Holmes shook his head, disclaiming knowledge of this sinister citizen.
"Me, neither, Mr. 'Olmes, but Louie says Putz used to work fer Weisman, the usurer. And 'at's all I could dig up."
"A good job, Bertie." My friend was crossing to the desk again as he spoke. "We'll see if we can learn more of Sidney Putz. Meanwhile, I am expecting some action and I want you and Tiny to be on call." Holmes secured more notes from the cash drawer and passed them to Bertie. "I don't know what is involved, but I'll get a message to you at the usual place."
"Right-o, Mr. 'Olmes. Wotever the caper, you just do the thinkin' and Tiny and me, we'll make out."
"Of that I'm sure," stated Holmes with deep-seated conviction.
Fascinated, we both watched Bertie and Tiny depart.
I sank back in my chair and mopped my forehead with Irish linen. "Really, Holmes, life is never dull at 221B Baker Street."
"How fortunate for us. Keeps us young, you know."
He did have the good grace not to let the matter drop at that.
"As you gathered, I spoke to Bertie earlier. Almost as an afterthought, I recalled those two giant Manchurians we came in contact with once before. Followers of Chu San Fu. Now Bertie is no midget, so I asked him if he could locate another good man in a brawl."
"I would say," I answered, "that Bertie filled the bill."
Chapter Seven
Special Commission
The following morning when my senses sluggishly saw fit to rise from the sea of the subconscious, I guessed that the hour was not an early one. The warmth of my blankets held appeal, but I resisted the impulse to lower my lids again and deny the world of reality.
I rose with a half groan, my feet searched the cold floor for my worn bedroom slippers, and shortly thereafter, clutching my dressing gown round me, I descended to the sitting room of our bachelor abode. The possibility that Sherlock Holmes, habitually a late riser, might still be abed was disproved by the acrid smell of the strong shag of his morning pipe which assaulted my nostrils on the stairs. I found my friend seated at the desk regarding messages.
"My good Watson," he said without looking up, "the heel of one of your slippers is loose. Do have it looked after before you come acropper."
"How did you—!" I began, and then bit back the words. "A revealing sound during my descent, no doubt," I concluded.
"Exactly. We readily detect the sounds of others but tend to ignore those we make ourselves." Holmes rose to knock out his pipe in the fireplace. "But we cannot ignore some news just in. Action is called for, and I have a special commission for you."
My spirits brightened. It had been some time since the disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax, but the adventure remained etched in my mind.* Holmes had deputized me to conduct an investigation relative to the lady, and his critique had been to the point.
*Surely Watson is in error here. "The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax" is generally agreed to have been in the Summer of 1902, long after this adventure.
"A very pretty hash you have made of it," were his words, and he had twisted the knife further by later adding: "I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder that you have omitted." Since that moment, I had yearned for the chance to redeem myself.
"It is vital that I have someone on the scene at Mayswood," continued Holmes.
"But Gilligan and Styles—" I began.
"I have a cable from Slim on the desk. But I need an inside man, Watson. Matters are coming to a head with greater rapidity than I anticipated. You can catch the late morning train for Surrey at Waterloo."
"And my mission?"
"You will inform Clyde Deets that I have uncovered a warm trail as regards his nocturnal intruder. Let me impress upon you, ol' fellow, that this is true. We are not telling the gentleman the whole story, but that's neither here nor there." Holmes was regarding me closely. "Deceit is not one of your strong points, and I want you at ease with your conscience."
"Oh, come now—"
A hand gesture stifled my retort, a good thing since this subject was shaky ground for me.
"Tell Deets that you wish to make inquiries in Litchfield and the surrounding area. You can be a bit mysterious about it. Clients rather like that. He will offer you the use of a carriage, but you suggest that you could perform your investigations better from horseback."
"Holmes, would you have me on a racehorse?"
"Tut, tut! Have no fear of that. I'm sure he can provide a hunter suitable to your needs."
"Well, it's been a while since I've been in a saddle, but I suppose I can carry it off."
"Assuming our duplicity holds water, as I fancy it will, ride off in the direction of Litchfield. Out of sight of the establishment, circle the area carefully, making note of the roads and where they lead. You'll have to ride into the hamlet itself to preserve the facade of conducting an investigation. Pay particular attention to the railroad, Watson."
"I'm to survey the terrain, then. Sounds a bit like a military campaign."
"Agreed," said Holmes with an approving smile that banished some of my doubts. "Also, I want you to acquaint yourself with the stables at Mayswood, especially those devoted to the riding animals. Locate the tack room. Mention that you are addicted to strolls after dinner. I want you familiar with the stable area in the dark. Deets may volunteer to accompany you, so much the better. Horses are his business so he'll readily give you a guided tour. Now, one other thing: when you arrive at the breeding farm, manage to be at the window of the room made available to you between nine and nine-thirty at night. Extinguish the lights and use a candle. Pass it three times back and forth before the window. Then await an answering signal, three flashes from a lantern. Repeat the process, if necessary, until your signal has been acknowledged."
I regarded Holmes with an expression akin to astonishment.
"But why this hocus-pocus? Reminds me of that Baskerville affair."
Holmes's concerned and serious manner was swallowed up by a chuckle. "So it does. Hadn't occurred to me. But consider that for my peace of mind I must know your exact location. You play such an important part in the weapon that we are forging."
His words produced a glow of pride, and my spirits rallied at the thought that he placed such faith in me. Later it occurred to me that his words actually revealed nothing, and when I was on the Surrey-bound train, I experienced a moment of panic at the realization that I knew so little of Holmes's plans. His instructions did not appear to involve anything vital at all. But I banished my misgivings, determined to let the drama unfold. I really had very little choice.
Holmes had cabled ahead, alerting Deets of my arrival, and the same carriage and driver, Alfred, awaited me at the Litchfield station. My host had held luncheon for me, and as indicated previously, he set a fine board. He was seemingly delighted to learn that Holmes was "on to something," as I put it. My revelations were flimsy fabrics indeed, but I managed to introduce some suggestive silences and wise looks, all of which he readily accepted.
Suddenly I realized that the threadbare information with which Holmes had dispatched me had been no oversight by the master man-hunter. Detailed explanations were not needed, and I felt that I had earned some scattered applause interspersed by a few faint "bravos!" Not for my performance as the supposed investigator, but for the fact that my words were honored without question. The career of my friend was at this period certainly approaching its zenith, and his name was a household word, due in part to the recountings of certain of his adventures that I had made available to the reading public. When Holmes was on a case, his methods were immune to criticism, and in truth the solution was considered a fait accompli. Such was the aura of infallibility that surrounded his name that even a sophisticated man of the world like Deets was caught up in the cloak of invincibility worn by the man from Baker Street.