Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [71]
Glancing around, he saw that the building opposite had a metal staircase bolted to the brickwork outside – some kind of fire escape, perhaps. Ladders led down from one floor to the next, attached to narrow metal balconies. If he climbed up, he might be able to see inside some of the windows of the boarding house. If the curtains were open. And if the glass was clean enough.
Stop prevaricating! he told himself. Crossing the road, he waited for a moment when nobody was passing by and quickly scrambled up the fire escape to the first floor. Or was that the second floor? He wasn’t sure.
He scrunched himself down against the metal grille of the balcony and stared across the road. Four windows, none of them with any curtains, which was a blessing. One room with a man inside whom Sherlock didn’t recognize, pacing back and forth. Another window with a woman staring out. She appeared to be wearing a nightgown. She caught Sherlock’s eye and smiled sadly at him. Two rooms that were currently unoccupied.
He scrambled up the next ladder. The metal creaked and swayed beneath him. Sherlock wondered when it had last been checked for safety, and then he wondered if it had ever been checked for safety.
The next balcony looked across on to another four rooms.
The first two that Sherlock looked into were deserted.
The third window gave on to a room with four men standing with dirty glasses in their hands, drinking and talking. One of the men was Ives and one was Berle, the doctor. The other two men were unknown to Sherlock.
The important thing, however, was that Matthew Arnatt was standing with his elbows on the window ledge, looking out at the street. His gaze roved curiously from person to person, thing to thing. He looked unharmed; no bruising, no grazes. He also looked like he’d been fed; or at least, he didn’t look thin and hungry. He just looked bored, and sad.
Until he saw Sherlock. Then his eyes lit up and his face creased into a huge, beaming smile.
Sherlock’s heart surged to see that Matty was alive, and apparently in good health. The fear he’d been repressing throughout the entire journey suddenly released, threatening to overwhelm him. He blinked back tears of relief.
Sherlock raised a finger to his lips, shushing Matty. The boy nodded, but he was still beaming. Sherlock knew if the men in the room saw that smile they’d know something was up. Sherlock placed his fingers at the corners of his mouth and dragged them down into an exaggerated sad face. Matty frowned at him. Sherlock tried again, letting his eyebrows droop sadly as well, and Matty’s own eyebrows shot upward into his hairline as he suddenly understood. The smile faded away from his face and his mouth moved back into the same downward curve that Sherlock had first seen on it a few moments ago, but his eyes were still gleaming.
‘Are you all right?’ Sherlock mouthed.
Matty nodded slightly.
‘Are they treating you well?’ Sherlock mouthed again.
Matty frowned.
‘Are . . . they . . . treating. . . you . . . well?’ Sherlock mouthed again, separating the words to make it easier for Matty to understand.
Matty nodded again, very slightly.
‘We’re going to get you back!’ Sherlock told him.
Matty opened his mouth, and formed the words, ‘I know!’
The men behind Matty seemed to conclude their discussion. Sherlock had a feeling that there wasn’t much time. ‘Where are they taking you?’ he mouthed.
Matty’s lips moved, but Sherlock couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. He frowned, trying to indicate that he didn’t know what Matty was saying. Matty tried again, but whatever words he was forming were unfamiliar to Sherlock.
Matty’s hand moved on the window frame, as though he was writing something. Was he leaving a message for Sherlock, etched in the dirt and dust? Then he pointed to the sill outside the window, then across the street at the old, dilapidated church Sherlock had noticed earlier. He raised his eyebrows, asking if Sherlock understood. Sherlock shook his head. Matty tried again – miming writing a note on the window