Sherlock Holmes - Sign of Four

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Chapter 8
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Chapter 8 - 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 from the barrel
and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you consider how much creosote is
carted about London in one day, it is no great wonder 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 what puzzled the dog
at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were two different 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 where he had
committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally dashed off in a fresh
direction.

"We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where the
creosote-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 true scent now."

It tended down towards the riverside, running through Bel- mont Place and
Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to the water's edge,
where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this and
there stood whining, looking out on the dark current 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 the edge of the
wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but though he sniffed earnestly he
made no sign.

Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a wooden placard
slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith" was printed across it in
large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to hire by the hour or day." A second
inscription above the door informed us that a steam launch was kept -- a
statement which was confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock
Holmes looked slowly round, and his 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, been preconcerted 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, you young
imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that he'll let us hear of it."

"Dear little chap!" said Holmes strategically. "What a rosy- cheeked young 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 some thought.

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

"Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too much for 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 for that, for I
wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."

"He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I am beginnin' 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 than would take her to about Woolwich
and back. If he's been away in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a
job has taken him as far 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 him call out at the
prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I don't like 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 my old 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 tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in
my mind about it."

"But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "you are
frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell that it was the
wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't quite understand 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 up Jim -- that's my eldest -- and away they went without
so much as a word to 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 heard good
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 in the beam?"

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

"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going down the river,
and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall let him 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 take it and cross the
river."

"The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes as we sat in the sheets of
the wherry, "is never to let them think that their information can be of the slightest
importance to you. If you do they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to
them under protest, 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 the Aurora."

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

"Employ the police, then."

"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last mo- ment. He is not a bad
fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would injure him professionally.
But I have a fancy for working it out myself, 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 their heels, and
they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as
long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will
be of use to us there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily
press, and the runaways will think that everyone is off on the wrong scent."

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

"Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's sleep. 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 of use to us yet."

We pulled up at the Great Peter Street Post-Office, and Holmes dispatched his
wire.

"Whom do you think that is to?" he asked as we resumed our journey.

"I am sure I don't know."

"You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force whom I
employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"

"Well," said I, laughing.

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

It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was con- scious of a strong
reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was limp and weary,
befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the professional enthusiasm
which carried my companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract
intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard
little good of him and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The
treasure, however, was a differ- ent matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to
Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was ready to devote my
life to the one object. True, if I found it, it would probably put her forever beyond my
reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a
thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger
reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully.
When I came down to our room I found the break- fast laid and Holmes 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 up between them. But you have
had enough of the case. Better have your ham 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.

Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Nor-

wood, was found dead in his room under 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

a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased

gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried

off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes

and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr.Thad-

deus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece

of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member

of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood

police station and was on the ground within half an hour of

the first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at

once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with

the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has

already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs.

Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or

gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the

thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for

Mr. Jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers

of minute observation have enabled him to prove conclusively

that the miscreants could not have entered by the door or by

the window but must have made their way across the roof of

the building, and so through a trapdoor into a room which

communicated with that in which the body was found. This

fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves con-

clusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt

and energetic action of the officers of the law shows the

great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a

single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think

that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see

our detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer

and more effective touch with the cases which it is their

duty to investigate.

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

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

"So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now if he should happen to have 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 and dismay.

"By heavens, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they are really after us."

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

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

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

"Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In future they can report to
you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded in this way.
However, it is just as well that you should all hear the instructions. I want to find the
whereabouts of a steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black
with two red streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the river
somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage opposite
Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves
and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment 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 shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw
them a moment later streaming down the street.

"If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes as he rose from the
table and lit his pipe. "They can go every- where, see everything, overhear
everyone. I expect to hear be- fore evening that they have spotted her. In the
meanwhile, we can do nothing but await results. We cannot pick up the broken trail
until we find either the Aurora 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 remember feeling tired by
work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am going to smoke and to think
over this queer business to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man had
an easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common,
but the other man must, I should think, be absolutely unique."

"That other man again!"

"I have no wish to make a mystery of him to you, anyway. But you must 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 poi- soned darts. What do you make of all this?"

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

"Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strange weapons I was inclined to
think so, but the remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider
my views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none
could have left such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The
sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others
because the thong is com- monly passed between. These little darts, too, could
only be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to
find our savage?"

"South America," 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 Su-

matra, in the Bay of Bengal.

Hum! hum! What's all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair. convict
barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods -- Ah here we are!

"The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps

claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon this

earth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of

Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terra del

Fuegians. The average height is rather below four feet,

although many full-grown adults may be found who are

very much smaller than this. They are a fierce, morose,

and intractable people, though capable of forming most

devoted friendships 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 distorted features. Their feet and

hands, however, are remarkably small. So intractable and

fierce are they, that all the efforts of the British officials

have failed to win them over in any degree. They have

always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the

survivors with their stone-headed clubs or shooting them

with their poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably

concluded by a cannibal feast.

Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own unaided
devices, this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even
as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not to have employed him."

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

"Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had already determined that
Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander
should be with him. No doubt we shall know 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 he began to
play some low, dreamy, melodious air -- his own, no doubt, for he had a
remarkable gift for improvi- sation. I have a vague remembrance of 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 dreamland,
with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.

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