks if it’s about the doctor – that’d be you – or about the other swine, but Dragon Tattoo says how would he know, he’s not Galloway’s keeper, and after a bit of grumbling, they moved off. Dragon Tattoo gave me a bit of a look first, but he didn’t say nothing, so I reckon he’s just not the friendly sort.”
I was less confident about that, but there was no denying that the boy had unearthed valuable information. Clearly, it would be in my interests to eavesdrop on the forthcoming meeting, though I could not for the life of me see how that could be managed. The identity of the “other bloke” was a new wrinkle to a mystery which, increasingly, I felt intersected with my wider difficulties. I quizzed Hardie about the possible location of Galloway’s meeting, but he knew nothing for certain and almost as little as conjecture.
“Galloway’s got a few of the warders in his pocket, that’s for sure. He comes and goes as he pleases, and his men too, so they could be meeting anywhere. It’ll have to be either during exercise or at chapel, for even a bought guard couldn’t ignore a dozen men not in their cells at any other time.”
“They can hardly hold a secret meeting in the chapel,” I noted, after a moment’s thought, “but there would be nothing unusual in a group of friends standing together in the yard, would there?”
Hardie agreed, but reluctantly, and I could see that he harboured doubts about my theory. I was about to quiz him further, when the cell door swung open, and Shapley growled that I had a visitor. Briefly I wondered whether this was not a trap and Shapley one of Galloway’s bought guards, then recognised that there was no need to go to such lengths. He had already proved he could enter my cell with impunity.
Consequently, I pushed myself to my feet, wincing at the sharp pain in my ribs, and followed Shapley down the corridor outside.
Chapter Nine
In my writings, I have occasionally been guilty of portraying Sherlock Holmes as a cold-blooded, emotionless man, more concerned with the intellectual challenge of a case than the human beings it affected. The injustice of such a portrayal was never more clearly seen than that day, when I found myself once again sitting opposite him, in a private visitors’ room on this occasion. To my relief, Inspector Potter was not in attendance. Instead, Lestrade accompanied my friend, his face twisted in concern as I made my way across the room.
“I’ve seen you look better, Doctor,” he said by way of greeting.
“I’ve definitely felt better, Inspector,” I replied.
Holmes said nothing. He sat, his fingers intertwined on the table before him, eyes hooded and
dark, glowering at the knotted wood as though somehow it offended him. Without looking up, he spoke quietly, but with force and a passion which I did not recall hearing in his voice before.
“You will be released as soon as is humanly possible, Watson. You have my word on it.”
He glanced up, with what I can only describe as a look of guilt on his face, then flicked his eyes back to the table top. I knew what troubled him, and hurried to reassure him.
“This is not your doing, Holmes. Nothing you might have done could have prevented it, nor could anyone blame you for your lack of progress, given how short a time has passed.” I smiled as best I could, endeavouring to lighten the mood. “And besides, I have received worse injuries on the rugby field.”
Holmes, however, was not to be placated. “Perhaps you have, Watson, but that is hardly pertinent. I should have worked harder to bring about your release before now, but I made the decision to follow a promising line of enquiry instead. And you have paid painfully for my misjudgement.”
“But I am to be released?” In my haste to reassure Holmes I almost let the most important of his words pass me by. “Double reason to consign recent events to the unmourned past! Come now, Holmes, enough moping. Tell me how you came to secure my freedom!”
Lestrade filled the brief silence that followed by pulling a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and laying it on the table before him. A warder barked my name in warning as I reached a hand out to take the paper, so the inspector explained what it contained.
“I’m afraid you’re not in the clear yet, Dr. Watson, but Mr. Holmes, it turns out, has friends in very high places. This morning Scotland Yard received this telegram, direct from the Prime Minister’s office, ordering that, in light of the cowardly attack perpetrated on you yesterday, and in view of the services you have rendered the Crown in the past, you are to be released immediately into the recognisance of Sherlock Holmes and allowed to aid him in his investigations into the murder. There is no suggestion that the charges against you will be dropped, or that we – that is, Inspector Potter and his team – have any fresh suspect in mind, however. Mr. Holmes asked me to look into the girl who led you into the trap, but there is no sign of her, and Inspector Potter has dismissed her as just a gutter urchin paid a shilling to lure you inside, if she exists at all, which he makes plain he doubts. I’m afraid that you are merely to be released on licence, and will still face trial in due course.”
It was less than I might have hoped for, but more than I expected. I would remain under a cloud of suspicion for the moment, but I would at least be free of Holloway and able to assist Holmes in uncovering the true killer.
“Thank you, Inspector,” I said. “I won’t forget the faith you have shown in me, nor the assistance you have provided.”
Lestrade gave an embarrassed cough and nodded an awkward acknowledgement in my general direction. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Doctor,” he muttered. “Mr. Holmes is the one with the ear of the highest in the land, not me. All I’ll be doing is the paperwork.”
“Not at all, Lestrade,” I demurred. “But perhaps you can do one more thing for me?”
I quickly described Galloway’s visit to my cell. Holmes sat silently throughout my account, but Lestrade gave out a distinct grunt when I mentioned Galloway’s name, and another when I admitted that I was now under his protection.
“Matthew Galloway is not a man you would want laying claim to you, Dr. Watson,” he warned. “I’ll see what detail I can ferret out regarding his most recent activities, but you want to avoid him if you can. ‘The dark prince’ some call him, but it’s no compliment. Actually,” he added, rising to his feet, “I’ll make a start on that now. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen…”
Once Lestrade had left us, we sat and smoked a cigarette apiece. I think Holmes recognised that I needed a moment of silent companionship before discussing my wider predicament. Only when I stubbed out my cigarette did he bring up the subject of my recent assault and my unlikely champion.
“You are right, of course, Watson, that Galloway is a man of means, even within these prison walls. The silver cigarette case, the Turkish cigarettes – each points to a man able to manipulate the system, to bend it to his will. There are only three ways that I know of, by which a prisoner may obtain contraband of such an expensive nature. Smuggling by way of prison visitor is the most obvious method, naturally, but we can rule that out immediately, at least in its most common form. Even a small item, once smuggled in, must remain hidden, lest the authorities confiscate it. But you say that Galloway is bold and makes no effort to conceal his contraband. Indeed, if he discarded a cigarette barely half smoked, we can safely surmise that he has no concerns regarding their replacement. Cigarettes are, strictly speaking, forbidden here, but he has no worries that such restrictions apply to him. So… a shopkeeper he calls himself, but I think a more apposite description might be a wholesaler. An importer and exporter. And his imports at least are no secret. Indeed, he as good as advertises his wares, which indicates recourse to one of the other two options. Bribery or threat… or both.”
Holmes’s voice tailed off as he fell into a reverie. I saw his eyes lose focus as he turned his mind inward, considering Galloway. I lit another of the cigarettes he had placed on the table between us and waited, as content as I could be in this malign building.
“We must, I think, discover the extent of his influence. He may not be directly involved in your case, but he remains the one who stands to benefit most from the crime of which you are accused. In choosing to acknowledge you he has, perversely, both made you safer in the short term and placed you in greater danger in the long. It plainly serves his interests to have you hanged, even as he is seen to comfort you on every step to the noose.”
I glanced sharply at Holmes. “I had considered whether Galloway’s actions in the yard today would have any bearing on my own perceived guilt or innocence. But why should anyone outside these walls even know anything has occurred?”
I thought I saw pity, or at least compassion, in Holmes’s eyes as he replied in a low voice. “News of today’s meeting will not stay contained for long, Watson. Prison guards are not well paid and thus cheaply hired, if not bought outright. Someone will pass on the information to a newspaperman in exchange for a shilling or two before the day is out. I have no doubt that the news will make the morning editions if I cannot once more oblige Mycroft to intervene. Even if he does, men of importance will need to be consulted, and they may be less sympathetic once they hear of your new protector. There is only so much even Mycroft can do.”
“Of course, the news that I have been publicly thanked by the man most likely to benefit from McLachlan’s recusal will not aid me,” I said, suddenly tired once more.
Holmes offered no false succour. “Matthew Galloway is one of the rats who infest this city, Watson, though a somewhat more successful rat than most. In Inspector Lestrade’s colourful description, he is a dark prince of the underworld, almost untouchable so far as the police are concerned. He has fingers in every illicit pie, and an interest in every gambling den, opium stew and disorderly house in London. And yet the constabulary have thus far been unable to convict him of so much as a breach of the peace.”
“Yet here he is in Holloway,” I pointed out. “Perhaps his luck has come to an end?”
“I very much doubt that, I’m afraid,” Holmes replied. “If my memory serves, each of his incarcerations in the past has come to nothing. Witnesses change their stories, alibis are established, and the Crown finds itself unable to proceed.”
“Obviously Galloway can apply pressure in every direction,” I suggested, but I knew as I said it that I was simply stating the obvious.
It was a sign of Holmes’s concern for me that he allowed my words to pass unremarked. “It would certainly seem that way.”
“Can the police do nothing?”
“Galloway is a rich man. He runs a coach and pair, employs two dozen servants and owns racing
horses and fine art, even has a small estate in the country. Those whom he is unable to terrify into silence, he can buy outright. There is little the police can do to stop him.”
“Strange that he has never crossed our path before now.” I was more concerned with Galloway’s interest in me, but the thought did occur that I would be in a far less perilous position now had we had cause to investigate him at an earlier date.
Holmes was dismissive. “Not at all! Galloway is a very common sort of street thug. Not without resource or wit in his own sphere, I grant you, but hardly likely ever to present the type of involved conundrum I find of interest. A fact that perversely appears to have offended the man, rather than relieving him as one might expect.”
He crossed the room and peered out of the small window.
“No,” he said after a minute. “Our concern is not with Mr. Galloway’s past activities outside this prison, but his current ones inside. Why did he come to your aid, and why did he proclaim his sponsorship of you so publicly?”
The obvious answer did not bode well for my chances of an acquittal in court. If even a vicious criminal like Galloway believed me guilty, what chance had I of convincing a jury of my innocence? I mentioned my theory that he might be using me as a cover for his own foul deeds, but Holmes was not reassuring. “That is, of course, one possible explanation, but not the only one. Galloway may well be entirely sincere in his belief that he is in your debt. At the moment it is impossible to say which is true.”
The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Improbable Prisoner Page 7