One of the more predictable effects of Watson’s writings has been the burgeoning industry of independent detectives. They have always existed of course, merrily pandering to the public’s inane confusions with their limited skills. They were something I was quick to distance myself from, classing myself as a “consulting” detective, one that helped the official police force rather than just the braying public. Still, after my methods became so well known and my successes so widely discussed, the business of deduction became a boom industry. (I also believe the name “Sherlock” found a brief popularity amongst expectant mothers for which I can only apologise to the infants in question.) Private investigators sprung up all over the country ranging from large-scale operations with a sizeable staff to individual operators working out of their own parlours. It seemed that everyone had suddenly developed a skill for deduction and wanted nothing more than to share it. I had no doubt that the majority of such organisations were an exercise in wish-fulfilment and their owners would be out of business before the ink dried on their business cards.
If any private individual stood a chance at making a go of it though, it would be Wiggins, and I for one was pleased to see him try. I realised it might be appreciated were I to suggest as much to him. (I often forget these personal details when Watson is absent.)
“I was considerably impressed,” I told him, thinking the words through carefully, “and have no doubt that great things stand ahead of you.” I sat down in a vacant armchair. “That’s as long as you manage to survive the night of course.”
“I dare say all of us will have our work cut out managing that,” said Johnson, “but then, I never did take to the quiet life.”
“Dr Watson not here?” asked Wiggins.
“Not as yet,” I admitted. “No doubt he is sulking somewhere as he is wont to do. We’ll see him soon enough. Let me give you both some idea of what faces us.”
I prepared to give them all the details currently at our disposal. My brother might have wished me to show more discretion but knowledge is the most important thing in the world and I wouldn’t dream of letting them go into battle without it. However, I was stopped in my briefing by the sound of the bell.
Billy brought in Inspector George Mann, thankfully saving me the need to run through the details a second time.
“I am glad to have you with us,” I told him, having renewed our brief acquaintance. “No doubt Watson will be along shortly. He was an excellent advocate on your behalf.”
“Pleased to hear it,” he said and settled down with Johnson and Wiggins to listen to my summary of the case.
“I can see why the doctor was playing his cards close to his chest,” said Mann, once I had finished, “it certainly is a potentially inflammatory affair. If the details of this were to be leaked to the press …”
“Indeed.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “The last thing we need is the involvement of more reporters.”
The joke seemed to pass above their heads, a not uncommon experience for me.
“There would be rioting in the streets,” Johnson said. “People would go mad.”
“I sometimes think very little encouragement is needed on that score,” Mann said.
Wiggins nodded and gave a wry smile. “You’re not wrong there. People like a ruckus and no mistake.”
“We’ll have enough of one by ourselves tonight,” said Mann. “And I for one expect trouble from our guide as well as the man he’s leading us to.”
“You’re quite right,” I said, “and we all need to remember it. There is no doubting that, whatever happens, it benefits Kane were none of us to come out of those sewers alive.”
“You think he intends to double-cross us?” asked Johnson.
“Most certainly,” I replied. “I’d be exceptionally surprised if he didn’t.”
“All good fun,” he replied, “and I’d better mind myself and all.” He pulled a thick black stocking from his coat pocket. “On the slightest off-chance we do manage to survive the night, I’d better make sure the bugger don’t recognise me.” He pulled the stocking over his head. “My life wouldn’t be worth thruppence if it got around that I’d been fraternising with you lot!”
I confess it often slipped my mind that Johnson took a terrible risk simply being seen with me. He truly was a man from another world.
Downstairs the bell rang. Given the length and stridency of the tone it could only be Challenger.
Billy answered it and the professor’s voice echoed up the stairway like a sergeant major issuing the call to charge.
I checked the time. Kane would soon be here, but where was Watson?
That answer came soon enough when Billy entered alongside Challenger. “Telegram for you, Sir,” he said, handing it over and stepping as far away from Challenger as he could. It was clear he was quite terrified of the man. I have noticed people are often intimidated by such physical giants, and I always think it strange. What do any of us have to fear from brute strength? That’s what fire pokers and revolvers are for. It’s a powerful brain that should scare us.
I opened the telegram. It read:
HOLMES I HAVE YOUR FRIEND [STOP] HE WILL BE HELD
AS
INSURANCE AGAINST YOUR BEHAVIOUR [STOP] DO NOT MAKE ME TURN HIM INTO SOMETHING HE WILL REGRET [STOP]
“Like a confirmed bachelor, perhaps?” I muttered.
“What’s that, Holmes?” asked Challenger.
It was good that he addressed me by name as, given the volume of his inquiry, I might otherwise have assumed he was asking the question of Mr Goss, the gentleman who lived three doors down.
“It is our enemy playing his hand,” I said and offered him the telegram to pass around the room.
“What are we going to do now?” Johnson asked. “Surely we can’t call the hunt off?”
“Indeed not,” I agreed. “That is precisely what we can’t do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Kane didn’t keep us long. It was nine o’clock precisely when the door bell rang and we once more heard Billy move to answer it.
“Now, Gentlemen,” I said, “keep your eyes open and your wits sharp, our enemies are at our throats from this moment forth.”
We listened to Kane’s heavy feet on the stairs, Johnson making sure his disguise was safely in place. The door opened and, again, I was struck by the daunting stature of the creature that filled the doorframe.
“A party of adventurers indeed,” he said, a harsh sniff emanating from beneath the heavy veil as he set his sensitive nose to work. “Might I be introduced? I like to know the names of gentlemen I am expected to blithely trust my life to.”
He might brag of his intelligence but he could split an infinitive with the best of them.
“They might reasonably say the same thing,” I replied, “to a man in a disguise as heavy and theatrical as yours.”
“I hide nothing,” he replied, stepping into the room and pulling away his hat and veil to reveal the dog’s head beneath.
There was a drawing in of breath as they took him in. Precisely the effect he had hoped for of course.
I had described him accurately but words could not convey the monstrousness of Kane’s appearance. I had discussed the resonance and timbre of his voice, even speculated how it must be produced considering the limited dog’s palate, but to hear it was something else again. I told them precisely how many teeth he had, and their approximate length, but to see them glint in the lamplight was far more inspiring. Like good opera and a perfectly cooked chateaubriand steak, Kane was a thing to be experienced rather than discussed.