The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes (17 page)

‘Thank you, Constable,’ Holmes waved him dismissively from the cab, and then sat deep in thought, his eyes adopting that far away glaze, I was so used to seeing at times like these. Indeed, even when Lestrade rejoined us, Holmes seemed as oblivious to his presence as he was to mine.

‘I must see a list of Parkes’s most recent cases.’ Holmes muttered, almost to himself.

‘Surely the answer lies with Daxer, and his associates. I do not understand why you should require such a list.’ As he asked this, Lestrade shot a questioning glance in my direction, no doubt surprised at Holmes’s lack of response to his query. I could merely shrug my shoulders, and remained as puzzled as him. In fact the entire journey back to Baker Street was completed in total silence, save for Lestrade moaning about the traffic, and the endless paper work waiting for him back at his office. It was only as we pulled up outside 221b once more, that Holmes spoke again.

‘I shall also require Parkes’s last known address. It is very likely I shall wish to call there within the next few days. Come along, Watson, we have a busy night ahead of
us.’ Then, without even a nod in Lestrade’s direction, Holmes was gone.

Upon reaching our rooms, Holmes immediately went to the mantelpiece where he filled his old clay pipe from his Persian slipper, and sank into his chair with a long sigh.

‘There are certain aspects of this case that trouble me, Watson. Even allowing for the current sparseness of information, something far removed from the ongoing theory is constantly nagging at my brain. I cannot yet identify it, and yet …’ His words slowly trailed away, and he sank into a deep meditation while drawing heavily on his pipe.

‘You are not convinced of Daxer’s involvement then?’ I ventured to ask, knowing full well the potential dangers involved in interrupting Holmes’s chain of thought.

‘I must see the list,’ Holmes repeated to himself, then glancing briefly towards me, and acknowledging my
question
, he added: ‘I do think it most unlikely. Consider for a moment the type of men we are dealing with here. International agents, playing for extremely high stakes. I am sure that, by now, they are fully aware of the police surveillance, I mean, diligent our officers of the law may be, but subtle they are not! Therefore, Daxer, and his confederates are hardly likely to jeopardise their mission, and draw attention to themselves still further by
eliminating
a police officer. No, I am sure our search for Detective Constable Parkes must lie in another direction.’

Almost as soon as he had finished speaking a messenger from Scotland Yard arrived bearing a large, buff envelope, announcing it to be for the attention of Mr Sherlock Holmes. Holmes grabbed at it greedily, tore it open, and extracted two large sheets of paper which he sat down with
at the table. Having read through them quickly, he then began writing furiously on six separate sheets of note paper. By now I had become aware of the messenger’s discomfiture, and drew Holmes’s attention to the man’s continued presence, in the hope that he would, at least acknowledge him.

‘Oh, yes. My thanks to Inspector Lestrade for his promptness, there is no reply. Oh, and ask Mrs Hudson to step up on your way out will you?’ He yelled these last few words, as the messenger was already half way down the stairs, and he had returned to his note writing.

Somewhat put out by the nature of Holmes’s message, a disgruntled Mrs Hudson appeared in our room to be told she had to despatch the sheets of paper Holmes had been scribbling on immediately. He gave her precise instructions as to the destinations of all six wires.

‘Holmes,’ I began hesitantly, ‘evidently events are unfolding which I cannot even begin to comprehend, and I gather, with some urgency. Yet I have neither seen, nor heard, anything so far which could possibly have prompted them.’

‘Events quite often appear to be more dramatic than they really are. I have merely despatched Mrs Hudson with messages to six of Shinwell Johnson’s most used haunts. Unless his habits have changed dramatically, since he was last of use to us, he should arrive here before we are ready to retire for the night. Hopefully with enough information to justify my requesting this list.’

‘Ah, the list! That has told you something of Parkes’s whereabouts then?’ I asked.

‘Your conjectures are too premature even for me,’ Holmes replied. ‘However the list has certainly taught me a good
deal about Parkes’s recent career, and is more relevant than Lestrade’s foreign friends at the Langham.’

I should mention here something of the nature of our acquaintance and occasional colleague, Shinwell Johnson. Mr Johnson, known to various intimates as ‘Porky’, was Sherlock Holmes’s door-keeper to the dark, nether regions of the underworld. A twice-convicted criminal himself, Johnson was forever grateful that he had fallen into Holmes’s hands, before his descent had become
irreversible
, and had therby been saved from himself. Though his associates were still, undeniably shady, he was now a friend of the law, and would not hesitate for an instant in answering a call from Sherlock Holmes. On more than one occasion his invaluable information had proved of great value. He was a stocky fellow, round of face, solid of build, and certainly someone you could rely upon, should events take a turn towards a more violent nature. It was certainly no great surprise to find him standing in our rooms at a quarter past the hour of eleven, later that night, just as Holmes had predicted he would be.

Holmes had always claimed that it was an injustice to nature if one differentiated between a Lord of the realm, and a common scullery maid in the way one treated them. True to this side of his nature, Holmes had greeted Johnson as warmly as one would his closest friend, or dearest relation.

‘Well, I am glad to see that at least one of my messages reached its mark, and a welcome sight you are too, Shinwell Johnson! No doubt the warmth of some alcoholic liquid sustenance would not go amiss?’ Holmes suggested.

‘No indeed, Mister ’olmes, not at all. Evenin’ Doctor, ever the gent your friend ’ere.’

‘Indeed he is, Mr Johnson.’ I replied.

Holmes casually waved Johnson to a seat whilst handing him a large tumbler of whisky, the contents of which Johnson greedily devoured.

‘Now I am at your service Mister ’olmes.’ Johnson declared while licking his lips longingly. Taking the hint, Holmes readily recharged Johnson’s glass, and then placed Lestrade’s list in Johnson’s vacant hand.

Treating the second glass with greater respect, Johnson only sipped at it occasionally while carefully studying the list. Eventually he declared: ‘Well now, a most han’som collection of treasure ’ere, I must say!’ Then after a moment’s thought, Johnson eyed up Holmes quizzically, and added: ‘’ere, I ’ope you don’t think that I ’ad anything to do with these, if that’s why you brought me ’ere. Even though they collared the lot, you still suspect old “Porky”, eh?’

By now Johnson had agitated himself to such an extent that he put his glass down, rose from his chair, and began making for the door. With a leap Holmes straddled the settee, and was able to reach Johnson before his hand had even touched the handle of the door. With his most charming smile and a reassuring pat on the back, Holmes managed to calm Johnson’s fears, and he in turn resumed his seat apologetically.

‘Now to business,’ Holmes began, standing over Johnson with his finger tips pressed together before him. ‘No doubt you will have noticed that in each case the arresting officer in question was the redoubtable Detective Constable Parkes. Now, I am convinced that there must be one factor, other than he, that connects each of the cases. I am hoping that you, with your most singular, and extensive
knowledge
of such things, can supply me with that connection.’

‘Well I will certainly do me best, Mister ’olmes.’ Johnson replied, taking up the list once more. He read slowly through it once again, only this time we could hear him dismiss certain possibilities as he considered each one in turn. The location of the properties in question; the size, and contents of the haul procured by each thief; the manner of achieving access; even the events leading up to each arrest. Every dismissal saw Johnson dejectedly shake his head, and Holmes’s agitation increase. He began pacing before the fireplace, casting furtive glances towards Johnson every time he went past him.

‘Blimey, Mister ’olmes!’ Johnson suddenly exclaimed. ‘I must be going soft in the ’ead for not realizing it sooner. It must be the fence. I am almost certain that Silas Morrison was the one that moved the stuff every time.’

‘I think I take your meaning,’ Holmes replied. ‘Is there any chance you might know where this individual could be found?’

‘There is a certain establishment in the East End where ’e, and ’is, shall we say, associates meet most evenings. I’ve been ’ere too long for me own good!’ Shinwell suddenly exclaimed leaping from his seat. ‘I’ll send word to you tomorrow evening, but please, for all our sakes, be careful, and discreet.’

‘I can assure you, I am more than adept at blending in,’ Holmes replied.’ You will hardly know I am there at all. Goodnight to you, Johnson!’

Johnson doffed his cap to us both, and was gone.

‘A most satisfactory conclusion to the day, would you not agree, Watson?’ Holmes asked, once the door had closed behind our hastily departing guest.

‘Most certainly, although the situation of Constable
Parkes seems somewhat darker when seen through our latest discoveries. It would seem that Parkes was closing in on Morrison, and his gang, and he in turn has incommoded Parkes. Or worse perhaps.’ I suggested thoughtfully.

Holmes nodded solemnly, and lit his old clay pipe.

‘Will you not now retire, Holmes?’ I asked. Then I observed that familiar faraway look come over Holmes’s steely grey eyes, and I already knew my answer.

‘Best get some sleep, old fellow. An early morning trip to Islington will be the order of the day tomorrow.’ He spoke these last words absently, as he sank slowly into his chair. He drew his bony knees up to his chin, and sank into a deep chain of thought by the glowing embers of the dying fire. I shook my head as I made my way slowly, and quietly, to my room knowing full well that, despite his late night vigil, Holmes would seem the fresher of us, come the morning.

To say that my surmise of the previous night was borne out by Holmes’s appearance and mood the following morning, would be to understate in the extreme. Unusually, he was most jaunty as our hansom rattled us towards London’s more northern suburbs, although he would not be drawn on the subject of Constable Parkes’s disappearance, either during our hasty breakfast, or during the course of our journey to Islington.

Although he had kept the nature of our visit a complete mystery, I was in little doubt that the address Lestrade had furnished us with, in relation to Parkes’s lodging house, was our current destination. I could not help noticing that the closer we came to our destination, the more steadily decreased the size, and quality of the dwellings we passed. By the time we reached Conway
Avenue, they had become dark, gloomy terraced houses, badly kept up, and of miniscule proportions.

‘What a ghastly place!’ I declared, depressed by our surroundings. Holmes merely grunted as he alighted from the cab and called for the driver to wait for us; we crossed the avenue to number 41. The appearance of the house was certainly no worse than that of its neighbours, indeed, it bore all the signs of having received a coat of paint within the last three years.

There was an immediate response to our knock on the street door, and a particularly short, elderly woman opened it, and greeted us with a cheery smile. Her hair was short, and quite white, while her steel rimmed spectacles seemed to lend a friendly sparkle to her eyes. The grime on her flowered pinafore indicated food preparation.

‘Good morning, Mrs Mullins? My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend, and associate Dr Watson.’ Holmes declared in his most charming tone.

‘Oh do come in, gentlemen. The inspector did say you might be paying us a call.’ Mrs Mullins invited.

The ill-lit hallway we were led into held an awful feeling of dampness, and decay that was all pervading. Yet despite this, what may best be described as squalor, one was equally aware of the diligent efforts of Mrs Mullins, in maintaining a level of cleanliness.

‘Before showing you up to Constable Parkes’s room, might I offer you both a cup of tea in the scullery? It should not take long for the kettle to boil again.’ Mrs Mullins offered.

Displaying a seldom seen consideration and politeness, Holmes nodded his assent, and we were shown into an equally squalid little room, where further signs of Mrs
Mullins’s simple culinary efforts were evident. Over a surprisingly good, strong cup of tea, Holmes began
questioning
Mrs Mullins regarding the disappearance of her lodger.

‘I am afraid I can add very little to what you already know, Mr Holmes.’ Mrs Mullins responded. ‘It was only upon the inspector’s visit here yesterday evening that I became aware of there being anything amiss myself.’

‘Did it not seem strange to you that Parkes should desert his lodgings for three whole days and nights?’ Holmes asked.

‘No, not at all. You see, when he first came to me Constable Parkes explained that his line of work would require him to work at some very strange hours,
sometimes
for entire nights. Therefore, I made an exception in his case, and gave him my spare latch key, something I have never done before. He is such a pleasant young man, and after all, he is a policeman.’

‘Yes of course, most understandable. Yet how can you be so certain that he never returned to his room, say in the middle of the night? After all I am certain that you retire at a reasonable hour,’ Holmes inquired.

‘Indeed I do, Mr Holmes.’ Mrs Mullins replied. ‘Unfortunately, I am a very light sleeper, and I can assure you the sound of the street door opening and closing would awaken me in an instant. I am sure the poor, young man has been at work every night of late.’

Holmes sat in silent thought for a moment, while he considered the landlady’s last comment. ‘Perhaps an
examination
of Parkes’s bedroom will shed some light on the situation. If, perhaps you would lead the way, Mrs Mullins?’ Holmes suggested rising suddenly.