The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes (13 page)

Such was Holmes’s desire for haste in our departure, that even Hopkins had to run after us as we made our way up the hill towards the station.

He grasped Holmes firmly by the hand. ‘Mr Holmes, once again I find myself in your debt. You have given me a case that would pass a conviction in any court in the land, and closed the file on another.’

‘Inspector, you are in danger of becoming my only source of gainful employment. Rest assured, any summons from you will be met by a prompt response from us. Come Watson, if our train schedule is true then we may have time to visit a small bistro around the corner from Victoria that might be persuaded to serve us a late supper, and a well earned cognac and cigar!’

T
HE
O
LD
G
REY
H
ORSE

I
t was a particularly tempestuous evening in early March that found Sherlock Holmes and I sharing the view of Baker Street from our large bay window.

A coarse rain was being driven against our glass by a typically strong, westerly March wind and those
passers-by
foolhardy enough to venture out into the eye of the storm were being blown along as if they were so many large pieces of street litter.

‘Ha!’ Holmes suddenly exclaimed, ‘It must be an errand of great importance that brings those dank and bedraggled creatures onto the street this night, eh, Watson?’

‘Indeed, it must be Holmes and none more so than that poor fool pushing his way forward on our side of the street, down there to the Marylebone end,’ I pointed out, ‘he appears to be searching for a particular address.’

Before I had finished speaking, Holmes had turned suddenly away and began dressing for the harsh conditions outside. In answer to my astonished look, Holmes explained.

‘Whilst you have busied yourself at your practice these past few days, I am glad to report that I have not been entirely idle myself. Indeed, Watson, I have been of some
small assistance to our old friend Lestrade in the matter of some, apparently connected, jewellery thefts. Though the conclusion of this matter is, in my estimation, some way off, Lestrade has engaged a valuable informer whom he promised, would come to me with some vital information this very evening.

‘I trust you will be able to amuse yourself for the next twelve hours or so, for, unless I am very much mistaken, that poor bedraggled fellow you most astutely observed, is this same man and, therefore, I must leave at once.’

To my astonishment, as he finished speaking, we could hear a loud knocking at the street door below and, without waiting for a summons from Mrs Hudson, Holmes was gone.

For a few moments I stayed by the window and watched Holmes and Lestrade’s informer hasten down the road through the thin veil of rain. Then with a shiver I turned away and took to my chair by the fire, well fortified with a glass of brandy and a cigar.

I realized, after a few reflective moments, that it would be folly to speculate as to Holmes’s movements. From past experience I knew that once on a scent Holmes could
disappear
for days on end, rather than merely hours. His energy, at times like this, was boundless and his self-deprivation of both rest and sustenance sometimes bordered on the dangerous. He would then return at last, usually satisfied with his efforts, but always totally spent.

I was sure such would be the case in this instance, and resolved, before turning in, to busy myself the following day at my surgery once again and extract more
information
from Holmes in the evening, should he have returned by then.

I returned to Baker Street at six o’clock the following evening, but was disgruntled to hear from Mrs Hudson that I was to partake of a lonely supper and that no word had been received from Holmes all day.

I amused myself for the rest of that evening by reading an examination of the life, and career of General Gordon, by the light of the fire. At approximately half-past-ten, when my eyes were starting to close and I was ready to retire, I became aware of a commotion emanating from the hall below. I went to the landing and called down to Mrs Hudson.

‘Is there some news of Mr Holmes, Mrs Hudson?’

‘No, Doctor, but there is a gentleman here to see him, he says he has most urgent business with him and will not be put off.’

‘Indeed, then show him up immediately if you please,’ I replied, surprised at the tingle of excitement the prospect of this development had given me.

I waited by the door of our sitting-room to show my visitor through and found myself confronted by one of the largest individuals I had ever encountered. He stood at a height of at least six foot four, and was broad to boot. Yet there was something in his manner, which belied his appearance, and suggested that he posed no physical threat. I therefore introduced myself and did not hesitate in showing him to our visitor’s chair by the fire.

Despite his size, a more pathetic, bedraggled figure you could not find. There had been no respite in the inclement weather, so obviously he was soaking wet, the front of his uncovered hair dripping in cascades down his face and his clothes were old and threadbare. This then was Benjamin Matthews.

I attempted to alleviate some of his discomfort by bringing him a towel and a warming drink.

‘I apologise for my colleague, Mr Holmes’s absence, but he is engaged on a case at present, which demands all of his time,’ I began.

‘Not at all. I am grateful for your seeing me at this late hour and at such short notice.’ When he spoke there was no mistaking his broad Yorkshire accent, which surprised me somewhat, for he seemed ill able to afford a journey of such a distance merely for a consultation. ‘The fact that you accompany and most ably assist Mr Holmes in most of his cases is well known and I have every confidence that you will convey my story to him as soon as you are able. In the meantime any advice you might give me would be most appreciated.’

I bowed slightly in gratitude and took out my pencil and notebook.

‘Please proceed.’

‘Well sir, to begin with, my story is as brief as it is bizarre.’

‘Indeed,’ I said with a smile, ‘well that will certainly attract Mr Holmes’s immediate interest, for his taste tends towards the unusual.’

‘That my tale is, but I must be brief, for I will be missed before too long. As you can see from my clothes, I am at present embarrassed financially, and my recent search for accommodation, close to central London, and at a cheap price, proved almost impossible.

‘However, two weeks ago, during a long trek which took me northward from Ladbroke Grove into Kilburn Lane, I came upon a curious little side turning called,
inappropriately
, Regent Street. I say inappropriately because this
little road could not be more different from its more famous namesake, being little more than one hundred yards in length and containing very few buildings.

‘The side walls of the Kilburn Lane facing premises, take up a large section as you enter the street and apart from a couple of warehouses, there are no other buildings save one. This is the most curious of all, being one of the largest and most impressive looking public houses I have yet to see, but it stuck out like a sore thumb in such a tiny road.

‘I have come to you, however, because its location and appearance are not the only thing that is unusual about the “Old Grey Horse”, that’s the name of the place. Despite its size and the fact that there were no other residents, the landlord and his lady seemed very reluctant to accept my custom. I was not to be put off, however, and even offered my services as an odd job man and cleaner for very nominal pay and lodgings. I must say at this point that if there is a more miserable and unpleasant couple than Jonathan and Agnes Blackwood, I have yet to meet them. In my two weeks there I have yet to receive a pleasant or friendly word from either of them. They really are made for each other, being the same size and build, large, ruddy and untidy.

‘The room I was given is in the attic and like the rest of the building, is in a bad state of repair, so as well as being small and uncomfortable, my room is exceedingly damp. Yet, despite being almost uninhabitable, the Blackwood’s demanded that I keep to my room for several hours each day. The curious thing is that the times when they want me to take to my room vary from day to day and in length: two hours one day, six the next. The times of my duties vary as
well, and if I wish to go out they always demand that I return through a side door.’

‘A most miserable existence, Mr Matthews, I must say and it is appalling that these Blackwoods should take such advantages of your present financial plight. Yet you have still to mention the reason for your consultation.’

‘I believe, Doctor Watson, that some sinister, criminal activity is in operation at the “Old Grey Horse”. Why else should the Backwoods keep me to my room for all that time and require my entrance through the side door? What other reason can there be for the lack of other residents. Not only that, but the main bar is never used by more than five or six regulars. Every evening at seven o’clock the same men take up their positions, always leaving together, then separating upon reaching Kilburn Lane. This much, at least, I can see from my small attic window.

‘There is another oddity that I should mention at this juncture. On the rare occasions that my duties compel me to enter the saloon bar, I have observed that ale is never served. It is strange for, as you know, the staple drink in any bar is ale and yet I have never even heard it being ordered. I cannot be sure, of course, but I am almost certain that no dray has ventured near the place during the two weeks that I have been in residence.’

‘I agree, most curious circumstances, but none that point directly to a crime.’ I said, certainly interested in the strange activities at the public house, yet still unconvinced that any of these warranted the intervention of Sherlock Holmes.

‘Then consider this,’ Matthews continued, obviously agitated, ‘despite all my industry, the Blackwoods are always critical of my efforts. This despite their own
standards 
of cleanliness leaving a lot to be desired, as does their general appearance. They are most particular when it comes to my cleaning; neither corner nor recess is excluded from their scrutiny, save the cellars. For some reason they are strictly forbidden to me. Indeed, the strength of the door and the standard of the locks indicate the presence of something other than barrels of beer and bottles of wine. Yet, on three occasions, in the early hours of the morning, when I have chanced to be sleeping lightly, I have been awakened by a strange creaking noise perhaps that of
unoiled
door hinges. Not from the inner cellar door, you understand, but, I am convinced, from the double outer door in the paving, through which beer is normally
delivered
. But at the dead of night!’

‘Again, most unusual Mr Matthews. I am beginning to appreciate your misgivings, I must confess.’ As I said this I was aware of Matthews glancing agitatedly at the clock and then he rose with a jolt.

‘I must leave now, for fear of arousing their curiosity. Before taking my leave, however, I must tell you that the Blackwood’s behaviour, of late, has become increasingly hostile and menacing towards me, almost as if they know of my suspicions. I would ask you to plead with Mr Holmes, on my behalf, and request his early intervention.’

‘You are in fear of your life then?’ I asked solemnly.

‘Indeed I am, Doctor Watson, but not just of my own. I fear the Blackwoods’ activities are of a most dark and sinister nature. For on the occasions when I have heard the outer cellar doors opened, a few moments later these sounds have been proceeded by the cries and wailing of what sounded like young children.’

‘Children!’ I cried in horror, ‘are you certain of this?’

‘As sure as I can be from that distance, the attic to the cellar is some way apart in so large a building, yet I cannot attribute these sounds to any other source.’

‘Fighting cats?’ I suggested.

‘That’s exactly the theory put forward by the police when I told them my story. I am sure my appearance prompted their rude and dismissive attitude towards me. I am convinced, however, that the source of these sounds was human and not feline.’

‘Mr Matthews, if you are in fear of your life why do you not depart from your sinister lodgings?’

‘There are two reasons for my remaining. I live in hope that I may locate these children and perhaps, help them escape or aid them in some way. Also, from my position inside the building I may prove of assistance to any action you or Mr Holmes may choose to take.’

‘You are a brave and honourable fellow, but alas Mr Holmes may not return to these rooms for days yet, and even then I can offer no guarantee that he will take up your case. However, I will help in any way I can and between us, with resolve, we may yet bring the Blackwoods to task. I suggest you return to your room immediately and tomorrow afternoon I will come, posing as a customer to see what can be learned from the outside.’

We shook hands and Matthews raced down the stairs and through the front door in a few bounds.

After a fitful night’s sleep, I ate a light breakfast before taking up my vigil by the window in the faint hope of Holmes returning before I left for the ‘Old Grey Horse’.

By lunchtime it was apparent that this hope was in vain, so without further ado I departed for Kilburn Lane.

I alighted from my cab some two hundred yards from
Regent Street not wanting to create any suspicion, a cab being an unlikely mode of transport for a patron of that particular establishment. As I walked slowly towards my destination, I became immediately aware of my dismal surroundings.

Each side of the narrow thoroughfare was lined by small terraced buildings in a poor state of repair. Small,
commercial
premises, which were hardly flourishing businesses were at street level, whilst above were squalid little flats with filthy windows, each sill full of drying clothes which seemed hardly any cleaner than their surroundings.