immediately, we would inform him of a coffin and a dead body that had just left the place. Under the circumstances, I had no doubt that he would jump to the wrong conclusion, which is precisely what he did. So confident was he that I was in the coffin, that he did not take so much as a second glance at the slow-witted orderly who was seemingly responsible for what had occurred. He rushed off, in effect easing my passage out. It was Harriman who ordered the doors to be unlocked and opened. It was Harriman who undermined the very security that should have kept me in.’
‘It’s true, Holmes,’ I exclaimed. ‘I never looked at you. All my attention was focused on the coffin.’
‘I have to say that your sudden appearance was the one eventuality that I had never considered and I was afraid that at the very least you might reveal your acquaintanceship with Dr Trevelyan. But you were magnificent, Watson. I would say that having both you and the warder there actually added to the sense of urgency and made Harriman more determined to chase down the coffin before it left.’
There was such a twinkle in his eye as he said this that I took it as a compliment, although I understood the role I had actually played in the adventure. Holmes liked an audience as much as any actor on the stage and the more there were of us present, the easier he would have found it to play the part. ‘But what are we to do now?’ I asked. ‘You are a fugitive. Your name is discredited. The very fact that you have chosen to escape will only help to persuade the world of your guilt.’
‘You paint a bleak picture, Watson. For my part, I would say that circumstances have immeasurably improved since last week.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Have I not told you? I keep rooms all over London for eventualities just such as this. I have one nearby, and I can assure that it is a great deal more agreeable than the accommodation I have just left.’
‘Even so, Holmes, it seems that you have inadvertently made many enemies.’
‘That does indeed seem to be case. We have to ask ourselves what it is that unites such disparate bodies as Lord Horace Blackwater, scion of one of England’s oldest families, Dr Thomas Ackland, benefactor of the Westminster Hospital and Inspector Harriman, who has fifteen years unblemished service in the Metropolitan Police. This is the question that I put to you in the less than congenial surroundings of the Old Bailey. What do these three men have in common? Well, the fact that they are all men is a start. They are all wealthy and well connected. When brother Mycroft spoke of a scandal, these are the very sort of people who might be damaged. I understand, by the by, that you returned to Wimbledon.’
I could not possibly conceive how, or from whom, Holmes could have heard this but it was not the time to go into such details. I merely assented and briefly told him of the circumstances of my last visit. He seemed particularly agitated by the news of Eliza Carstairs, the rapid decline in her health. ‘We are dealing with a mind of unusual cunning and cruelty, Watson. This matter cuts very deep and it is imperative that we conclude this business so that we can visit Edmund Carstairs again.’
‘Do you think that the two are connected?’ I asked. ‘I cannot see how the events in Boston and even the shooting of Keelan O’Donaghue at a private hotel here in London could possibly have led to the horrible business with which we are now occupied.’
‘But that is only because you are assuming that Keelan O’Donaghue is dead,’ replied Holmes. ‘Well, we shall have more news of that soon enough. While I was in Holloway, I was able to send a message to Belfast—’
‘They permitted you to wire?’
‘I had no need for the post office. The criminal underworld is faster and less expensive and available to anyone who happens to find themselves on the wrong side of the law. There was a man in my wing, a forger by the name of Jacks whom I met in the exercise yard and who was released two days ago. He carried my enquiry with him, and as soon as I have a reply, you and I shall return to Wimbledon together. In the meantime, you have not answered my question.’
‘What connects the five men? The answer is obvious. It is the House of Silk.’
‘And what is the House of Silk?’
‘Of that I have no idea. But I think I can tell you where to find it.’
‘Watson, you astonish me.’
‘You do not know?’
‘I have known for some time. Nonetheless, I will be fascinated to know your own conclusions — and how you arrived at them.’
By good fortune, I had been carrying the advertisement with me and now unfolded it and showed it to my friend, relating my recent interview with the Reverend Charles Fitzsimmons. ‘Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders,’ he read. For a moment he seemed puzzled, but then his face brightened.
‘But of course. This is exactly what we have been looking for. Once again I must congratulate you, Watson. While I have been languishing in confinement, you have been busy.’
‘This was the address that you had expected?’
‘Jackdaw Lane? Not exactly. Nonetheless, I am confident that it will provide all the answers that we have been searching for. What time is it?
Almost one o’clock. I would imagine we would do better to approach such a place under cover of darkness. Would you be amenable to meeting me here again in, shall we say, four hours?’
‘I would be happy to, Holmes.’
‘I knew I could count on you. And I would suggest you bring your service revolver, Watson. There are many dangers afoot and I fear it is going to be a long night.’
EIGHTEEN
The Fortune-Teller
There are, I think, occasions when you know that you have arrived at the end of a long journey, when, even though your destination is still concealed from sight, you are somehow aware that when you turn the corner that lies just ahead of you, there it will be. That was how I felt as I approached The Bag of Nails a second time, just before five o’clock, with the sun already down and a chill, unforgiving darkness descending on the city. Mary had been asleep when I returned home and I had not disturbed her, but as I had stood there in my consulting room, weighing my revolver in my hand and checking that it was fully loaded, I wondered what a casual observer would make of the scene: a respectable doctor in Kensington arming himself and preparing to set out in pursuit of a conspiracy that had so far encompassed murder, torture, kidnap and the perversion of justice. I slipped the weapon into my pocket, reached for my greatcoat and went out.
Holmes was no longer in disguise, apart from a hat and a scarf which he had drawn across the lower part of his face. He had ordered two brandies to brace us against the bitterness of the night. I would not have been surprised if it had snowed, for there had already been a few flakes blowing in the breeze as I arrived. We barely spoke, but I remember that as we set the glasses down he glanced at me, and I saw all the good humour and resoluteness that I knew so well, positively dancing in his eyes and understood that he was as eager as I to have this done with.
‘So, Watson…?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Holmes,’ I said. ‘I am ready.’
‘And I am very glad to have you once again at my side.’
A cab carried us east and we descended on the Whitechapel Road, walking the remaining distance to Jackdaw Lane. These travelling fairs could be found all over the countryside during the summer months but came into the city as soon as the weather turned and they were notorious for the late hours they kept and the din that they made — indeed, I wondered how the local populace could possibly endure Dr Silkin’s House of Wonders, for I heard it long before I saw it; the grinding of an organ, the beat of a drum, and a man’s voice shouting into the night. Jackdaw Lane was a narrow passageway running between the Whitechapel and Commercial Roads, with buildings, mainly shops and warehouses, rising three storeys on either side with windows that seemed too small for the amount of bricks that surrounded them. An alleyway opened out about halfway down and it was here that a man had imposed himself, dressed in a frock coat, an old-fashioned four-in-hand necktie and a top hat so beaten about that it seemed to be perched on the side of his head as if trying to throw itself off. He had the beard, the
