"Is there . . . is there a doctor round?"
Lifelong training took over. "I am a doctor," I said, promptly crossing to him.
"Got somethin' stuck in my windpipe," he wheezed.
I removed his hand from his throat and, using two fingers, pried his jaws apart, peering down his gullet, but the light in the pub was dim. I ran a finger in an exploratory move past his tongue, for this could be serious, but he started to choke and I removed my digit while I still had it.
He gestured towards the door and I seized him by the arm with a gesture of agreement, leading him outside and into the afternoon sun. With his back to the door, I started to open his mouth again when things took a singular turn.
"Just give it a fake look-see, Doctor Watson, for it's a dodge. Me throat's tip-top."
I started to draw back from the man with a shocked expression, and alarm bells rang in my ears.
"Keep lookin', Doc," he urged in a low voice, raising his chin as though to aid my efforts.
As I made a dumb show of peering into his orifice, he spoke quietly and distinctly, no mean feat with his mouth wide open.
"Pay no attention to the Chinks, Doc. Mr. 'Olmes don't want those boyos to get a wind up. Just make yer way back to Mayswood, and we'll watch for your signal tonight."
"Then you are—?"
"—Slippery Styles, Doc."
Good heavens, I thought, the human shadow! I'd never seen him close to before, but when Holmes wanted someone followed, Styles was the man he called for. My friend contended that Slippery could follow a sinner into hell without getting his coat singed!
Momentarily inspired, I whipped out a pocket handkerchief, holding it to Styles's mouth and slapping him on the back. The little man made a nice show of apparently coughing up a chicken bone or some such object. There lurks in all of us the desire to perform, even in an empty theatre, and I was so imbued by this adventure that I had a happy inspiration.
"My room is on the front of Mayswood," I mentioned as though I were telling the chap that he was all right now.
"Got yuh, Doc. Till tonight."
With the feeling that all was not amiss, I returned to the pub to pay for my drink and departed full of self-approval since I had not cast a single glance at the mysterious Chinese.
As I managed, with the help of the mounting block, to straddle Fandango and get my feet into the irons, I reasoned that Holmes must already be alerted to the presence of Orientals in the vicinity of Mayswood. No doubt from Gilligan's cable.
Going down the street, Fandango gave indications of following a different route and seemed to harbor definite ideas about it. It occurred to me that the horse would take me back to the breeding farm in the most direct manner if allowed to, so I was content to let her take charge. After all, there is a limit to the patience of a five-gaited show horse. Such she had to be to successfully transport a middle-aged doctor of sedentary habits safely up hill and down dale through the Surrey countryside.
Back at Mayswood Stud, I had ample time to wash up and change for dinner before joining Deets in the drawing room. His Irish whiskey was on a par with his burgundy, and seated next to a pleasing fire, my blood running faster from the day's ride, I resolved to treat said spirits with respect. My host had a pleasing personality, as I had noted before, though he was not as loquacious or rapid in his speech as he had been during our first meeting at Baker Street. I informed him that my afternoon had produced no results and considered mentioning the two Chinese but abandoned the thought. It could do no good and might do the reverse.
I tried to lead the conversation to horse breeding. Deets spoke easily and fluently on that subject, and I resolved to give more attention to the bloodlines of my racing choices in the future. Whenever the conversation dragged, I resorted to previous cases of Holmes's, a conversational crutch that I could use with facility and that always found ready ears. I did mention that I thought Holmes would conclude his London investigation shortly and would join us in the country. It seemed the sporting thing to do and apparently this proved welcome news.
Butler Dooley, like all of his rare breed, appeared with seeming omniscience whenever needed and gave indication of having a sharp pair of ears to boot. His master had absented himself for a moment for some undisclosed reason, and the butler inquired with concern if it were possible for Mr. Holmes to share my room should he be arriving shortly. He explained that Mrs. Deets had been in the process of redecorating all the other bedrooms, save the master suite, prior to her sudden departure for her sister's home on Tuesday. The reference to "sudden departure" rather pricked up my ears, and then the day of the week mentioned caught my attention. It now being Thursday, this would mean that Deets's wife had been bustled off to her sister's on the day that he visited us at Baker Street.
I forestalled the servant's departure with the indication that a refill would be acceptable, and thought furiously.
"Was it Tuesday that your mistress left, Dooley?" I asked, with what I hoped was a casual air. "I was of a mind that it was Monday."
"Oh no, sir, the mistress left on Tuesday all right, for it was the same day that Mr. Deets went to London."
Well, our client had specified that his wife had taken her trip before the incident of the intruder. I also thought it singular that the lady was removed from the estate immediately following the happening. Obviously, Deets was more concerned about the matter than he had indicated, or possibly his wife was of a nervous nature, though this did not coincide with my picture of an English lady satisfied with the rural life of a country estate, as high-toned as it might be. I decided to abandon this subject when I realized that, for all I knew, Mrs. Deets was not English at all and her life at Mayswood might not be a happy one either.
"Dooley," I said, accepting a refill that I noted was liberal. "Mr. Deets tells me you have been with the family for some time."
"I had the honor of serving his father."
"After his travels?"
"His travels, sir?"
The question to my question was delivered so immediately and honestly that I almost spoke of the famous Captain Spaulding and his explorations, but drew back in time. I was getting in too deep and was rather glad that the present master of the house returned at this moment.
Shortly thereafter we dined, following which my host graciously took me for a stroll round the grounds, providing excellent cigars for us both to enjoy during it, though I have always felt that the taste and aroma of a cigar loses something in the open air. They, like good brandy, are meant to be enjoyed in a comfortable easy chair, to be savored, as 'twere. I told the equine expert about the monograph Holmes had once published dealing with the ash of every known brand of cigar and tobacco and rather lengthily titled: "Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos."
This so intrigued Deets, who obviously enjoyed the good things of life, that I was able to guide our footsteps without seeming to into the area of the stables containing the riding horses, and I used my eyes as well as I could and managed a few leading questions as well.
Life on a breeding farm evidently began at an early hour. It was with no difficulty that I was able to reach my bedroom before nine. My riding habit of the day had been carefully brushed, and the boots polished to a fine sheen. But the container in which my toilet articles were kept had not been opened. A tiny piece of wax was still under the cover when I opened it. This was a trick that I had learned from Holmes years ago. Within was the small candle that I had taken the precaution to include with my razor and the rest of my kit.
Extinguishing the lights on the hour, I lit the candle and passed it three times across the center window of my room. I then snuffed out the flame and blinked my eyes to allow clearer vision in the darkness, another trick of the sleuth. In short order there were three answering flashes from the woods. Quick work, I thought, but then Gilligan and Styles already knew which side of the house to watch. My trip into Litchfield had been of some benefit.