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By Root 660 0

Beyond was a dry dock, a tangle of ships barely visible, hanging like prehistoric skeletons, their ropes and rigging trailing down, awaiting repairs. We turned a corner and all of this was swallowed up immediately by the fog which fell like a curtain behind us, so that when I turned round it was as if I had just emerged from nowhere. Ahead, too, there was nothing, and if we had been about to step off the edge of the world, we would have been no wiser. But then we heard the jangle of a piano, one finger picking out a tune. A woman suddenly loomed up in front of us and I glimpsed a wrinkled face, hideously painted, a gaudy hat and a feathered scarf. I caught her scent which reminded me of flowers dying in a vase. She laughed briefly and then was gone. And finally, in front of us, I saw lights; the windows of a public house. This was from where the music was coming.

It was called The Rose and Crown. We could only read the name when we were standing directly beneath its sign. It was a strange little place, a construction of bricks held together by a patchwork of wooden planks but which still tottered awkwardly as if about to collapse. None of the windows was quite straight. The door was so low that we would have to bend down to go in.

‘We are here, Watson,’ Holmes whispered and I could see his breath frosting in front of his lips. He pointed. ‘There is Milward Street, and I would imagine that to be Creer’s Place. You see the red light in the doorway.’

‘Holmes, I beg of you one last time to let me accompany you.’

‘No, no. It is better for one of us to remain on the outside for if it turns out that I am expected, you will be in the stronger position to come to my aid.’

‘You think Henderson was lying to you?’

‘His story struck me as in every way improbable.’

‘Then, for heaven’s sake, Holmes—’

‘I cannot be entirely certain, Watson, not without entering. It is just possible that Henderson spoke the truth. But if this is a trap, we will spring it and see where it takes us.’ I opened my mouth to protest but he continued: ‘We have touched something very deep, old friend. This is a business of the greatest singularity and we will not get to the bottom of it if we refuse to take risks. Wait for me one hour. I would suggest you avail yourself of what comfort this public house has to offer. If I have not reappeared by then, you must come after me but take the greatest care. And if you hear gunfire, then come at once.’

‘Whatever you say, Holmes.’

But it was still with the gravest misgivings that I watched him cross the road, momentarily disappearing from sight as the fog and the darkness embraced him. He emerged on the other side, standing in the glow of the red light, framed by the doorway. In the far distance, I heard a clock strike the hour, the bell sounding eleven times. Before the first chime had faded, Holmes had gone.

Even in my greatcoat it was too cold to stand outside for an hour, and I felt ill at ease, out in the street in the middle of the night, particularly in a neighbourhood whose inhabitants were well known to be of the lowest class, vicious, and semi-criminal. I pushed open the door of The Rose and Crown and found myself in a single room divided into two halves by a narrow bar punctuated by ale taps with handles of painted porcelain and two shelves with an array of bottles. To my surprise, between fifteen and twenty people had braved the weather to gather in this small space. They were huddled together at tables, playing cards, drinking and smoking. The air was thick with cigarette and pipe smoke and smelled strongly also of the burning peat which came from a battered cast-iron stove in the corner. Apart from a few candles, this was the only source of light in the room but it seemed to be having almost the opposite effect for, looking at the red glow behind the thick, glass window, it was almost as if the fire was somehow sucking the light into itself, consuming it, and then spewing black smoke and ashes up the chimney and into the night. A worn-out piano stood next to the door and there was a woman sitting