Chronicles of the Lost Years (The Sherlock Holmes Series) (26 page)

“So Moran’s men were also watching the police, while you were watching both.”

“Only to determine when you left Baker Street. While you stayed in the rooms I could not communicate with you. Every message, delivery or tradesman would have been suspect and I am quite sure the police questioned everyone who called at 221B over the last four days, hoping to discover me or Moran or confederates of either party. It must have frustrated everyone when you stayed indoors.”

“I stayed there because I thought you might try to contact me and I didn’t want to be absent and miss any message you might send.”

Holmes nodded. “Again, as always, you have done the right thing for entirely the wrong reasons. When you finally did step out for air this evening, the alarm went up amongst both observing parties. They assumed incorrectly that you had received a covert message and scurried to follow you so they might locate me.”

It was all beginning to make sense to me now. “You were waiting for me to do that very thing,” I said.

“I was beginning to wonder if I would have to in fact send a covert message to get you out and into a position where I could cut off your pursuers.”

“So all my guides tonight and the backtracking and weaving through streets were designed to baffle anyone who had not been fooled by the fellow who took my jacket?”

“It was vital that no one witness our meeting. For that same reason I became one of your guides. I wanted to observe for myself that your trail was clear. As a last precautionary measure, I forced you to wait alone in this house whilst I watched outside. Had anyone managed to navigate through all my shields and seen you enter the hut, they would have become convinced after some time had elapsed that you had reached your final destination and burst in upon you to catch whoever you were meeting with
in situ
.”

“You have been exceedingly cautious.”

“I cannot afford to become embroiled in official bureaucracy again. I need to be able to move fast and freely if I am to find Elizabeth in time.”

“‘In time’?”

“Yes, there is a time limit, Watson. I do not know yet what that limit is. That is why I have gone to such lengths to have you delivered here. I said that Moran was not motivated entirely by revenge but that is without doubt influencing his actions. I know that once Elizabeth’s usefulness as a hostage and shield is at an end, Moran will kill her. For revenge.”

“Then we must hurry….” I began, feeling an overwhelming sense of urgency descend upon me.

“Hurry to where?” Holmes asked sensibly. “We have a little time. Let us not squander it by running around aimlessly.”

“How much time do we have, do you think?”

“Two days, perhaps. I will know better by tomorrow. For now, let me tell you about Moran. It may be important to have a second person with knowledge of the full facts.” He tapped the note I had laid down upon the table. “What does that note tell you?”

I picked it up again. “It is a curious paper. Crude. There is no watermark on it—which may mean simply that the mark was on the remaining portion of the page that the note was torn from.” I turned it over and back again. “Apart from that and the handwriting, which I will leave to you as the expert, I cannot infer a thing.”

Holmes smiled. “This paper did not have a watermark. It is handmade and made from very primitive tools and equipment. See the irregular coloration and thickness? There is no point in examining the writing, for we know already who wrote the note. But look at the wax, Watson. See its color?”

I recalled Mycroft’s observations. “Mycroft said it was rough and impure. He thought it might be a type of sealing wax.”

“Mycroft did not have a large sample to examine. Lift the sheet and smell the wax.”

I lifted the note and sniffed gently. The scent was strong and exotic and stirred an obscure memory within me. Holmes nodded at my expression.

“Yes, it is like a calling card, isn’t it? I remember this unusual perfume from my time in Tibet. It is used to make candles for burning in the temples as offerings to the gods. Handmade rice paper is used to send written prayers.” He tapped the note. “That isn’t rice paper but Moran would have had to use something more robust and would have taken whatever was available. This told me I should look for a foreign connection. I recalled from my files that Moran had been with the army in India and I concluded that he had sheltered with Indian comrades whose friendship he had founded whilst in India and who were now somewhere in London.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“Indeed I do. The most notorious of Moran’s Indian friends was listed in my files. I learnt that he was in London and I have, for the past three days, been a guest of Sikmah Rijkmah.”

I raised my eyebrows at this announcement. “Disguised as a fellow countryman? Come now, Holmes, you don’t even speak Hindu.”

Holmes laughed at my expression. “I confess it would have been impossible in a normal household, but Sikmah runs a hostel for migrant workers and quite naturally the greater proportion of his guests are fellow Hindus. This establishment is quite legitimate and also serves as an excellent cover for various other nefarious activities that Sikmah has his busy hand in. I sought a room there the same night I abandoned Baker Street and for three days an unemployed deaf and mute Indian has been loafing about the common rooms of this notorious lodging.”

“You’re taking quite a chance, Holmes. You’re not even sure this Sikmah is involved. You have only got the smell of incense and a peripheral fact in your records, which are possibly quite out of date, as far as Moran is concerned.”

“Yes, it was a gamble,” Holmes conceded candidly. “But a gamble with short odds and it paid off, for on my first day there, none other than Moran’s sister Beatrice O’Connor arrived.”

“Moran’s sister!” I recalled my futile work at Dartmoor. “She was the only one who visited Moran in prison.”

“Yes and that fact should have alerted Lestrade. You would recognize her, Watson, as Mrs. Thacker.”

“Of course!” I groaned.

“I had half expected one or another familiar face to appear in time,” Holmes continued, “because of the peculiar arrangements at the hostel. It is a strangely designed building, Watson. Not at all as one would expect a small, poor hostel to be laid out. The bedrooms are upon the first floor, but not lining a common corridor. Instead they all face a type of minstrel’s gallery which in turn overlooks the sitting and dining sections of the ground floor. It is an arrangement which makes for easy observation of the rooms and the comings and goings of guests—which must be an advantage considering the caliber of the inmates. But it also lays wide open for scrutiny any antics of the owner.

“I had only been inside the door for five minutes before I noticed that there was a large, very powerful looking ruffian sitting on a stool at the end of this gallery, apparently with nothing better to do than scowl at anyone who got too close to him.”

“A guard?” I conjectured.

“A guard,” Holmes confirmed. “I kept an eye upon the end door and noted that no one went in or out of the room, except Sikmah on one occasion and he used a key. The guard took all his meals at his post and I observed he had a heavy revolver tucked into his waistband. He was relieved by another equally as threatening looking a warden and the gun was exchanged.

“You can well imagine my exhilaration, then, when I watched from my cool corner of the sitting room as Moran’s sister entered, nodded to the desk clerk and made her way unaided and without guidance to this very door, where she produced her own key and slipped inside.”

“Holmes, do you think Moran is hiding there?”

Holmes looked a little pained at this question. “I do not merely think so, Watson. I made it my task to know. And yes, he was there, for a while.”

“Then he is gone again,” I said, disappointed.

“Not exactly. Let me explain. Beatrice O’Connor remained in the room for nearly fifty minutes, then left the hostel. Her arrival made it imperative for me to see inside that room. It was impossible to get past the guard, for he was of the sort who are as tenacious as a bulldog in discharging their duties. He wouldn’t be easily tricked or lured from his post. And I was alone. So yesterday I hurried back to Wiggins’ quarters, which I am using as a base of operations, changed into my dark clothes and arrived back at the hostel late last night. I worked my way around to the back of the building and scaled fences and masonry until I was perched precariously close enough to the end room window to hear anything. The window was open, of course, for it was a hot night, but heavy drapes prevented me seeing anything other than a one inch slice of the room, which included the end of a small table and the foot of the bunk which is built into all the rooms.

“Having gained my position, I was very nearly startled off it, for a voice spoke right beside my ear, as if the unseen speaker were addressing me. He must have been standing or sitting against the curtain and paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, for it had been silent as I had climbed.

“‘Very well, then. As you insist upon it, I suppose I must. But I am disappointed, Sikmah. You agreed you would help me and now you’re turning me out.’

“I recognized that voice, although the petulant tone was new. Moran was obviously sheltering in the room. Sikmah answered and his voice held only a touch of accent.

“‘It was not part of our agreement that I risk bringing the wrath of Sherlock Holmes down upon me. Neither do I wish to bring the interest of the police upon me. I especially do not want to face charges for harboring a dangerous prison escapee. You shouldn’t have come here so soon.’

“‘How was I to know the ship had been delayed? Ships aren’t becalmed anymore.”

“‘Because most ships have steam. My cousin’s ship is a poor one and an old one, and uses only sail. You should be thankful for that. It will draw less attention.’

“‘And what am I going to do with the woman for another three days?’ Moran demanded. ‘Beatrice, I am nearly out of morphine. You must bring me some more.’

“And his sister answered heatedly to this demand. ‘No, I will not get more. I was lucky to be able to procure what I did and not be caught. I’ll not do any more thieving for you, Sebastian. You risk killing the women if you continue with the injections. It takes skill and fine judgment to administer it in proper doses and I’m only a nurse.’

“‘I cannot keep her prisoner on my own,’ he protested. “Come now, Beatrice. I will be out of your life forever in three days. Help me just this once.’

“‘Now you just listen to me and listen good, Sebastian Moran. I’ve got a good man at home and a good life. It is only because you’ll be out of my life that I’ve even helped you this far—God help me if Jamie ever knew. I’m not happy with this kidnapping business, but I kept my silence because you convinced me it is the only way to keep Sherlock Holmes from stopping you. Fair enough. But it stops here. Now. Show a little backbone, dear brother. She is only a woman. You can contain her for three days, surely, without resorting to morphine again.’

“‘Not if I have to find another refuge at the same time. You don’t know her, Beatrice. It took four of my men nearly sitting on top of her to merely hold her down. It took a bullet to stop her.’”

“Then Elizabeth is wounded, as you thought, Holmes,” I said, trying to banish the image Moran’s description painted in my mind.

Holmes nodded. “But then Beatrice said something very interesting. She made a sound of disgust. ‘Well, she is not going anywhere in a hurry, now. Look at her. Very well then, Sebastian, I’ll administer one more dose so you can find somewhere else to hide. And I’d better change those dressings again, too—”

“My god! Elizabeth is in that room, too!” I cried, interrupting Holmes’ narrative.

Holmes nodded. “I was just as shocked as you, Watson. It was the last thing I had expected. Only someone very stupid or very desperate would remain with his hostage where both could be found together. It was only when I picked up the threads of the conversation again that I realized Moran was quite as desperate as this act indicated. He had expected to be on that ship eight hours past and sailing for the East and safety. Instead the boat had been becalmed and was nearly a week late and he was perched on the very edge of safety, waiting.”

“Is that why you brought me here? To help you rescue Elizabeth?”

Holmes nodded. “Had I been able to devise a plan for removing her from that room unaided and from under the noses of three nervous occupants, I would have carried it out then and there. But I am afraid I wasn’t up to the challenge and against all my inclinations, I remained where I was and tried to learn any more information. There was one more significant fact. Moran agreed to be out of the room by tomorrow morning. So whatever we do, we must do it tonight. You arrived just in time, Watson.”

“And without my medical kit,” I sighed. I structured my next question carefully. “Did you hear anything that would indicate where the bullet hit her, Holmes? It would help me to know what sort of wound I might have to deal with.”

He shook his head silently. Then he reached up to knock his knuckles, inexplicably, against a sheet metal fragment of the wall he leaned against. “There was very little new information discussed after that. They continued to argue over the same ground they had already covered, Moran becoming more peevish as the discussion lengthened. I gave it up then and went back to rouse Wiggins and lay in some new plans against any possible developments and to catch up on your movements. That was last night, and you had, according to Wiggins’ arabs, been remarkably sedentary.”