evidence.
“A man who thought more of his dog than of any human being,” said Holmes over my shoulder, “would not leave it to the mercy of the vivisectionist or the curiosity of holiday crowds. A most interesting pathological type. But I think the dog had a greater part than that.”
“What part?”
“Imagine the scene. A shot rang out. Policemen jumped for cover. Some of the bystanders hurried towards the scene. Some were running away, some running towards. Darkness everywhere. The poor beast’s death created a skilful diversion. I swear our man was through this rear garden and across the road while the echoes of the shot were still dying. You must not forget your regimental field-craft, Watson. When surrounded, make your break during the moment of maximum confusion. As for that scent upstairs—”
“I noticed it.”
“Spirit gum, which will turn the smooth-shaven hero into a bearded ogre for a brief period. Recall the mutton-chop-whiskered figure on the garden tower, my dear fellow.”
One of the plain-clothes men had found a bureau open. There was no passport nor money. That was little enough for one who was leaving never to return. Where was the rest to come from?
A glance from an upper window into the darkened road showed a dozen uniformed officers standing about forlornly. The companions of the Royal Clarence had made their way back into the saloon bar, discussing the drama with agreeable earnestness.
Presently we stood with Gregson at the black-painted ironwork of the front gate. The inspector had already ordered wires to be despatched from Scotland Yard to the police posts of the English Channel and the North Sea.
“Every port sealed tighter than a rat’s eyeball,” he assured us.
Before my friend could comment on this, he was interrupted by an urchin who seemed to stand no higher than his waist and whom Gregson was no doubt about to tell to “Hop it, smart!”
“Please, sir! Mr Holmes, sir, if you please.”
Holmes looked down and his features relaxed.
“Why, Smiler! Smiler Hawkins of my intrepid militia!”
The infant took heart at this.
“If you please, Mr Holmes, I was left to watch when the other two went to have their supper.”
“Be off with you!” said Gregson sharply, making as if to cuff the child’s ear.
“But I saw him, sir. The cove as was in that house! Face-toface. I saw him go.”
“A feat which the combined forces of Scotland Yard and the Belgravia division failed to accomplish,” said Holmes amiably. “All things considered, Gregson, I think we had better listen to what this budding thief-taker has to say.”
Gregson seemed about to grumble but then stood back.
“Tell us, Smiler,” Holmes encouraged him. “What happened?”
“There was a shot, sir. All of a sudden it came, from behind the house. Everyone ran for it. Mostly into the bushes.”
“Including Major Mordaunt, I fear.”
“I seen him yesterday, sir. At the front. Not close up but wearing the same clothes as tonight. He came out from the back this time, except everyone else was running and hadn’t time to notice him.”
“What did he look like, when you saw him face-to-face this evening?”
“Not much of a gent, sir. Just a common overcoat wiv them little brown checks. Thick-built, he was. Not as tall as you. Reddish hair and whiskers.”
“Wore a hat?”
“Greyish topper. Not a real gent’s black silk.”
“Bald, would you say?”
Smiler looked as if the idea had only just occurred to him.
“Yeah, could have been. As likely as not. Hard to say under a topper.”
“Where did he go?”
“He come out of that back lane, where the tradesmen go, just after the gun was fired, and joined at the end of all the others. Walking fast rather than running. You’d think he was running wiv ’em rather than running away.”
“Precisely,” said Holmes quietly.
“I only saw where he went because I was watching close to that back lane. Cool he was, as if he might be in command. He sloped up to the bunch standing by the Royal Clarence. Mingled wiv ’em and went into the bar when they did.”
“A pity you did not manage to keep him in view!” said Gregson bitterly.
“Oh, but I did, sir. I couldn’t come away to find you at first or I’d have lost him.”
“Not there now?”
“No, sir. He came out again through the other door of the Clarence, the public bar. Then he walked so smart I could hardly keep up with him. Straight down to the King’s Road and hailed a cab. It was a minute or two before one came along, otherwise I’d never have caught the order he gave the driver.”
“Well?” said Gregson aggressively. “Lost our tongue, have we?”
“Oh no, sir,” said the infant innocently. “I heard him. Liverpool Street Station. He even give the platform. Platform 12. I could have hopped on the board at the back, crouched down and gone wiv ’im. But then I wouldn’t be here to tell you, would I, sir?”
“Was he carrying anything?” I asked.
“Naw, sir. Not to speak of. Little attache case. Nuffing more.”
Holmes reached down and patted the uncombed head. He drew a sovereign from his note-case.
“Well done, Smiler! If Mr Gregson knows his onions, you may find yourself in the detective division a year or two from now.”
“Thank you, Mr Holmes! Thank you very much, sir.”
This infant prodigy scuttled off, gripping the coin in his right hand.
“Platform 12!” said Gregson vindictively. “Harwich! Hook of Holland! The overnight crossing! In three or four hours, Major Mordaunt could be outside territorial waters. Tomorrow he might be on an express train to anywhere in Europe. Try bringing him back from Spain or Italy, where there’s no extradition treaty!”
“You have alerted Harwich, as well as the Channel ports?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Mr Holmes. He’ll do as his lady friend advised, and she knows it. He’ll be waiting for her on the other side. He can’t leave her loose to talk.”
“You will not catch him at Liverpool Street, however,” said Holmes, pocketing his watch. “The train for the Hook of Holland ferry left Liverpool Street ten minutes ago. If memory serves, there is no other tonight, except the mail train at ten minutes to midnight. Passengers are not carried upon it.”
This might be unwelcome news, but before Gregson could say so, Holmes suggested blandly, “All things considered, you had best telegraph Chief Inspector Lestrade to meet us at Liverpool Street—Platform 12—in half an hour from now. He has just about got enough time.”
The unease on Gregson’s pale, dyspeptic features suggested to me a fish rising reluctantly from the bottom of an opaque and stagnant pool.
11
