“That would seem to be the obvious route for my skills to take, yes,” agreed Holmes.
The caretaker returned. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “Mr Roger Carruthers.”
The new arrival removed his hat and extended his hand to each of us in turn. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” he said. “You may be familiar with my recently published journal of life in the Andes?”
“Can’t say I am,” Challenger replied. “But you come highly recommended so I shouldn’t let it worry you.”
“Oh,” Carruthers replied, clearly disheartened. “It was rather well received. Perhaps my account of a journey along the Tigris,
“We don’t have time for popular reading,” Lindenbrook snapped. “We’re proper scientists, not the sort of bored housewives who get a thrill from the mention of intimate piercings in savages.”
“Well,” Carruthers replied, “I can assure you it was highly regarded in all walks of life. In fact the Royal Society said …”
“Oh, the Royal Society will say anything,” laughed Challenger. “But please don’t concern yourself. You are in the company of busy men, men whose researches often keep them away from the latest reading.”
“The problem will be one of stability!” Cavor announced, before emitting a strange whining noise. Carruthers stared at him, clearly convinced he had found himself trapped within a room full of lunatics, or worse—lunatics who had never read his work. I decided to take pity on him.
“John Watson,” I said, shaking his hand, “a fellow writer and doctor of medicine.”
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “Naturally I’ve read a great deal of your work!”
“Then you will be familiar with my colleague, Mr Sherlock Holmes,” I replied, gesturing to Holmes before Carruthers could inquire as to whether I was as familiar with his writing as he seemed to be with mine.
“Naturally!” Carruthers replied, shaking Holmes’ hand with such vigour I was concerned he may break it. Either that or my friend, not always at his best when faced with cheerful enthusiasm, might beat him off with his cane. Before this might happen, I introduced Carruthers to the rest of the gathered gentlemen, keeping him moving quickly enough that we avoided creating further arguments, even when—taking note of Challenger’s girth — Carruthers enquired as to whether he would be interested in membership of the West Highbury Gourmands, an eating club of which he was a founder member.
“Well,” he announced, having met everyone, “I believe you want me to shoot something?”
Expressed in such innocent simplicity, the statement had the effect of quieting the whole room, something I might have thought impossible. Noting this, Carruthers was quick to address any inadvertent embarrassment he may have caused.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I appreciate I may be oversimplifying matters. But I understood that time was of the essence, and thought it best we get to the point.”
“How refreshing that someone has that attitude,” said Holmes. “I began to think I might spend all night here.”
Ignoring a positively poisonous look from Challenger, Holmes crossed the room towards the door. “Watson and I will leave you to point Mr Carruthers in the correct direction. Should he shoot anything of scientific worth don’t hesitate to inform us.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“That was rather rude,” I said once we were back outside.
“Probably,” he agreed, “but I couldn’t bear one more minute in their stifling company.”
“I did wonder how long you would manage to sit still in there before erupting.”
We crossed into Belgravia, Holmes’ heart set on an Indian restaurant that lay close by. He ignored all attempts at conversation until we had passed through its nigh-hidden doorway and were sat at one of its opulent, red tables. The smells from the kitchen were heady and sharp, my stomach fairly trembled at the hot, spicy onslaught that would soon be heading its way.
“It has been far too long since we visited here,” Holmes announced as the waiter drew close. “Have the kitchens prepare enough for three hungry men,” he said. “We’ll entrust ourselves to his choice of menu.”
The waiter bowed in acknowledgement of the order and walked away into the gloom, sidestepping his way past the usual mix of retired colonels, medical students and young gentlemen on the wrong side of sobriety.
“Three?” I asked.
“Shinwell Johnson will be meeting us here,” Holmes explained. “Given where the bodies were found, it seemed sensible to avail ourselves of his local knowledge.”
I’m sure I have mentioned Johnson before. He gave frequent assistance to Holmes after the turn of the century. Originally a criminal of mean repute—with two sentences at Parkhurst to his name—he had repented of his ways and now acted as Holmes’ agent within the criminal underworld. He wasn’t a “nark”, as the vernacular has it, and he never dealt with the police. But he often kept Holmes abreast of movements within the various criminal fraternities, allowing him to know the underbelly of the city like no other. He was an extremely likeable chap once you got beneath the battered brim of his bowler and looked past the broken nose and scarred cheeks.
“Evenin’, Gents!” he announced, arriving a few moments later. “One more for dinner?”
“I’ve ordered for you,” said Holmes gesturing to the seat furthest from the door. Johnson was always careful when meeting us in public and liked to make sure he could hide himself away in the shadows.
“Oh, I dare say there’s nothing that comes out of that kitchen that could do me a mischief,” Johnson replied. “If you’d ever seen my mother’s cooking you’d know I’m immune to poison.”
Poisonous it was not, though all three of us found ourselves loosening our collars and taking a little more of the claret than we might otherwise have done—anything to try to cool our burning tongues.
“God knows how we ever beat them,” said Johnson once he was finished eating. “I feel beaten up just by eating the food.”
“Invigorating, isn’t it?” said Holmes, taking one last mouthful of something hot and creamy that involved lamb.
“I’ll not feel the cold for a week,” Johnson agreed. “So—” he reached for his clay pipe “—I’m guessing you want to talk to me about the bodies found in Rotherhithe.”
“You guess correctly.”
“I thought it would only be a matter of time. In fact, I had half a mind to head over to you myself. I know the papers have been full of rubbish about it being gang violence but, I thought, my Mr Holmes ain’t stupid enough to fall for that.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the uncomfortable look that passed across Holmes’ face.
“I confess my attention was elsewhere when the news was first released,” he said, “and I didn’t give it the attention it clearly deserved.”
“You and the rest of London,” said Johnson. He smiled, and his good humour was so soft and genuine it transformed his face. “You’ve got a better excuse than most though,” he continued. “One man can only keep his eye on so much after all.” He took another mouthful of his drink and lit his pipe. “Probably best if I give you the lot then,” he said, “belt and braces, just the way you like it.”
CHAPTER SIX
“The first body,” Johnson continued, “weren’t nothing really. Or so it seemed at the time. You know what it’s like—sometimes the patterns are only clear once you can step back and take them all in. Up close they’re just a bloody mess. The body was certainly that—more meat than skin, waterlogged and ragged, as frilly as a girl’s petticoat. It were found at the docks, bobbing in the water like a kiddie’s boat.
“It caused a bit of fuss for a few minutes as people gathered round to watch it get fished out. Then the law turned up, dumped it in a sack and people got back to work. Most folk assumed someone had just fallen in and then been given a going over by one of the boat propellers. It happens from time to time. Besides, it don’t take long for anything to turn nasty in the Thames. That water’s more alive than most of the folk what live along it if you ask me. Full of disease, rats, and fish what would have your hand off soon as look at you. It’s a merciless stretch of water. Once you’re in it, it don’t like to ever let you go.
“Anyway, the law took the body off and nobody thought any more about it until the next came along.
“It looked as bad as the first but you could tell this one were different. Its hands and feet were chained, for
