—“that the brilliance of Mr. Sherlock Holmes shines even more brightly in the company of his chronicler, Dr. John Watson. If Mr. Sherlock Holmes is consulted by Mrs. Neville St. Clair upon this matter, will it be possible to ensure Dr. John Watson’s involvement as well?”
Chan smiled. “It will, Wing. That, too, has been arranged.”
The moment for which the men had been waiting came the Monday following the docking of the SS
As the clerk, collecting his wages later, related to Chan, he followed his instructions to the letter, telling her while she signed the register that, as a lady such as herself would find the nearby streets distasteful, he would advise making the turn into Swandam Lane where a hansom cab might be found. Mrs. Neville St. Clair thanked him for his consideration and left. A few moments later the clerk, muttering to his office mates about a task with which he had been charged, left his desk and followed her. He was close behind, careful to hide himself, when the lady reached Swandam Lane. As she neared the Lascar’s establishment, the clerk signaled to the men in Zhang’s doorway, gesturing from a few steps back at the lady so that Zhang’s men, who had been waiting for this sign, would know that this figure was indeed Mrs. Neville St. Clair.
Zhang’s men then went into action, moving as a group into the street, boisterously disputing some point as though continuing an argument. They stopped on the muddy cobblestones so as to loudly make their points with each other. This had the requisite double effect of slowing the progress of Mrs. Neville St. Clair, and causing heads to turn in their direction—including, as intended, the head of Mr. Neville St. Clair in his window at the Bar of Gold. From that window issued a loud but inarticulate cry. Zhang’s three men immediately ceased their argument as heads turned once again, people in Swandam Lane seeking, instinctively, the source of the piteous noise. Among those glancing up was Mrs. Neville St. Clair. From the confused and horrified expression that swept the lady’s features, both the clerk and Zhang’s men understood that she had seen, in that window of the Lascar’s establishment, what she had been intended to see.
From there events continued to unfold as the men had planned them. The Lascar’s assistant, the Dane secretly in Lu’s service, forbade the entrance of Mrs. Neville St. Clair to the Bar of Gold, turning her away though she was desperate to the point of distraction. Just after that moment, alerted by the shipping clerk, an inspector and two constables of Wing’s acquaintance who had been biding their time in Fresno Street presented themselves at the corner with Swandam Lane. The lady hastened to them, and together they rushed back to the Bar of Gold, where the inspector demanded to be admitted. The small group then hurried up the stairs to the front room on the second floor, there to find Hugh Boone, a well-known redheaded beggar of singular repulsiveness. What had become of Mrs. Neville St. Clair’s husband, whom she had seen peering from the window of that very room, could not be ascertained. However, as the Dane related later, blood decorated the windowsill, certain items of Mr. Neville St. Clair’s clothing hung in a closet, and, most damning of all, a gift the gentleman had promised to bring his small son was discovered in a box on a table. The beggar Hugh Boone was taken into custody, but there the case remained. No sign of Mr. Neville St. Clair himself having been found, Scotland Yard was without charges to level against the beggar, although the fear of foul play was very strong in the heart of the unfortunate man’s wife.
The following Wednesday evening, as fog was beginning to swirl through the streets of London, the small group of opium-house owners gathered again in Chan’s parlor.
“It appears,” Zhang said, settling his gaunt frame upon a carved armchair, “that your plan has met with some success thus far, Chan.” This inarguable fact seemed to lighten Zhang’s perennially dark countenance not at all, though Chan noted that this time he did sip a cup of tea.
“The next steps are all in place,” Chan assured them all, pouring tea for the other two men as well. “Mrs. Neville St. Clair, having received no satisfaction as to her husband’s fate from the assiduous but fruitless efforts of Scotland Yard, has chosen to follow the advice of the good Inspector Barton.” Chan saw Wing smile, which indulgence Chan did not begrudge him, as the inspector had been instructed in that advice by Wing himself. “This afternoon, Mrs. Neville St. Clair was received at the Baker Street rooms of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
“Was she indeed?” Wing lowered his teacup, licking his full lips. “Well done. What do you expect will happen now?”
“As Mr. Sherlock Holmes can be relied upon to be resourceful,” Chan replied, “I am confident he will call at the Lascar’s soon, in an excellent disguise. He will request a pipe, settling himself upon pillows in a secluded spot from which he will be able to observe the other patrons. He will hope thus to find, in the mutterings of those sots, a clue to the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair. Being a patient man, he will continue in these efforts for two days, or more. Of course, he will learn nothing by this.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The subtlety of the mind of Mr. Sherlock Holmes—” Chan smiled. “—could lead one to believe he is not an Englishman at all, but one of us. The fact that he learns nothing by his stay at the Bar of Gold will be, in fact, what he learns. It will become the knot at which he will chew, eventually to unravel the problem before him.”
Wing and Zhang considered this. Lu, with his flare for the dramatic, put down his teacup and took up the story. “The attendance of Mr. Sherlock Holmes upon the Lascar’s opium rooms,” he said, “will be useful to us in another way, also.”
“How so?” asked Wing.
“As soon as it became known that Mrs. Neville St. Clair had presented herself at 221B Baker Street, the young Dane in my employ at the Lascar’s made his way to the home of one Mr. Isa Whitney. There he invited that gentleman, as a regular patron of the Lascar’s establishment, to come to Swandam Lane to sample, with the proprietor’s compliments, a pipeful of the latest shipment of goods received. Mr. Isa Whitney, being much addicted to opium, appears to have found the invitation compelling, so much so that he accompanied the young man without delay. The Dane has been instructed to continue to ply Mr. Isa Whitney with a fresh supply of pipes, for which I will bear the cost.” He waved a hand to indicate that this was a mere trifle, not to be discussed. The others nodded to acknowledge his generosity, though Chan reflected that the cost of a pipeful of opium in London was not so great that Lu’s fortune was likely to be noticeably diminished by it. “By these means,” Lu continued, “the attendance of that gentleman at the Lascar’s establishment has been assured for the near future.”
Chan observed Wing and Zhang exchanging a rare glance of sympathetic concordance. It was Zhang who expressed their mutual thought: “I fail to understand, Lu, what involvement Mr. Isa Whitney has in this affair.”
Lu smiled. “He has none. However, it is the practice of Mr. Isa Whitney’s wife, when trouble comes upon her, to consult an old friend, a school companion. This excellent woman is one Mary Watson, whose husband, Dr. John Watson—that surgeon known to his wife affectionately as ‘James’—serves with great forbearance as Mr. Isa Whitney’s medical adviser. More than once, Dr. John Watson has been called upon to untangle Mr. Isa Whitney from the clasp of the opium pipe. It is Mr. Isa Whitney’s sojourn at the Bar of Gold that will bring Dr. John Watson there, thus making him available to attend Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
“Can we depend upon his discovering the detective,” Wing asked mildly, “if Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be wearing so excellent a disguise?”
“Certainly not,” Chan responded. “He will not discover Mr. Sherlock Holmes. London’s most brilliant consulting detective will discover him.”
As Chan had predicted it, so it transpired. Lu’s Dane having returned to the Lascar’s establishment, he sent word upon the Friday evening that Dr. John Watson had called at the Bar of Gold demanding to speak to Mr. Isa Whitney. That gentleman being found in a sorry state, Dr. John Watson paid his debt and put him in a cab for home. The doctor did not, however, accompany him, but rather lingered in Swandam Lane for some few minutes, until one of the other opium smokers emerged from the establishment. The bent old man who stumbled into the street exchanged words with the doctor, who accompanied him for a time—the Dane stealing silently behind them—until suddenly the old man straightened out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter. The Dane observed the two men as they spoke. The old and decrepit opium addict, having miraculously recovered both his vigor and his wits, whistled for their carriage. As it rolled away, the Dane returned to his position at the Lascar’s door.
