My Friend and Colleague - Chapter Five - Wiggins and The Baker Street Irregulars

Sherlock Holmes
MY FRIEND and COLLEAGUE
THE EXTRAORDINARY FINAL PROBLEM
by
Dr. John H. Watson
and
© L. Guy Campbell
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Chapter Five
Wiggins
and
The Baker Street Irregulars
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    The ride home was a delight after the past twenty four hours when Holmes and I spent much of our time in the filthy places of London’s alleys and underground sewer tunnels, not to mention Moriarty’s stronghold with its dank, mouldy and  rotting masonry.  The open-front hansom was a delight as fresh air blew through our hair and cooled us from the damp, soggy atmosphere we’d spent our day in.  There were brightly dressed ladies, strolling to and fro about their business, oblivious to how beautiful they were.  Seeing them twirling their parasols with their full skirts bustling in the breeze was quite a relief to the experiences of the last day.  I was reminded of a popular song titled “When It’s Sunny” by a crooner named Douglas Davies who came from Muswell Hill. It had a very catchy melody and lyric about ladies looking pretty in their summer dresses.  I smiled to myself, knowing that Holmes could not, and would not, share this light hearted moment with me.  I was fortunate that I could put aside our cases and enjoy things, unlike Holmes whose single mindedness often made him oblivious to other enjoyable things in life.
  
    Holmes broke his silence, “Watson, we’ve got much work ahead of us.  We need rest, much rest. Tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways.  I’ll need you to research the underground ways of London at the library.  If you cannot find what we need there, you’ll have to get Scotland Yard to aid you in acquiring building diagrams and maps from the building and maintenance departments.  See if you can get Gregson or Lestrade to help you.”   “Where are you bound, Holmes?” I inquired.  “I’m not certain, Watson, but I may not return until very late.  And do not worry if you find that I am already gone when you awake in the morning.  I’ve got more than just Wiggins on tasks that may necessitate my departure at any time.  I believe I’ll sleep on the sofa in order to be easily roused if any news comes in during the wee hours of night.”  With that, Holmes turned aside and back to his thoughts, with a blank gaze toward the busy streets of late afternoon.

    Upon our arrival at Baker Street , Holmes began to research every book and resource we had in our rooms to see what he could find about the underground of London, it’s tunnels, maintenance depots, and the sewers, in an attempt to find something that connected them to Moriarty’s stronghold.  I could sense the great importance the tasks of the next day held.  Little did I know at this time that Holmes had found something of great  importance, in fact, greatly disturbing, in Moriarty’s dungeon that had set fire to the already substantial urgency in his manner.  “Mrs. Hudson!” Holmes shouted loud enough to be heard on the streets below, “Has Wiggins returned with any news.”  The dear lady opened the door with a tray laden with our evening meal, hot and steaming.  “No, Mr. Holmes, not since morning when he scurried away after I gave him your instructions.”   After the table was spread with our meal, Mrs. Hudson pointed out to Holmes that the latest edition of the newspaper was laid out.  “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!” Holmes said with the tone he uses when dismissing someone whose presence is no longer required.  Mrs. Hudson turned about, and  with a wink towards me, closed the door behind her.  A quick glance at the paper, opened to the entertainment page, made perfectly clear her reasons and the sly wink my direction.

    After only a minute at the dinner table, Holmes exclaimed, “Ah, dear old Mrs. Hudson!  I see that she thinks I need a evening off from my investigation, and correct she may be.  It is, without a doubt, an evening not to be missed!  Tomorrow night, Watson, we dine out and see my favourite violinist and orchestra perform!  Will you accompany me?”  “My dear Holmes, I’d be delighted,” I assured him.  “I think I’ll enjoy seeing you get some relaxation as much as I will the music.  But you mentioned that you might possibly return rather late tomorrow evening!”  Holmes laughed out loud,  “And miss a performance of Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor, Op. 64,”  Holmes verily shouted,  “by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra featuring Declan Lewis as solo violinist?  Lewis is yet to be embraced by the socialites of Britain, but Watson, this young violinist is destined to become one of the great practitioners of the art of the violin!”  Of course, I had no idea who this young man was, but I looked forward to an evening out, some fresh air in my lungs, and the distraction from this case that has been obsessing Holmes, and, myself.

    When our meal was finished and table cleared, Holmes and I took our chairs by the fire.  Holmes rose and, oddly, fiddled with his choice among the several pipes located on the mantlepiece until he found the one that fit his current mood.  It was rather odd the way he went about it, though.  It was as if he was looking for something that was not there.  I shrugged it off as one of his many oddities and lit a cigar I’d found it at the tobacconist, The Olde Humidor,  around the corner.  The proprietor had ordered them special for me from Cuba.  It was an unusual cigar that comes in what is called a coffin, a cedar box with a sliding lid that contains three cigars, banded and twisted together unlike any other cigar I have ever smoked.  The coffin contained three twisted Culebras, which means snake in Spanish, tied together with red silk on each end, looking as if they would be impossible so smoke successfully.  The tobacconist, Naomi, a Japanese immigrant, also makes cigar box lutes and sells them in her shop. Always filled with gentlemen connoisseurs and ruffians alike, her shop is a centre for news and gossip.  She  assured me that they were a smooth and even draw despite their odd shape.  I’ve enjoyed them fairly often, though when offered to Holmes, he declined any interest in any of my cigars, except for the ash when I was done smoking.  Attentive readers will remember that Holmes had published an academic paper on over 140 varieties of tobacco ash and was a leading authority on the matter. I was pleased to be part of his ever expanding expertise on the subject.

    I asked, “Holmes, would you like some cognac or sherry with your after dinner smoke?”
He nodded without so much as looking up.  So I poured two glasses of cognac for us and settled into my chair across from him.  “Watson, I’m going to investigate what may be of great consequence in finding Moriarty.  He is, without a doubt, using the dark of night as a cover for his criminal deeds, but I have reason to believe that the stronghold we discovered is only one of  several hideaways he is using.  I also think there is a good chance that these hideaways may be linked, connected by underground ways of some kind, allowing movement and shelter from observing eyes.   I am going to the banks of the Thames and see what, if anything, I can find.  It is a shame that the dim light and heavy fog prevented a clear view the other night.  I’ll prepare myself to fit in with the locals along the banks of the river and see if I can get them talking more freely than they’d like to.”  “Holmes?” I inquired, “What do you hope to find?  Surely there is no way it’s possible for an underground tunnel from the Thames to Moriarty’s dungeon in the West End!”

    Holmes exclaimed, “Hello!  I can tell by the footsteps that Mrs. Hudson is bringing young Wiggins to our door!”  Up and out of his chair, Holmes threw open the door, much to the surprise of Mrs. Hudson, grabbed Wiggins by the hand and drew the boy inside.  “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!”  shouted Holmes as he shut the door almost right in the poor woman’s face. Pulling one of the dining room chairs between us for Wiggins so sit on, Holmes nodded at the boy indicating he was ready to hear what he’d found.  “Well. Mr. Holmes, it was much as you expected.  The locksmith you sent me to couldn’t identify the lock after much thumbing through his manuals.  He tried three different times to make a key that he thought would open the lock from the drawing you gave me.  He said to try them, but it was out of his league, and, as you expected, sent me to the docks along the shipyards where I’d find a tiny shop with no name on the sign or door, but an odd marking much like  you drew.  The gentleman there sir, like to have nearly  scared me out of my wits.  A very disagreeable face he had, to be sure, Mr. Holmes, but when I mentioned your name he smiled and no longer looked so foul, and then told me a story about how you’d saved him from the gallows once and that he’d changed his ways after that and has been on the straight and narrow.  That’s what  he said, sir!”  Holmes patience with the boy was extraordinary, unlike his ways with anyone else in my experience with him, even toward myself!  It was, again, very apparent that Wiggins was held in high regard and that his attention to detail was of much interest to Holmes.  “The first locksmith gave me the three keys he made, even though he thought them useless,” Wiggins continued, “ I paid him right proper as you said to.  But the locksmith at the shipyard, Mr. Alec Entwistle is his name. as he told me, sir, refused your offer of compensation.  He said he owed you a lifetime of service, and so it was that he made me two keys from the diagram.  He said the diagram you drew looked like it  was from an old ship’s cargo hold, and not common anymore, due to all them ship’s being made of steel nowadays.  He said to tell you that if you have trouble, use some graphite in the lock and work it ‘round.  He said, “Old locks like those are like women, and need to be worked on a bit before they open themselves up!”  With that Holmes burst out laughing like I’ve never heard him do before.  The poor lad know nothing of what he’d said and was shocked at Holmes’ outburst.  Holmes’ laughter went on until it was contagious and we were all laughing so hard and loud that Mrs. Hudson came to the door wondering if we were alright!

    Quickly Holmes recovered himself and spoke to Wiggins.  “I need your help, Wiggins, and that of the Irregulars.  See what you can find about any underground tunnels, hidden caves, anything that you can of any means of travel from the Thames to the West End or anywhere near the train station where you followed those men for me.  Anything that you and the other boys know or can discover will be of great help.”  Standing up and reaching into his pocket, Holmes handed Wiggins a one pound note.  The boy about fainted!  “There’s a boy!  No need to collapse now, there’s work to be done.  The game’s afoot and you are of great help to Watson and I.”  Holmes had caught the lad mid-fall, set him on his chair and finished speaking, “Here, hold out both your hands.”  Wiggins obliged, cupping both hands together.  “Here are 20 half-crowns.  Will that be enough to give one to each Irregular?”  The lad could hardly believe his eyes and ears! Holmes spoke to the lad, “Come back when you have news, and tell all the lads that there’s more where that came from if you can return with news before Watson and I leave for the evening tomorrow night.  Again, if we are not at home, leave word with Mrs. Hudson so we know how to reach you upon our return.  And Wiggins, let all the Irregulars know that this is a nasty bit of business and you cannot be too careful.  Try not to be seen.  Our foes are active under the cover of night, and that is unfortunately the best time for your work.  Decide for yourselves if it is best to work night or day.  Each has its drawbacks.  Make sure you work in groups of two or three.  If one of a group runs into trouble, send someone to find Watson or myself immediately.”  With that, Holmes looked the boy in the eye in a manner that could only be described as a warning against the danger they would face if caught by Moriarty’s gang of criminals.  Wiggins nodded in an understanding way as Holmes escorted him to the door, silently closing it behind him.

© L. Guy Campbell