Curtains had been drawn across the entrance to the women’s dormitory, but that of the men stood open, and several sorry-looking derelicts slept upon the iron cots.
In the clinical area, three patients awaited attention, while the dispensary was occupied by a huge, brutish man who looked freshly come from sweeping a chimney. He was seated, a sullen scowl upon his face. His eyes were fastened upon a pretty young lady ministering to him. One of his vast feet rested upon a low stool; the young lady had just finished bandaging it. She came up from her knees and brushed a lock of dark hair back from her forehead.
“He cut it badly upon a shard of broken glass,” she told Dr. Murray. The doctor stooped to inspect the bandage, giving the brute’s foot no less attention than it would have received in any Harley Street surgery. He straightened and spoke kindly.
“You must come back tomorrow and have the dressing changed, my friend. Be sure, now.”
The oaf was entirely without gratitude. “I can’t put my boot on. ’Ow am I goin’ to get about?”
He spoke as though the doctor were responsible, with such surliness that I could not restrain myself. “If you had stayed sober, my good man, perhaps you could have avoided the broken glass.”
“ ‘Ere now, guv’ner!” says he, bold as brass. “A man’s got to ’ave a pint once in a while!”
“I doubt if you’ve ever held yourself to a pint.”
“Please wait here a few moments,” interposed Dr. Murray, “I’ll have Pierre bring you a stick. We keep a small stock for emergencies.”
Turning to the young lady, he went on, “Sally, these gentlemen are Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his colleague, Dr. Watson. Gentlemen, this is Miss Sally Young, my niece and good right arm. I don’t know what the hostel would be without her.”
Sally Young extended a slim hand to each of us in turn. “I am honoured,” said she, cool and self-possessed. “I have heard both names before. But I never expected to meet such famous personages.”
“You are too kind,” murmured Holmes.
Her tact in including me, a mere shadow to Sherlock Holmes, was gracious, and I bowed.
Said Dr. Murray, “I’ll get the stick myself, Sally. Will you conduct Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson the rest of the way? Perhaps they would like to see the chapel and the kitchen.”
“Certainly. This way, please.”
Dr. Murray hurried away in the direction of the morgue, and we followed Miss Young. But only for a short distance. Before we reached the door, Holmes said abruptly, “Our time is limited, Miss Young. Perhaps the tour can be finished during another visit. We are here to-day for professional reasons.”
The girl seemed not to be surprised. “I understand, Mr. Holmes. Is there something I can do?”
“Perhaps there is. Some time ago you pledged a certain article in a pawn-shop on Great Heapton Street. Do you recall?”
With no hesitation whatever, she replied, “Of course. It was not so long ago as that.”
“Would you object to telling us how you came by the case, and why you pledged it?”
“Not at all. It belonged to Pierre.”
I thought this startling news, but Holmes did not move a muscle. “The poor fellow who has lost his wits.”
“A pitiful case,” said the girl.
“A hopeless one, I venture to say,” said Holmes. “We met him a few minutes ago. Could you enlighten us as to his background?”
“We know nothing about him prior to his arrival here. But that arrival, I must say, was dramatic. I came through the morgue late one night, and found him standing beside one of the corpses.”
“Doing what, Miss Young?”
“He was doing nothing whatever, merely standing by the body in the confused state you must surely have noticed. I approached him and brought him to my uncle. He has been here ever since. The police were evidently not seeking him, for Inspector Lestrade has shown no interest in him whatever.”
My opinion of Miss Sally Young went higher. Here was courage indeed. A girl who could walk at night about a charnel-house, see a gargoyle figure such as Pierre’s standing over one of the corpses, and not flee in terror!
“That’s hardly a criterion,” began Holmes, and stopped.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“A random thought, Miss Young. Please proceed.”
“We came to the opinion that some-one had guided Pierre to the hostel and left him, as unwed mothers leave their infants at the door of a sanctuary. Dr. Murray examined him, and found that he had once sustained a terrible injury, as if he had been brutally beaten. The wounds about his head had healed, but nothing could be done to dispel the mists that had permanently settled over his brain. He has proved to be harmless, and he is so pathetically eager to help about the place that he has made his own berth. We of course would not dream of sending him back into a world with which he cannot cope.”
“And the surgeon’s-kit?”
“He had a bundle with him, containing wearing apparel. The kit was buried in their midst, the only thing of value he possessed.”
“What did he tell you of himself?”
“Nothing. He speaks only with effort, single words which are hardly intelligible.”
“But his name―Pierre?”
She laughed, an attractive touch of colour coming into her cheeks. “I took the liberty of baptising him. What clothing he carried bore French labels. And there was a coloured handkerchief with French script interwoven in the cloth. Thus, and for no other reason, I began calling him Pierre, although I feel sure he is not French.”
“How did you happen to pawn the case?” asked Holmes.
“That came about quite simply. As I have told you, Pierre brought virtually nothing with him, and our funds at the hostel are severely allocated. We were in no position to outfit Pierre properly. So I thought of the surgical-case. It was clearly of value, and he could have no need of it. I explained to him what I proposed, and to my surprise he nodded violently.” She paused here to laugh. “The only difficulty was in getting him to accept the proceeds. He wanted to put it into the general fund of the hostel.”
“Then he is still capable of emotion. At least of gratitude.”
“Indeed he is,” replied Sally Young, warmly. “And now perhaps, sir, you will answer a question of mine. Why are you interested in the surgeon’s-kit?”
“It was sent to me by an unknown person.”
Her eyes widened. “Then someone redeemed it!”
“Yes. Have you any idea who that person might have been?”
“Not in the least.” After a thoughtful pause, she said, “There does not necessarily have to be a connection. I mean, some-one could have come upon the case and redeemed it as a bargain.”
“One of the instruments was missing when it reached me.”
“That is odd! I wonder what could have happened to it.”
“The set was complete when you pledged it?”
“Indeed it was.”
“Thank you, Miss Young.”
At that moment the door before us opened; a man came through. And, although Lord Carfax was perhaps not the last person I expected to see, he was certainly not the first.
“Your Lordship,” exclaimed Holmes. “Our paths cross again.”
Lord Carfax was as surprised as I. Indeed, he seemed utterly discomposed. It was Sally Young who broke the silence. “Your Lordship has met these gentlemen?”
“We had that privilege only yesterday,” said Holmes. “At the Duke of Shires’s residence.”