I quickly turned up the hem and basted it, then broke the thread with my teeth and handed the trousers back to Archibald. He slipped them back on and handed my cape back to me. I tossed it over the back of a chair.
Sherlock started to fashion the tie again and I nudged him out of the way. I had watched my father many times. I positioned the tie around Archibald’s neck with one end about two inches longer than the other end. I crossed the long end over the short one, pushed it under with my thumb, pulled the long over the short to form a bow with the other end, using my thumbs and forefingers. Then I pulled the second piece behind the first, made another loop and brought the first end up and under the loop.
I glanced over at Sherlock. “Where did this suit come from?”
“Sampson’s. We made a quick trip to Oxford Street. And before you ask, Sampson owes me a favour, so he sold the suit at a discount.”
“What kind of favour?”
“You don’t want to know.”
I was quite certain that I did not.
“Straighten up, now,” I instructed Archibald and he pulled back his wide shoulders and puffed out his chest. I lifted his chin with two fingers and resumed my tie endeavour. Holding the longer piece of the bow firmly, I pushed it behind through the knot. I pulled the looped end to lengthen the bow and tightened the knot. I stepped back to appraise my masterpiece and said “Success!”
“She is a woman of many talents, Archibald. Put your shoes back on.”
As the boy slipped into his shoes, I said, “Braces would have helped.”
“To hold up his pants?” Sherlock asked. Returning his eyes to a book, he grumbled, “Hadn’t thought of that.”
I went over to him and touched his shoulder. “What’s this? A medical textbook?”
“One loaned to me by your brother.”
I reached over and flipped the book to the cover. “Theodore Wormley’s Micro-Chemistry of Poisons Including Their Physiological, Pathological, and Legal Relations. For second-year medical students, yes?”
He nodded. “There is some brewed tea over there on the table. Help yourself. You, as well, Archibald.”
Archibald quickly poured himself a cup of tea, but as he brought it to his lips, he paused and held it out to me. “Suga’, Miss?”
“Yes, Archibald. Thank you.”
He put a spoonful of sugar in the teacup and handed it to me. Then he poured himself one and wandered over to a shelf filled with jars of organ specimens, likely waiting to be analyzed after recent autopsies.
“I looked up the possible uses for the poison that killed all of these men,” Sherlock said. “For example, bitter almonds contain three basic components: benzaldehyde, glycoside amygdalin and hydrogen cyanide, which is also known as prussic acid. The toxic compound glycoside amygdalin, present in bitter almond oil, affects nerves and make them insensitive to any sensation, even pain. This induces numbness and anesthetic effects.”
“I vaguely remember this from medical school,” I said. “But because of its toxic nature, it is for external use only, as an anesthetic. Bitter almond oil cannot be digested. It will cause vomiting.”
“Yes, apparently it is an effective purgative, but the dose must be very low and mild or it may have severe adverse effects. As we well know.” He opened the book again. “Listen to this, Poppy. It says here that it’s not only found in almonds, but can be obtained from many fruits which have a pit, like cherries, apricots, apples. Many of these pits contain small amounts of cyanohydrins and mandelonitrile and amygalin that slowly release hydrogen cyanide. Just one hundred grams of crushed apple seeds can yield seventy mg. of hydrogen cyanide. I have just learned that it is present in tobacco and wood smoke as well. Something for further study.
“Now, here is something quite fascinating, Poppy. There is a theory that hydrogen cyanide is a precursor to amino acids and nucleic acids. Some believe it played a part in the origin of life.”
“The origin of life?”
“It is speculative, of course.”
“Well, in this case, Sherlock, it is the origin of death. And Archibald and I must be about our business.”
I pulled the bow tie taut again and Sherlock handed Archibald his hat. “Now, your accent will give away your humble beginnings in the East End, so speak as little as possible. Try to pronounce the ‘g’ at the end of words like singing or ringing.”
“Say again?”
“When you speak, Archibald, you drop off the g’ in words that end in ‘ing’ so you say, singin’ instead of singing. And you don’t pronounce your ‘T’s in words like ‘bottom.’ You say ‘ba-ahm.’ Now try this. Say, ‘I don’t like you.’”
Archibald stared at him for a moment and hissed, “Righ’ now, Mr. ’olmes, I don’ fu’in li’e yer!”
I covered the broad smile on my lips.
“Do try it again without the profanity. Slowly, Archibald.”
“I don’ fu... I don li’e-”
“No. I don’t,” Sherlock corrected, emphasizing the ‘T’ at the end of the word. “Pronounce the ‘T,’ please.”
“I don’t,” Archibald repeated, spitting out the ‘t.’ “I don’t like yer.”
“You. I don’t like you. Say it again.”
Cheeks reddening, parroting the words very deliberately and with painful emphasis, Archibald said, “I don’t like you.”
“Fine. That’s fine. Just let Dr. Stamford do the negotiating, will you?”
“Oh, fu’ that,” Archibald said, pronouncing the ‘T’ at the end of ‘that’ very, very hard.
Sherlock leaned toward me and muttered. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s a good lad.”
“All right, then, Archibald. Are you ready?” I asked.
“A’ course I am, Miss.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, then held out the door for us and said, “Good luck.”
38
“Archibald, have you eaten today?”
He shook his head.
“Then before we go to the museum, you must have a decent meal.”
“Bu’, Miss, I-”
“Remember what Mr. Holmes told you, Archibald? Arguing with me is of no use.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Now, some restaurants do not permit ladies,
