corner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking
men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after
their morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly
at us as we passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the
right nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the
ground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found
ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the
side-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed
to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of
escaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if a
parallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of
Kennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street
and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place,
Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with
one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture of canine
indecision. Then he waddled round in circles, looking up to us from
time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his embarrassment.
"What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes. "They
surely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon."
"Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested.
"Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion, in a tone of
relief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up
his mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he
had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before,
for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his
leash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam in
Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick and
Nelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here
the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate
into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the
dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a
passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp,
sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on
which it had been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes,
Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for
some sign of appreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of
the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was
heavy with the smell of creasote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burst
simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
CHAPTER VIII
The Baker Street Irregulars
"What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character for infallibility."
"He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting him down
from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you
consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is
no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much
used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to
blame."
"We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."
"Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently what
puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were
two different trails running in opposite directions. We took the
wrong one. It only remains to follow the other."
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place
where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and
finally dashed off in a fresh direction.
"We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where
the creasote-barrel came from," I observed.
"I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement,
whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true
scent now."
It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place
and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to
the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us
to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the
dark current beyond.
"We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boat here."
Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on
the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but,
though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a
wooden placard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith"
was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to
hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above the door
informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement which was
confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes
looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression.
"This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than I
expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear,
been preconcerted management here."
He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a
little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a
stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.
"You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back, you
young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that,
he'll let us hear of it."
"Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What a rosy-cheeked
young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?"
The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," said he.
"Nothing you would like better?"
"I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after some
thought.
"Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!"
"Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too
much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a
time."
"Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry for
that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."
"He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I
am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a
boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well."
"I wanted to hire his steam launch."
"Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone.
That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her than
would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been away in the
barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as
far as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha'
stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?"
"He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."
"He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard him
call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I
don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish
talk. What did he want always knockin' about here for?"
"A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise.
"Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for
my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's
more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I
tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it."
"But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "You
are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell
that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't
quite understand how you can be so sure."
"His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy.
He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show a leg,
matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man woke up
Jim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a
word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones."
"And was this wooden-legged man alone?"
"Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have
heard good reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?"
"The Aurora, sir."
"Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad
in the beam?"
"No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river. She's
been fresh painted, black with two red streaks."
"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going
down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall
let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?"
"No, sir. Black with a white band."
"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.
Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take
it and cross the river.
"The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as we sat in
the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that their
information can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do,
they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them
under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want."
"Our course now seems pretty clear," said I.
"What would you do, then?"
"I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the
Aurora."
"My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at
any wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.
Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for
miles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set
about it alone."
"Employ the police, then."
"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He
is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would
injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out
myself, now that we have gone so far."
"Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?"
"Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their
heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are
likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly
safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us
there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily
press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong
scent."
"What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we landed near Millbank
Penitentiary.
"Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's
sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again.
Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be
of use to us yet."
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes
despatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked, as we
resumed our journey.
"I am sure I don't know."
"You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force
whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"
"Well," said I, laughing.
"This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail,
I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to
my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his
gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast."
It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of a
strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was
limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the
professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I
look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as
the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him,
and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure,
however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged
rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it
I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it
it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a
petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as
that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold
stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up
wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid
