“Well, you seem to know so much already, Mr. Holmes, I suppose it can make little difference if I tell you the rest, as long as I don’t have to talk to the coppers.”
“You have my word.”
“All you said was true. When the bookie job looked like it was working, I decided to find my sister. I wanted to reconnect with my family. I knew I had been a disappointment to her, but by my making good as a turf accountant, I could redeem myself in her eyes. I didn’t want to say too much, however, because the break from my old life wasn’t complete yet.
“Farr found me several weeks ago. He had me followed and learned about my sister. He set up this job and threatened something would happen to Morgana if I wouldn’t go through with it. Saturday night he gave me directions to the law offices of Palmbranch and Hawkes in the City. The safe took me a little time, but finally the tumblers fell into place and the door opened. I searched through the papers inside. Farr told me to look for an envelope with a certain postmark and return address. I didn’t find the envelope, but I did find the letter it had held.
“I had to read the letter to determine if it was the one he wanted. I was surprised to find that it was from Abraham Rabb, an old member of Farr’s gang. He was writing to his lawyer to confirm plans set out that would let him surrender to Scotland Yard when he returns to England. He had been living in a small village in France since he fled arrest years ago for a series of assaults and robberies. Now he was dying. The doctors told him he had only a few months to live. In these last years he had married and his wife led him to the Church. To save his soul, he told the lawyer, he must confess his sins. A priest was not enough. He believed he must make amends to the British authorities also.
“I brought the letter to Farr. He was enraged that I had read it. It upset his plans to have this information known to anyone outside his inner circle. He had me taken and tied up, brought to the storeroom behind the “Camel’s Breath” and held prisoner. I overheard him plotting with others to meet Abe Rabb’s boat, to grab the sick man and find out everything he had spilled so far. Apparently Abe Rabb had been in on several large jobs Farr had arranged over the years. Then we both would disappear, knocked on the head and thrown into the sea some moonless night. I think he didn’t kill me at once because he didn’t want the police to stumble across my body and start an investigation before Rabb could be silenced. The ill man’s information will be fatal to Jay Farr and his thugs.”
“When is Abraham Rabb due to return to England?”
“He booked a cabin on the cargo steamer Persian Princess from Lisbon. It is due to berth at Alexandria Dock at nine o’clock tomorrow night. His lawyer arranged a hotel room nearby and will meet him there the next morning to accompany him to Scotland Yard.”
I filled Dyne’s glass again as Holmes leaned back in his armchair and puffed his pipe, his eyes closed and his forehead marked in concentration. When the little man began to nod off, I guided him up the staircase to my room, where he wearily stretched out on the bed. Soon he was asleep, exhausted by his recent adventure. I left him snoring and returned to the sitting room.
Holmes was where I had left him. The hour was quite late and I curled up under a blanket on the sofa. In a few minutes I, too, was asleep.
When I awoke, the sun was just breaking over the buildings across the street. I went upstairs to check on our guest. The bedclothes were thrown back and the room was empty. A hastily-scribbled note and a sealed envelope were on my desk. I met Holmes in the hallway coming up the stairs as I came down, the papers in my hand.
“Dyne is gone, Holmes!” I exclaimed. “His note asked that we not look for him, that he had friends that will smuggle him out of the country. He left a letter for his sister.”
“I know, Watson. He crept down the stairs soon after you fell asleep. His cat burglar skills are still keen, but my ears are keener. I followed him as far as his lodgings and then to the waterfront. I waited until the sloop cast off. Alan Dyne is safe, away from Jay Farr and his gang. Now I can see about Abraham Rabb.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll take that letter to Miss Dyne. I still have arrangements to make. We will meet tonight.”
I spent the day catching up at the surgery. That evening I came back after dinner to find instructions left by Holmes. I put my trusty service revolver in my pocket and took a cab down to the Alexandria Docks.
The Persian Princess was already docked, her decks busy with men and cranes. Huge cargo nets filled with crates and bundles swung out over the waterline as the holds were emptied onto the pier. Then the crates and barrels were carried by burly men into the custom sheds. From the deck of the Persian Princess there stretched a long gangplank down to the pier. Two men, clipboards in hand, were just making their way down it. The scene was lit by flickering gas lights and oil lanterns.
I walked toward the nearest shed. As I passed a pile of crates, I heard a hiss. I turned and saw Inspector Bradshaw motion me to join him in the shadows.
“You are just in time, Dr. Watson. The custom officials have finished their on-board inspections and are leaving the ship. Where is Holmes?”
“Isn’t he with you?”
“He came to Scotland Yard and talked to me earlier today. He was very mysterious but insisted that I and a picked squad of men meet the Persian Princess tonight at nine-thirty. He gave me some very complicated instructions. Sometimes your friend can be quite exasperating, Doctor. Does he think we police have nothing else to do but lurk about on piers and wait for…”
Bradshaw stopped whispering. The officials had gone into a low building. The Persian Princess’s passengers and crew began disembarking. Several people, including four men and a woman, came down the gangway carrying their grips and valises. Two seamen carried down a trunk. Behind them came another man. He was a hunched, thin figure, wrapped up in shawls, and stumbled as he made his way down to the pier. He reached the seamen with the trunk and was handing them a few coins when running footsteps were heard. There was shouting and a closed carriage galloped up to the group from the street. Several toughs appeared and began struggling with the group by the trunk, trying to force the invalid into the cab. Bradshaw blew his whistle and sprang out of his hiding place with me close behind. Half-a-dozen policemen emerged from their stations behind the piles and stacks of crates and casks around us and joined in the melee.
One or two of the gang I recognized from our encounter the night before. I manoeuvred myself close to the invalid and tried to hold off his attackers. The police managed to quell and take prisoner the entire group, but not before Abraham Rabb and I were thrown into the carriage against our wills. As soon as the door banged shut behind us, the driver whipped up the horses and we bolted off, down dark and narrow London alleys and around anonymous corners. I sat up and searched for my revolver, but my pocket was empty. It must have been lost during the fight. I started to say something, but the well-known voice of Sherlock Holmes sounded in my ear. “Say nothing and follow my lead.” I stared at the man in the opposite seat. Why was it I could never penetrate Holmes’ disguises? Just then we swerved around one more corner and the carriage stopped. The door was pulled open and a familiar voice silkily invited us to join him.
Holmes was still wrapped in the shawls that hid his face. He shakily put out a hand and Jay Farr took it to help him down the step. Instead my friend’s strong, thin fingers gripped Farr’s hand. He reached out with the other hand, gripped the criminal’s coat collar and jerked him into the carriage. I slammed the door shut. Instantly the carriage lurched again and we rattled down the street.
Between us Holmes and I fitted Jay Farr’s wrists with the detective’s handcuffs. Holmes tied his ankles with his cravat and when Farr began to yell, I stuffed my handkerchief into his mouth. When he was satisfied his prisoner was secure, Holmes pulled up the shade, thrust out his head and shouted at the driver.
�
�Scotland Yard, Constable. They will be expecting us.”
The carriage slowed to a trot. As we proceeded toward our goal, Holmes threw off the encompassing shawls and pulled out his pipe. I stared from our prisoner to my friend in wonderment.
“What happened to Abraham Rabb, Holmes?”
“He is safe, Watson. By now Inspector Bradshaw will have released him from that travel trunk in which he was willing to hide in order to evade his old cohort. I joined the ship from the pilot boat. I carried a letter from his lawyers and sought out Rabb in his cabin. It didn’t take much convincing to get him to agree to my plan. I had arranged with Bradshaw to engage with whoever tried to interfere with Rabb’s disembarkation. I had two men carry the trunk down the plank then wrapped myself in extra shawls and followed it. The trickiest part was substituting Constable Rock for the original cab driver. The Scotland Yard man was in place before Farr engaged the cab.”
“What if Jay Farr had asked for another cab?”
“There were four cabs circling the “Jewel and Bottle” and two more lingering near the “Camel’s Breath”, each manned by a policeman. Farr had to pick one of them.”
Our prisoner struggled. Sherlock Holmes plucked the gag from his mouth. Farr’s face was red and his eyes glared at us both. “I’ll have you arrested for this assault, Holmes! You have no case against me! This is illegal!”
Holmes chuckled. “There is a pile of warrants waiting for you at Scotland Yard, Mr. Farr. Your reputation precedes you. But you have been most elusive. Many well-planned raids on your organization have failed to dig you out of your burrow. It will be quite a feather in Constable Rock’s helmet when he deposits you at Scotland Yard’s gate. He has arrested you with the anonymous help of two public-spirited citizens. He’ll most likely get his sergeant’s stripes for this.
“It’s all quite legal, I assure you. As we speak Metropolitan’s finest are rounding up the last of your gang. Abraham Rabb and your own men will build a strong and study case against you, Mr. Farr. How long will your organization stand when your men are confronted with the police’s proof of your robberies, assaults, thefts, and murders? The image of rats deserting a sinking ship comes to mind. Lesser sentences offered to your men for confessions, stolen goods recovered from your hiding places, Abe Rabb’s sworn statements; all combine to put you in the shadow of a cell door or a rope, Mr. Farr.”
Jay Farr began to spew out more dreadful oaths and Holmes stuffed my handkerchief back in his mouth.
Miss Morgana Dyne sat on our sofa in the sitting room of 221b Baker Street the next afternoon, holding the letter her brother had left for her. Holmes had just finished telling of our adventures on her behalf and she looked at us both in wonder.
“That is amazing, Mr. Holmes! So Jay Farr and his men are safely in custody? They pose no threat to either my brother or I?”
“That is correct, Miss Dyne.”
“Your story helps make sense of this letter Alan left for me.” She held out a small shiny object in her palm. “He left me this key to a box in a downtown bank with instructions to use the contents for my own benefit. He had earlier arranged to transfer most of his wealth to another bank on the Continent. He must have had grave doubts about the job Jay Farr insisted he do for him. I am very grateful to both of you gentlemen for saving my brother from that horrible man.”
“What are your plans now, Miss Dyne? Or will it be Miss Dyne for much longer? Could that gentleman waiting in the street below have his own ideas of what your future will bring?”
“Mr. Holmes! How did you guess?”
“Dr. Watson will tell you that I never guess, Miss Dyne. I have known since our first meeting. While you told me your story, you repeatedly pulled and rubbed the third finger of your left hand. When I bid you farewell, I took care to pat that hand and felt the lump hidden under your glove. It felt exactly like an engagement ring. You had not yet informed your employer and so took pains that it not be visible during working hours.”
“I noticed a thin chain about her neck when I went to talk to her,” I exclaimed.
“Just so. That is where she carried the ring while in uniform.”
Miss Morgana Dyne smiled. “I can see I have no secrets from either of you gentlemen. I told Mr. and Mrs. Waddy yesterday and they have given their blessing. His name is T. Edward Lawrence and he has spent the past year in Toronto, Canada, working as a clerk for the Canadian Pacific Railroad. We agreed to keep the engagement quiet while he established a place for us in that city. Now he has returned on the steamship Oasis with a promotion and we will marry. The money my brother has left for me will help to start us off nicely in our new faraway home.”
Sherlock Holmes took out the forty pounds she had previously deposited in his safekeeping and offered it to her but she waved it away.
“Keep it as your fee, please,” she said. “My brother, wherever he may go, and I will both count it as well-spent. My fiancé waits below. He has a special license and we have a four o’clock appointment at St. Christopher’s Church. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. Goodbye, Dr. Watson.”
With another smile and another handshake she was gone. I picked up one of the newspapers delivered that day and noted something on an inside page.
“Holmes! That young singer, Thomas Tucker, who disappeared after his La Scala debut, has been found!”
“Eating supper in the company of a notorious lady of the evening, well-known to the police and to the minor local royalty.”
“Exactly! How did you know?”
“Watson, think of those many countries and three continents. Weren’t you once a young man yourself?”
Also available
Front matter
Title page
Publisher information
Dedication
Body matter
The Case of the Dyrebury Danger
The Case of the Meandering Motorists
The Case of the Lost Lad
The Case of the Hunted Hound
The Case of the Bewildered Bootblack
The Case of the Kerchief Clue
The Case of the Braided Basket
The Case of the Callous Collector
The Case of the Classic Code
The Case of the Bivalve Burglars
The Case of the Deceitful Death
The Case of the Hesitant Heist
Back matter
Also available
Sherlock Holmes and the Folk Tale Mysteries - Volume 2 Page 27