The Sign of the Four Page 8

  Chapter VIII

  The Baker Street Irregulars

  "What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character for infallibility."

  "He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting him down fromthe barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you considerhow much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is no greatwonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used now,especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame."

  "We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."

  "Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently whatpuzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were twodifferent trails running in opposite directions. We took the wrong one.It only remains to follow the other."

  There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place wherehe had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finallydashed off in a fresh direction.

  "We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where thecreasote-barrel came from," I observed.

  "I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement,whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the truescent now."

  It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Placeand Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down tothe water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us tothe very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the darkcurrent beyond.

  "We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boat here."Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on theedge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but, though hesniffed earnestly, he made no sign.

  Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a woodenplacard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith" wasprinted across it in large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to hire bythe hour or day." A second inscription above the door informed us thata steam launch was kept,--a statement which was confirmed by a greatpile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, andhis face assumed an ominous expression.

  "This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than I expected.They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear, beenpreconcerted management here."

  He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a little,curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish,red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.

  "You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back, youyoung imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that, he'lllet us hear of it."

  "Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What a rosy-cheekedyoung rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?"

  The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," said he.

  "Nothing you would like better?"

  "I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after somethought.

  "Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!"

  "Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too muchfor me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a time."

  "Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry forthat, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."

  "He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I ambeginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a boat,sir, maybe I could serve as well."

  "I wanted to hire his steam launch."

  "Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone.That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her thanwould take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been away in thebarge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him asfar as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha'stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?"

  "He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."

  "He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard himcall out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I don'tlike that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish talk.What did he want always knockin' about here for?"

  "A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise.

  "Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for myold man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's more,my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I tellyou straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it."

  "But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "Youare frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tellthat it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't quiteunderstand how you can be so sure."

  "His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy.He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show a leg,matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man woke upJim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a wordto me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones."

  "And was this wooden-legged man alone?"

  "Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."

  "I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have heardgood reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?"

  "The Aurora, sir."

  "Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad inthe beam?"

  "No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river. She'sbeen fresh painted, black with two red streaks."

  "Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am goingdown the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall lethim know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?"

  "No, sir. Black with a white band."

  "Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall takeit and cross the river.

  "The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as we sat inthe sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that theirinformation can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do, theywill instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them underprotest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want."

  "Our course now seems pretty clear," said I.

  "What would you do, then?"

  "I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of theAurora."

  "My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched atany wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places formiles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you setabout it alone."

  "Employ the police, then."

  "No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He isnot a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which wouldinjure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it outmyself, now that we have gone so far."

  "Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?"

  "Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at theirheels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they arelikely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectlysafe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to usthere, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the dailypress, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrongscent."

  "What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we landed near MillbankPenitentiary.

  "Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour'ssleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again.Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be ofuse to us yet."

  We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmesdespatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked, as weresumed our journey.

  "I am sure I don't know."

  "You remember the Bake
r Street division of the detective police forcewhom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"

  "Well," said I, laughing.

  "This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail, Ihave other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to mydirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gangwill be with us before we have finished our breakfast."

  It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of astrong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I waslimp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not theprofessional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I lookat the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as thedeath of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him, andcould feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure,however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belongedrightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering itI was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found itit would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be apetty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought asthat. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfoldstronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

  A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me upwonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laidand Homes pouring out the coffee.

  "Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper."The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it upbetween them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have yourham and eggs first."

  I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed"Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."

  "About twelve o'clock last night," said the Standard, "Mr. BartholomewSholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his roomunder circumstances which point to foul play. As far as we can learn,no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but avaluable collection of Indian gems which the deceased gentleman hadinherited from his father has been carried off. The discovery wasfirst made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at thehouse with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singularpiece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of thedetective police force, happened to be at the Norwood Police Station,and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. Histrained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards thedetection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that thebrother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with thehousekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and aporter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that thethief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones'swell-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observationhave enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could nothave entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their wayacross the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a roomwhich communicated with that in which the body was found. This fact,which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it wasno mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of theofficers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on suchoccasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but thinkthat it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see ourdetectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and moreeffective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate."

  "Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. "Whatdo you think of it?"

  "I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested forthe crime."

  "So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should happen tohave another of his attacks of energy."

  At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs.Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation anddismay.

  "By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they arereally after us."

  "No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,--theBaker Street irregulars."

  As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon thestairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty andragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline amongthem, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up inline and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number,taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of loungingsuperiority which was very funny in such a disreputable littlescarecrow.

  "Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp. Three boband a tanner for tickets."

  "Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In future theycan report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the houseinvaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should allhear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steamlaunch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two redstreaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the riversomewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stageopposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide itout among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know themoment you have news. Is that all clear?"

  "Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins.

  "The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!" He handed them a shillingeach, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a momentlater streaming down the street.

  "If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes, as herose from the table and lit his pipe. "They can go everywhere, seeeverything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening thatthey have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but awaitresults. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either theAurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith."

  "Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,Holmes?"

  "No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never rememberfeeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I amgoing to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fairclient has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of oursought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other manmust, I should think, be absolutely unique."

  "That other man again!"

  "I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. But youmust have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet,stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What doyou make of all this?"

  "A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians who were theassociates of Jonathan Small."

  "Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strange weapons Iwas inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarkscaused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of theIndian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks asthat. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearingMohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others, becausethe thong is commonly passed between. These little darts, too, couldonly be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, whereare we to find our savage?"

  "South American," I hazarded.

  He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf."This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published.It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What have we here?'Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in theBay of Bengal.' Hum! hum! What's all this? Moist climate, coralreefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland Island,cottonwoods--Ah, here we are. 'The aborigines of the Andaman Islandsmay perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon thisearth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, theDigger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The averageheight is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults
maybe found who are very much smaller than this. They are a fierce,morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming most devotedfriendships when their confidence has once been gained.' Mark that,Watson. Now, then, listen to this. 'They are naturally hideous,having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distortedfeatures. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. Sointractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the Britishofficial have failed to win them over in any degree. They have alwaysbeen a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with theirstone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. Thesemassacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.' Nice, amiablepeople, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own unaideddevices this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. Ifancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not tohave employed him."

  "But how came he to have so singular a companion?"

  "Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had alreadydetermined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so verywonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shallknow all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly done.Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep."

  He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out hebegan to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt, forhe had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembranceof his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow.Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound,until I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet face of Mary Morstanlooking down upon me.