The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [69]
“Only two weeks ago Dickie died. Murdered – I’m sure of it! And then I noticed people, strangers dressed as beggars, loitering near my house, watching me, noting my movements as I had once noted the movements of others. To escape, I simply walked out of my home one day, took a series of cabs until I was certain I hadn’t been followed, and haven’t been back since.”
Sherlock Holmes nodded slowly when Pendleton-Smythe finished. “A most interesting story,” he said. “But why would the Amateur Mendicant Society want you dead? Are you certain there isn’t something more?”
He raised his head, back stiff. “Sir, I assure you, I have told you everything. As for why – isn’t that obvious? Because I know too much. They killed old Dickie, and now they’re going to kill me!”
“What of the four others from Eton? What happened to them?”
“The others?” He blinked. “I – I really don’t know. I haven’t heard from or spoken to any of them in years. I hope they had the good sense to get out and not come back. Heavens above, I certainly wish I hadn’t!”
“Quite so,” said Holmes. He rose. “Stay here, Colonel. I think you will be safe in Mrs Coram’s care for the time being. I must look into a few matters, and then we will talk again.”
“So you will take my case?” he asked eagerly.
“Most decidedly.” Holmes inclined his head. “I’m certain I’ll be able to help. One last thing. What was the address of the warehouse Attenborough owned?”
“Forty-two Kerin Street,” he said.
As we headed back toward Baker Street, Holmes seemed in a particularly good mood, smiling and whistling bits of a violin concerto I’d heard him playing earlier that week.
“Well, what is it?” I finally demanded.
“Don’t you see, Watson?” he said. “There can only be one answer. We have run into a classic case of two identical organizations colliding. It’s nothing short of a trade war between rival groups of beggar-spies.”
“You mean there’s a real Secret Mendicant Society still at large?”
“The very thing!”
“How is it possible? How could they have survived all these years with nobody knowing about them?”
“Some people can keep secrets,” he said.
“It’s fantastic!”
“Grant me this conjecture. Imagine, if you will, that the real Secret Mendicant Society has just become aware of its rival, the Amateur Mendicant Society. They have thrived in the shadows for centuries. They have a network of informants in place. It’s not hard to see how the two would come face to face eventually, as the Amateur Society expanded into the Secret Society’s established territory. Of course, the Secret Mendicant Society could not possibly allow a rival to poach on their grounds. What could they possibly do but strike out in retaliation?”
“Attenborough and Clarke and the others …”
“Exactly! They have systematically eliminated the amateurs. I would imagine they are now in occupation of the secret club under the old furniture warehouse, where Attenborough’s records would have been stored. And those records would have led them, inexorably, to the two Amateurs who got away – Dickie, who they killed at once, and our client, who they have not yet managed to assassinate.”
“Ingenious,” I said.
“But now Colonel Pendleton-Smythe is in more danger than he believes. He is the last link to the old Amateur Mendicant Society, so it should be a simple matter to – ”
Holmes drew up short. Across the street from 221b Baker Street, on the front steps of another house, a raggedly dressed old man with a three-day growth of beard sat as if resting from a long walk.
“He’s one of them,” I said softly.
Holmes regarded me as though shocked by my revelation. “Watson, must you be so suspicious? Surely that poor unfortunate is catching his second wind. His presence is merest coincidence.” I caught the amused gleam in his eye, though.
“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences,” I said.
“Ye-es.” He drew out the word, then turned and continued on toward our front door at a more leisurely