The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [70]
“That would surely tip our hand,” I said. “Rather, let us try to misdirect him.”
“You’re learning, Watson, you’re learning.” We reached our house; he opened the door. “I trust you have a plan?”
“I was rather hoping you did,” I admitted.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “But I’m going to need your help …”
Two hours later, I stood in the drawing room shaking my head. The man before me – thick lips, stubbled chin, rat’s nest of chestnut colored hair – bore not the slightest resemblance to my friend. His flare for the dramatic as well as a masterly skill for disguises would have borne him well in the theatre, I thought. I found the transformation remarkable.
“Are you sure this is wise?” I asked.
“Wise?” he said. “Decidedly not. But will it work? I profoundly hope so. Check the window, will you?”
I lifted the drape. “The beggar has gone.”
“Oh, there are surely other watchers,” he said. “They have turned to me as the logical one to whom Colonel Pendleton-Smythe would go for help.” He studied his new features in a looking glass, adjusted one bushy eyebrow, then glanced over at me for approval.
“Your own brother wouldn’t recognize you,” I told him.
“Excellent.” He folded up his makeup kit, then I followed him to the back door. He slipped out quietly while I began to count.
When I reached a hundred, I went out the front door, turned purposefully, and headed for the bank. I had no real business there; however, it was as good a destination as any for my purpose – which was to serve as a decoy while Holmes observed those who observed me.
I saw nothing to arouse my suspicions as I checked on my accounts, and in due course I returned to our lodgings in exactly the same professional manner. When Holmes did not at once show himself, I knew his plan had been successful; he was now trailing a member of the Secret Mendicant Society.
I had a leisurely tea, then set off to find Inspector Lestrade. He was, as usual, hard at work at his desk. I handed him a note from Sherlock Holmes, which said:
Lestrade,
Come at once to 42 Kerin Street with a dozen of your men. There is a murderer to be had as well as evidence of blackmail and other nefarious deeds.
Sherlock Holmes
Lestrade’s eyes widened as he read the note, and a second later he was on his way out the door shouting for assistance.
I accompanied him, and by the time we reached 42 Kerin Street – a crumbling old brick warehouse – he had fifteen men as an entourage. They would have kicked the door in, but a raggedly dressed man with bushy eyebrows reached out and opened it for them: it wasn’t so much as latched. Without a glance at the disguised Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade and his men rushed in.
Holmes and I strolled at a more leisurely pace back toward a busier street where we might catch a cab home. He began removing his makeup and slowly the man I knew emerged.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“There were a few tense moments,” he said, “but I handled things sufficiently well, I believe.”
“Tell me everything,” I said.
“For your journals, perhaps?”
“Exactly so.”
“Very well. As you headed down the street looking quite purposeful, an elderly gentleman out for a mid-day stroll suddenly altered his course after you. He was well dressed, not a beggar by appearance or demeanor, so I took this to mean he was now watching us. I overtook him, grasped him firmly by the arm, and identified myself to him.
“At once he cried out for assistance. Two elderly men – these dressed for business, not begging – rushed toward me from the sides. I had seen them, but not suspected them of being involved because of their advanced age.
“We tussled for a moment, and then I knocked the beggar down, threw off one of my opponents, and seized the other by his collar. I might have done him some injury had he not shouted that I was under arrest.”
Holmes smiled faintly at my surprise.
“Arrest!” I cried, unable to contain myself. “How was this possible?”
“It made me pause,