The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

The police agent had caught sight of us and, at Holmes's gesture, he pushed his way through the throng and drew up a chair to the table.

'Only a routine check,' said he, in reply to my friend's query. 'But duty's duty, Mr. Holmes, and I can tell you that I've netted some strange fish before now in these respectable places. While you are comfortably dreaming up your theories in Baker Street, we poor devils at Scotland Yard are doing the practical work. No thanks to us from Popes and Kings but a bad hour on the Super­intendent's carpet if we fail.'

'Tut,' smiled Holmes good-humouredly. 'Your su­periors must surely hold you in some esteem since I solved the Ronald Adair murder, the Bruce-Partington theft, the—'

'Quite so, quite so,' interrupted Lestrade hurriedly. 'And now,' he added, with a heavy wink at me, 'I have something for you.'

'Ah!'

'Of course, a young woman who starts at shadows may be more in Dr. Watson's line.'

'Really, Lestrade,' I protested warmly, 'I cannot ap­prove your—'

'One moment, Watson. Let us hear the facts.'

'Well, Mr. Holmes, they are absurd enough,' con­tinued Lestrade, 'and I would not waste your time were it not that I have known you to do a kindness or two before now and your word of advice may in this instance prevent a young woman from acting foolishly. Now, here's the position.

'Down Deptford way, along the edge of the river, there are some of the worst slums in the East End of London but, right in the middle of them, you can still find some fine old houses which were once the homes of wealthy merchants centuries ago. One of these tumble­down mansions has been occupied by a family named Wilson for the past hundred years and more. I under­stand that they were originally in the China trade and when that went to the dogs a generation back, they got out in time and remained on in the old home. The recent household consisted of Horatio Wilson and his wife, with one son and a daughter, and Horatio's younger brother Theobold who had gone to live with them on his return from foreign parts.

'Some three years ago, the body of Horatio Wilson was hooked out of the river. He had been drowned and, as he was known to have been a hard-drinking man, it was generally accepted that he had missed his step in the fog and fallen into the water. A year later, his wife, who suffered from a weak heart, died from a heart attack. We know this to be the case, because the doctor made a very careful examination following the statements of a police- constable and a night-watchman employed on a Thames barge.'

'Statements to what effect?' interposed Holmes.

'Well, there was talk of some noise rising apparently from the old Wilson house. But the nights are often foggy along Thames-side and the men were probably misled. The constable described the sound as a dreadful yell that froze the blood in his veins. If I had him in my division, I'd teach him that such words should never pass the lips of an officer of the law.'

'What time was this?'

'Ten o'clock at night, the hour of the old lady's death. It's merely a coincidence, for there is no doubt that she died of heart.'

'Go on.'

Lestrade consulted his note-book for a moment. 'I've been digging up the facts,' he continued. 'On the night of May 17th last, the daughter went to a magic-lantern entertainment accompanied by a woman servant. On her return, she found her brother, Phineas Wilson, dead in his arm-chair. He had inherited a bad heart and insomnia from his mother. This time there were no rumours of shrieks and yells, but owing to the expression on the dead man's face, the local doctor called in the police-surgeon to assist in the examination. It was heart, all right, and our man confirmed that this can sometimes cause a dis­tortion of the features that will convey an impression of stark terror.'

'That is perfectly true,' I remarked.

'Now, it seems that the daughter Janet has become so overwrought that, according to her uncle, she proposes to sell up the property and go abroad,' went on Lestrade.

'Her feelings are, I suppose, natural. Death has been busy with the Wilson family.'

'And what of this uncle? Theobold, I think you said his name was.'

'Well, I fancy that you will find him on your doorstep tomorrow morning. He came to me at the Yard in the hope that the official police could put his niece's fears at rest and persuade her to take a more reasonable view. As we are engaged on more important affairs than calming hysterical young women, I advised him to call on you.'

'Indeed! Well, it is natural enough that he should resent the unnecessary loss of what is probably a snug corner.'

'There is no resentment, Mr. Holmes. Wilson seems to be genuinely attached to his niece and concerned only for her future.' Lestrade paused, while a grin spread over his foxy face. 'He is not a very worldly person, is Mr. Theobold, and though I've met some queer trades in my time his beats the band. The man trains canaries.'

'It is an established profession.'

'Is it?' There was an irritating smugness in Lestrade's manner as he rose to his feet and reached for his hat. 'It is quite evident that you do not suffer from insomnia, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'or you would know that birds trained by Theobold Wilson are different from other canaries. Good night, gentlemen.'

'What on earth does the fellow mean?' I asked, as the police-agent threaded his way towards the door.

'Merely that he knows something that we do not,' replied Holmes drily. 'But, as conjecture is as profitless as it is misleading to the analytical mind, let us wait until tomorrow. I can say, however, that I do not propose to waste my time over a matter that appears to fall more properly within the province of the local vicar.'

To my friend's relief, the morning brought no visitor. But when, on my return from an urgent case to which I had been summoned shortly after lunch, I entered our sitting-room, I found that our spare chair was occupied by a bespectacled middle-aged man. As he rose to his feet, I observed that he was of an exceeding thinness and that his face, which was scholarly and even austere in expression, was seamed with countless wrinkles and of that dull parchment-yellow that comes from years under a tropic sun.

'Ah, Watson, you have arrived in time,' said Holmes. 'This is Mr. Theobold Wilson about whom Lestrade spoke to us last night.'

Our visitor wrung my hand warmly. 'Your name is, of course, well known to me, Dr. Watson,' he cried. 'Indeed, if Mr. Sherlock Holmes will pardon me for saying so, it is largely thanks to you that we are aware of his genius. As a medical man doubtless well versed in the handling of nervous cases, your presence should have a most beneficial effect upon my unhappy niece.'

Holmes caught my eye resignedly. 'I have promised Mr. Wilson to accompany him to Deptford,. Watson,' said he, 'for it would seem that the young lady is deter­mined to leave her home tomorrow. But I must repeat again, Mr. Wilson, that I fail to see in what way my presence can affect the matter.'

'You are over-modest, Mr. Holmes. When I appealed to the official police, I had hoped that they might convince Janet that, terrible though our family losses have been in the past three years, nevertheless they lay in natural causes and that there is no reason why she should flee from her home. I had the impression,' he added, with a chuckle, 'that the inspector was somewhat chagrined at my ready acceptance of his own suggestion that I should invoke your assistance.'

'I shall certainly remember my small debt to Lestrade,' replied Holmes drily as he rose to his feet. 'Perhaps, Wat­son, you would ask Mrs. Hudson to whistle a four-wheeler and Mr. Wilson can clarify certain points to my mind as we drive to Deptford.'

It was one of those grey, brooding summer days when London is at its worst and, as we rattled over Blackfriars Bridge, I noted that wreaths of mist were rising from the river like the poisonous vapours of some hot jungle swamp. The more spacious streets of the West End had given place to the great commercial thoroughfares, resounding with the stamp and clatter of the dray-horses, and these in turn merged at last into a maze of dingy streets that, following the curve of the river, grew more and more wretched in their squalor the nearer we approached to that labyrinth of tidal basins and dark, evil-smelling lanes that were once the ancient cradle of England's sea trade and of an empire's wealth. I could see that Holmes was listless and bored to a point of irritation and I did my best, therefore, to engage our companion in conversation.

'I understand that you are an expert on canaries,' I remarked.

Theobold Wilson's eyes, behind their powerful spec­tacles, lit with the glow of the enthusiast. 'A mere student, sir, but with thirty years of practical research,' he cried. 'Can it be that you too—? No? A pity! The study,