The Sensible Necktie and Other Stories of Sherlock Holmes (7 page)

I put down my beer. “You tend to talk like this just before you're about to criticise me.”

“Do I? Well, it is not empty flattery simply to ease the blow. I really mean it. It is a creative theory.”

“But…?”

“But…perhaps you fail to consider a few vital points.”

“Let's have it.”

“I am not suggesting that this notion of a chameleon-like pickpocket is unlikely. It would certainly be a worthy adversary for us, for he would have to be a most ingenious and skilled artisan. But why develop such an advanced technique and such accomplished skills and then only use them in one public house? Undoubtedly it is a more lucrative public house to operate in than most, but all the same. If it is as Winstanton says and the same man is present every night, then he can hardly operate anywhere else, considering the extensive preparations he has to make for his transformation acts. And although I do believe a small change in appearance would impede identification by those who have only seen him in the corner of their eye, I hardly think that he would have been able to escape the watchful eyes of Gregson and his men. For that he would need an entire wardrobe, and where would he hide that? No, there are too many fallacies in this theory, thought-provoking though it is.”

“Very well. I appreciate your honesty. I assume that you prefer not to speak yet?”

“I have my suspicions. But at the moment, let us satisfy ourselves by scrutinising Mr Winstanton's story. It is all very neat and tidy, is it not? It looks like a classic case of pick pocketing. The crowded public place, the mixing of social classes, the proverbial cry of ‘Stop thief' and the dexterity bordering on invisibility. There is something about it that does not feel quite right.”

Just at that moment, a fellow next to me pushed against me and accidentally spilled some wine on my coat sleeve. My patience was running out.

“Holmes, I don't like places like this. Let's go home.”

“Just a moment, Watson. Let us find out as much as we can while we are here. Who knows, we might just witness the thief in action. Ah, here comes one of the barmen. Mr Burleigh, unless I am mistaken?”

The broad-shouldered man, who had been serving the customers with tireless energy while we had been talking, started to wipe the counter in front of us with a wet rag.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” His voice boomed like a mountain troll's.

“What are your thoughts on these recent thefts?” asked Holmes.

Burleigh smiled with one half of his mouth. “Well, it's a nuisance, isn't it? Especially when they steal from them toffs, cause they make such a row, and they suspect us barmen.”

“But I understand that this pickpocket doesn't just steal from the rich.”

“Oh no. In fact, it was just that one time that a Lord was robbed. All the other times it was ordinary gentlemen, like you and me.”

This curious comparison made me laugh. Holmes sniffed. “But you have quite a distinguished clientele, don't you?”

“Oh yeah. Have a look over there, in the inner parlour. The man with the buttonhole. He's a member of parliament, he is. Of course, the upper rooms are closed tonight. When they are open you can see one honourable member after another climbing those stairs.”

“But our mysterious pickpocket has not seen fit to infiltrate that gathering?”

“Apparently not. Which is very lucky indeed for Mr Winstanton. If that occurred, he would be in trouble.”

“How so?” I asked.

“They say he has a lot of fancy friends and many respected people have invested money in this venture.”

“Really?” I said. “Who?”

“I'm afraid I couldn't tell you, sir. It may be just a rumour, but Mr Winstanton is up there, every night, sucking up to the well-to-do.”

“I understand,” said Holmes. “Well, thank you, Mr Burleigh. It was nice talking to you.”

And just as I was starting to enjoy my beer, Holmes dashed off, out into the corridor, leaving me no option but to follow him.

“Are we finished here at last?” I queried.

“Not yet. Let us get an idea of the layout of the place before we leave.”

Holmes started to walk down the corridor through which we had entered. Then he dashed here and there, in and out of the various compartments, quicker than I had time to react. I followed him into the front rooms, where the noise was unbearable and the crowds impenetrable, and then into the other corridor, leading into an identical series of rooms on the other side of the counter. The place was an absolute maze, and after a few minutes, I was almost completely disoriented, and satisfied myself by following in Holmes' footsteps without trying to get my bearings. When Holmes had scurried around long enough, however, he claimed to be content, and we could leave. I had the feeling that the Princess Louise was the type of public house that is very popular for a while, and during that time infernally crowded and noisy, until it falls out of favour and then is forgotten. My taste is more towards the quieter and more perpetual taverns that do not try so hard to attract business, like the Alpha Inn, for instance, which Holmes and I once had the opportunity to visit, and which lay not far from the Princess Louise.

On the cab ride home, Holmes was silent and I allowed him to remain so. Our night out had left me rather tired. He only said one thing to me, as we approached Baker Street.

“Did you notice, Watson, that the curtains at the Princess Louise were made of Provencal velvet?”

“No, I did not.”

“It is a very expensive type of velvet. I have only seen it once before.”

“Where?”

“At Buckingham Palace.”

And then the cab stopped, and Holmes climbed out.

When I came down to breakfast the next morning, Holmes had already gone out. It gave me time to ponder about the previous evening over my morning coffee, and to try and tie together some of the loose ends in my head. I gathered from what Holmes had said that it was a bit strange for a pickpocket to focus his attention on just one public house, and yet, since it was such a distinguished one, this did not seem to me so very odd. Furthermore, I was still not convinced that this was not the work of a gang, and I struggled to recall the faces that we had seen in the bar during our visit, and speculated whether there was anything suspicious about them. I could, however, only call to mind one gentleman who had been standing at the bar just opposite to us, and thus framed by my field of vision throughout my conversation with Holmes. There was nothing very peculiar about his appearance, but for some reason, I concluded that he was out of place in that particular compartment. The men around him looked a bit better dressed and more well-kempt. It was just an impression, and I could not put my finger on just what it was that made me think this, but it was often like that when you noticed people in public. One could with exactitude pinpoint their social and geographical position almost in an instinct, but when asked to describe one's reasoning, it was impossible. I suppose it was what Holmes used to call “seeing without observing.”

Holmes returned just before lunch, and he was in a cheerful mood.

“A fruitful morning, I see?” I said as I folded up my newspaper.

“Is my demeanour that obvious? I must learn to be more reticent in your company, or else my innermost thoughts might be visible on my face.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“If only you knew, Watson. If only you knew.”

We chuckled and Holmes took his place beside me by the fire.

“Yes, the morning has been quite fruitful. I have made some inquiries concerning Mr Winstanton and his business venture, and I have been to see Gregson to find out the identity of the pickpocket victims.”

I shook my head. “I find it a bit strange that you should automatically direct your suspicions towards the publican and the victims of the robberies. Not all businessmen have illicit motives, and not all men of distinction have skeletons in their closets.”

Holmes put his forefinger to his mouth and looked at me broodingly. “Watson. How would you react if you fell victim to a pocket picking?”

“What do you mean? I would be distraught, of course. You know I'm a bit hard up at the moment.”

“Yes, but what would your instantaneous reaction be?”

“I suppose I would call out.”

“Call out?”

“Yes. ‘Stop thief.' Or words to that effect.”

“Yes. That is what we would say a pickpocket victim would do, is it not? We have it from
Oliver Twist
, don't we? When Oliver becomes the scapegoat for the Artful Dodger and the lynch mob is formed.”

“Yes. Happens every day in this city.”

“Don't you think that depiction is a little dated?”

“Well, the book is a few decades old. What are you driving at?”

“You and I can count ourselves lucky that we have never - touch wood - fallen victim to pickpockets, but for people who have not, it is difficult to comprehend just how one would react to it. The common assumption is that you become frantic and shout ‘Stop thief', and maybe that is how people did react in Dickens' time. But city people are different now. They are more subdued and discreet, for one, and what is more, if you lose something in a public house, would you automatically assume that you have been robbed? Some of these victims must have been intoxicated at the moment. Would they not suspect themselves of carelessness and be rather ashamed? It is just a thought, but when Winstanton said that all of the victims had shouted out in the same manner, it made me suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“And then there is the question of the Lord.”

“You mean the one who was robbed? His name was in the morning paper.”

“So the press have got hold of the affair now, have they? How very careless of Gregson.”

“Lord Logan, was it?”

“Yes. His presence in this business made me wary from the moment I heard of it.”

“Why? The place seems to be frequented by many men of his class.”

“Yes. Which is why it is strange that only one such illustrious gentleman should figure in this whole affair, while the other victims are all common-or-garden run-of-the-mill sort of men. Why waste time on picking poor men's pockets when there are rich men about?”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Now, last night our presence must have deterred the culprits, but tonight we shall be there in disguise, and hopefully have our hands on this gang once and for all.”

“Gang? But Holmes, you said this was not the work of a gang!”

“I said it was not the work of a pickpocket gang. But it is the work of a gang.”

“I don't understand.”

“All will be revealed this evening. I seem to remember you speaking a few days ago of some old suits that you wished to dispose of. If you could retrieve the shabbiest and most worn of those suits, we shall soon be at the Princess Louise, posing as a couple of down-at-heel bookkeepers.”

Apart from my worn suit - which had large and visible moth holes on the sleeve to which Holmes replied with a “Marvellous, Watson” - Holmes supplied me with an uncomfortable and itchy false beard to wear on our pub visit. I could not help but feel ridiculous, but Holmes put on a pair of round spectacles and a small waxed moustache which more than surpassed me in silliness, and so I was satisfied. When we arrived at the pub it was half past six and the interior was already brimming with people. Before we entered, though, Holmes led me aside to a dark passageway a few yards from the front of the pub, where a gathering of men was hiding in the shadows. As we approached them, I recognised one of them as Inspector Gregson and the rest as uniformed policemen.

“Is everything ready?” asked Holmes.

“Absolutely,” said Gregson with the confidence reserved for the voices of police officers.

“Perfect. You know the signal. Now it is only for Watson and me to mix with the crowd. Come, Watson.”

I understood from this intermission that Gregson and his men were standing ready to rush in and apprehend the culprit if Holmes and I caught him red-handed, and saw no need to ask Holmes about it, but I was unsure of how our time would be spent until that moment.

“It is perfectly simple, Watson. Mingle with the customers and keep an eye open for anything that looks suspicious.”

“And what would that be?”

“We will know that when we see it. This is for attracting Gregson's attention.”

He handed me a police whistle, and was through the doors before I had time to protest.

Inside, the crowd was manic, and within seconds, I had lost sight of Holmes. I realised I had to adapt to the situation, so I brazed myself and dived into the mass of men before me. After a few minutes, I had managed to make my way to the counter, and ordered a glass of port. The man next to me gave me a look when the barmaid served me the drink, as if it was something exotic to him. I raised my glass to him and smiled. He responded by raising his beer tankard.

“I haven't seen you around here before,” he remarked.

“No, I usually go to another place near here. But a friend suggested this place to me. Apparently a lot of influential people come here, which might be good if you're trying to make a name for yourself.”

I was quite proud of this introduction, as it would lead into the topic of coming here for the purpose of acquiring wealth. But my drinking partner seemed only amused by my naïve attitude.

“Yeah, I've heard some men come here for that purpose. But they soon find out it is quite pointless. You see…” And he raised his hand and pointed across the counter to the inner rooms. “…they're over there, and we're over here. It's just like anywhere else, only here the walls between us are made of wood as well as money.”

“The only thing that remains to do, I suppose, would be to steal their money.” I realised that this remark was a bit too direct, but I was struggling to find something suitable to say. The man just laughed, however, and raised his glass once more.