The House of Silk_ The New Sherlock Holmes Novel - Anthony Horowitz [40]
‘Watson?’
‘It’s nothing. Holmes. A scratch.’
‘What’s happened?’ the landlord demanded. He was staring at my bloodstained hands. ‘What did you do to her?’
‘You might ask what she has done to me,’ I grunted, although even in the shock of the moment I was unable to feel any rancour towards this poor, malnourished child who had struck out at me in fear and incomprehension and who had not really wished me any harm.
‘The girl was frightened,’ Holmes said. ‘Are you sure you are not hurt, Watson? Come inside. You need to sit down.’
‘No, Holmes. I assure you, it is not as bad as it seems.’
‘Thank heaven for that. We must call at once for a hansom. Landlord, it was the girl’s brother that we came here to find. A boy of thirteen, fair-haired also, shorter than her and better fed.’
‘You mean Ross?’
‘You know him?’
‘I told you. He has been working here with her. You should have asked for him in the first place.’
‘Is he here now?’
‘No. He came a few days ago, needing a roof above his head. I said he could share with his sister in return for work in the kitchen. Sally has a room beneath the stairs and he went in with her. But the boy was more trouble than he was worth, never around when he was needed. I don’t know what he was up to, but he had some sort of business in his mind, that I can tell you. He hurried out just before you arrived.’
‘Do you have any idea where he went?’
‘No. The girl might have told you. But now she’s gone too.’
‘I must see to my friend. But should either of them return, it is urgent that you send a message to my lodgings at 221B Baker Street. Here is further money for your pains. Come, Watson. Lean on me. I think I hear an approaching cab …’
And so the day’s adventure ended with the two of us sitting close by the fire, I with a restorative brandy and soda, Holmes smoking furiously. I took a moment to reflect on the circumstances that had brought us to this point, for it seemed to me that we had strayed a great distance from our original quarry, the man with the flat cap or indeed the identity of the person who had killed him. Was this the person that Ross had seen outside Mrs Oldmore’s Private Hotel, and if so, how could the boy have possibly recognised him? Somehow, that chance encounter had led him to believe that he could make some money for himself, and since then he had vanished from sight. He must have told his sister something of his intentions, for she had been afraid on his behalf. It was almost as if she had been expecting us. Why else would she have been carrying a weapon? And then there were those words of hers. ‘Are you from the House of Silk?’ On our return Holmes had searched through his index and the various encyclopaedias that he kept on his shelves but we were none the wiser as to what she had meant. We did not speak of any of this together. I was exhausted, and I could see that my friend was preoccupied with his own thoughts. We would just have to wait and see what the next day would bring.
What it brought was a police constable, knocking at our door just after breakfast.
‘Inspector Lestrade sends his compliments, sir. He is at Southwark Bridge and would be most grateful if you could join him.’
‘On what business, officer?’
‘Murder, sir. And a very nasty one.’
We put on our coats and left at once, taking a cab over Southwark Bridge, crossing the three great cast-iron arches that spanned the river from Cheapside. Lestrade was waiting for us on the south bank, standing with a group of policemen who were clustered around what looked, from a distance, like a small heap of discarded rags. The sun was shining, but it was once again bitterly cold and the Thames water had never been crueller, the grey waves beating monotonously