a secret alleyway undoubtedly saved both our lives. I was not surprised, therefore, when Holmes led me down a series of labyrinthine corridors eastward out of Whitechapel only to emerge on a tree-lined thoroughfare in front of a respectable white-columned house.
My companion strode up the stone steps and knocked at the polished door, cocking an eye back at me and beckoning me to join him. “You must help me keep the conversation on topic,” he whispered. “Mr. Lusk is an articulate gentleman, whose opinions are wont to flow as freely as the Thames.” With that, a young servant girl admitted us, ushering us into a well-appointed, palm-dotted sitting room, occupied only by a regal orange cat. We sat down to await our host.
He was not long in coming. Mr. George Lusk threw wide the doors and exclaimed, “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Sherlock Holmes. By Jove, but it’s good to see you! I don’t mind telling you, sir, had you not been on hand to discover what those lumbermen were really about, I should be a poor man today. And you must be Dr. Watson. It gratifies me tremendously that someone has undertaken to record Mr. Holmes’s exploits for the world at large. A pleasure to meet you.”
Mr. Lusk was a man of open, expressive features, and perceptive brown eyes, though the bags beneath them taken in conjunction with his coat’s somber cut and sable colour led me to believe he had recently lost someone dear to him. He wore a plentiful moustache, which descended nearly to the jawline, and held himself with the confidence of an established entrepreneur. His hair was slicked back upon his head, revealing a sensitive brow, and I was impressed immediately by his alert manner and his general air of ready assurance.
“It was a very simple problem,” said Holmes, shaking the hand of our host. “I was delighted to be of assistance.”
“Simple! It was nothing of the kind. In any event, it did me a world of good, Mr. Holmes. But do sit down, gentlemen, and tell me to what business I owe this pleasure.”
“Mr. Lusk,” my friend ventured kindly, once we had seated ourselves, “I fear our condolences are in order. You must feel the loss of your wife keenly after so short a time.”
Our host exhibited no surprise that Holmes had deduced the sad event, though he indicated with the sudden contraction of his brow that he wished not to speak of it. “Susannah was a wonderful woman, Mr. Holmes, and a finer mother I’ve never yet seen. But we shall overcome, the children and I. Now, Mr. Holmes, do tell me what brings you here.”
“You are aware of the recent string of murders in the neighbouring streets of Whitechapel?”
“Why, of course, Mr. Holmes. And may I profess myself heartily ashamed of the values this nation continues to countenance. The poor must be seen to, or they will fall upon each other in the streets, as they have always done. If the greatest empire on earth cannot be trusted to meet the needs of its lowest classes, Mr. Holmes, I do not know what the world will come to in the end. Why, if one considers the wealth—”
“I have no doubt but that, given free rein, you would do much to solve the problems of humanity at large, Mr. Lusk,” Holmes interjected smoothly. “However, I appear before you in regards to specifics. Another tragedy occurred this morning, near Spitalfields Market.”
Mr. Lusk appeared genuinely distressed. “You cannot mean there has been another murder?”
“Early this morning, in fact, at twenty-nine Hanbury Street. The circumstances surrounding the killings are worsening.”
“You shock me, Mr. Holmes. I am afraid almost to pose the question, but how can that be possible?”
Holmes briefly recounted the particulars of our morning’s investigation. Mr. Lusk’s eyes grew ever more large, but when my friend had concluded the deplorable tale, he quickly absorbed the facts laid before him.
“So,” he stated firmly, “what are we to do about it? I am not a man to stand idly by with such a ruthless fiend at large. It is against the very fabric of the social contract. You shall direct me, Mr. Holmes. What is to be done?”
Holmes’s pale countenance gained a touch of colour at this remark, and he shot me a look of triumph. “I knew you could be counted upon, Mr. Lusk. I require men of action, and you have not disappointed me. Mr. Lusk, you must without any hesitation whatsoever form a committee.”
“A committee?” queried the startled businessman.
“I require you to pluralize yourself, Mr. Lusk. Find others like you, who are horrified by these crimes and wish to put an end to them. In addition to our intrepid constables, I need a band of plainclothesmen to patrol the streets and report their findings directly to me.”
“I see, I see,” our host replied eagerly. “We shall man Whitechapel with organized citizens whose only thought is to extend the arm of British law to the slums. By Jove, but Susannah would have supported this! That ruffian Sir Charles Warren* has trodden upon the poor with the approbation of the middle class for long enough. This committee will balance the scales of justice. It will serve the women whose only crime has been to suffer —”
“Those are precisely our thoughts, Mr. Lusk,” I interrupted him. Holmes nudged my arm in silent gratitude.
George Lusk, who was nodding vigourously, an action which caused him rather to resemble an active sea lion, began to pace the carpet with the decisive step of the self-made man. “I shall call upon Federov, that is clear,” he said, ticking candidates off on his left hand. “Harris and Minsk will be great assets, as will Jacobson, Abrams, and Stone.”
Holmes laughed, that staccato exclamation which only emerged when he was both amused and gratified. “Mr. Lusk, the Doctor and I shall leave you to devise a list as you best see fit. I propose you assemble your candidates, present the plan, and in due course find yourself their natural and apposite leader.”
“I shall call upon them at once! It may take me a matter of days to fully sort out our committee, Mr. Holmes, but once formed, you may be absolutely certain of our devotion to your cause.”
We took our leave, and Mr. Lusk bade us farewell, clasping our hands and assuring Holmes in fine terms of his enthusiasm. We found ourselves out of doors once more on the quiet, sun-dappled street, with nothing to distract us from the unholy spectacle we had witnessed early that morning. I could tell from his measured tread that Holmes’s mood was withdrawn as we descended the steps, and the set of his shoulders said more than words how very much our experience had affected him.
“Your plan seems to imply you fear more killings.”
“Let us hope that my fears are outstripping the facts.”
“They never have, in my experience,” I pointed out.
“Then I should be most gratified if this were the first time.”
“Engaging Mr. Lusk was an inspired notion. You could hardly justify use of the Irregulars in such a case.”
“Indeed. They would discover much, perhaps, but to what ill effects? Even as lucky and profitable as it was, having been informed so quickly by little Hawkins comes at a high cost. All too high. I would have preferred we’d learned of it by telegram and he had never laid eyes on such a miserable sight.”
“I could not agree more.”
“I only hope,” said he, as we suddenly turned down a wide avenue, “that we ourselves are up to the challenge. It is a fundamental principle of my methods that there is nothing new under the sun, yet I confess I cannot fathom what in the world could possibly give rise to such hysterical monstrosities.”
I ventured no reply to this half-posed question, for no more could I. We made our way back to Baker Street with the deaths of three women revolving silently through our minds.
CHAPTER FIVE We Procure an Ally
We arrived home in time to witness young Hawkins’s final victory over the most abundant cold luncheon I had ever seen the good-hearted Mrs. Hudson produce. After entrusting him to a hesitant but financially approachable cabbie, we sat down to a comparable feast ourselves, which Holmes picked at for perhaps three minutes before allowing his fork to dangle momentarily between his slender fingers and then tossing it in disdain upon the china.
