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The driver of the hansom we hailed
was surprised at
the
address in Soho that Holmes gave him. And small
wonder,
since this section seemed hardly appropriate
for
two staid middle-aged men of respectable appearance. However, he
whistled to his horse and soon we
were
approaching the Thames. Needless to say, Holmes
had
not directed him to our eventual destination but a
convenient
intersection some distance away.

As we alighted from the
conveyance, the driver was
still
concerned.

"Would you be wishin' fer me
to wyte, gov?" he
asked.

"No need, good man,"
replied the great detective,
pressing
a coin into the driver's hand. "My thanks for
your
concern."

Holmes's jaunty wave of farewell
had a confidence which I did not share. The night was dark and the
dank smell of the river added to the chill in the air
.
As
the
hansom
clattered away, Holmes led us into a narrow
alley
and, taking me by the elbow, guided my steps over
cobblestones
and around corners without pause. As I
have
mentioned in other recountings of our adventures,
his
knowledge of the geography of London was un
canny,
especially so in those havens of the lawless.

It took us about ten minutes,
traveling a devious
route,
to arrive at a street that barely qualified for the
name.
It was a scant two blocks in length and there was
not
a light on it. Various ramshackle buildings studded
it,
most of them with an abandoned appearance.

I well knew from stories of
Holmes, as well as adven
tures
which I had shared with him, that but a block
away
the parallel street was garishly lit and much-
trafficked,
for it was a center of the slumming area of
Soho.
It was replete with gaming establishments, so-
called
"private clubs" of ill repute that served as
after-
hour-drinking
spots, and even some "houses" in which
the
world's oldest profession was practiced. I must in
truth
admit that certain young gentlemen who fancied
being
called "gay blades" found it exciting to view life
in
the raw in such establishments. When some eventu
ally
paid the piper via narcotic addiction, staggering
gambling
debts, or venereal disease, it was too late.
Reason
or words of caution seldom impressed, for the
hot
blood of youth-promotes an intoxication of personal
immunity.

My philosophical wanderings were
brought to an end
when
Holmes came to a cautious halt at the entrance to
a
shabby building, which bore the barely decipherable
sign:
austro-eurasian imports. Flattening himself
against
the warehouse, he indicated for me to do the
same
and we remained frozen for better than a minute,
while
Holmes's keen ears were tuned for revealing
sounds
and his eyes darted to our right and left, study
ing
intently the buildings facing us. Save for traffic
noise
that filtered from the adjacent street, the Stygian darkness revealed
nothing. Occasionally a faint limpid
ray
of moonlight winked at us, only to be extinguished
by
the heavy clouds overhead. Eventually, my friend
seemed
satisfied, for gesturing to me to preserve silence,
he
tested the warehouse door alongside which we had
been
standing. The knob turned stubbornly under his
hand
emitting a squeaking sound which seemed to
please
him. Holmes had his valise open in a trice and
worked
on the lock with a narrow curved instrument.
There
was a faint luminosity from the sky now and I
recognized
the device as one of those developed by Slim
Gilligan,
who had figured in other cases, some of which
I
had recorded. If Holmes gave a grunt of satisfaction,
it
was barely audible. Extracting the device from the keyhole, he
secured a can of thin lubricating oil, which
he
squirted into the lock and then applied to the hinges
of
the door as well. He leaned close to my ear.

"Luck favors the bold,
Watson. This door has not
been
opened in a considerable time, strengthening our theory that this
entrance to the Nonpareil Club is not known."

With another searching glance up
and down the
street,
Holmes inserted his burglar tool and soon there
was
a click followed by a squeak. Holmes replaced his
equipment
in his satchel and then opened the door with
no
more than a faint protest from its newly oiled hinges.
We
were inside.

Cobwebs brushed against my face,
further proof that this modern-day monk's hole was untrafficked. I
could hear my own breathing and the soft sound of Holmes's
valise
being opened. Then there was a circle of light
from
the bull's-eye lamp. The illumination revealed a
small
room, obviously office space for the main ware
house,
which was on our left. A flight of wooden stairs
at
the rear of the room led upward. Holmes swept his
light
over the stairs, imprinting their distance and the
height
and number of the treads upon his photographic
brain.
Then the light flicked out again and my friend's
face
was close to mine.

"The stairs lead up two
flights, ol' fellow. They terminate in a room about the size of
a large closet that is
immediately
adjacent to the private card room of the
old
club. Through certain sources today, I learned that the area now
serves as Dawson's private office. But in
the
old days, this was where unwary dupes were lured
into
high-stakes games and Colonel Upwood observed their cards through a
peephole. If said peephole is still
operative,
we may owe Upwood a vote of thanks.
Though
I have reason to believe that the partition be
tween
Dowson's office and what we might term the
'viewing
room' is reasonably soundproof, let us remain cautious. In ascending
the stairs, stay as close to the
bannister
as possible since this lessens the possibility of
a
creak. Sound has a strange way of traveling in old
buildings.
Also, on each step, place your feet in the
middle
of the tread and apply your weight slowly."

I nodded my understanding and
Holmes led me to
the
stairs in perfect darkness, placing my hand on the
bannister
after ascending the first couple of steps him
self.
I do not care to recall our stealthy ascent of the
two
flights. Holmes mounted them like a shadow but I
was
not as successful and every sound boomed like the tympani section of
the London Philharmonic to me. My
thighs
and the calves of my legs ached from the slow
transfer
of weight, and when we reached the top I was
sure
that another flight would have been too much for m
e.
But the excitement of our situation soon banished
physical
ills from my mind.

If Holmes's information was
correct, we were but
slightly
removed from the nerve center of one of the
most
dangerous criminal gangs in London. Dowson had
created
a sinister organization that almost rivaled that
of
Moriarty and the fact that he had eluded Holmes for
so
long was a tribute to his evil genius.

There was no glimmer of light
anywhere in the area
at
the top of the stairs, a fact that I found comforting
and
which evidently prompted Holmes to incur a neces
sary
risk. He trained the bull's-eye in the direction from
which
we had come and opened the shutter a sliver. In
the
reflected light we could make out the confines of
the
small space in which we stood, but our attention was
glued
to the wall separating us from the interior of the
Nonpareil
Club. About five and a half feet from the
floor
was a circular piece of wood, not unlike a small
plate
in size. There was a handle screwed to its surface.
A
small exhalation of satisfaction escaped Holmes as he doused the
light again.

"That must be the peephole,
Watson. When I open it, I'll be looking through one eye of a man's
portrait if the furnishings within have not been altered. Once we
become peeping Toms, any light, or sound, would be fatal. I want
you to move with me to the opposite wall. Press your ear against it,
then I'll chance the peephole. You shall be the ears, and I the eyes,
in this effort."

Never in our years together had
the comfort and se
curity
of our chambers at 221B Baker Street seemed so
appealing,
but despite this thought my chest swelled
with
pride at the realization that Holmes placed such
confidence
in me at this crucial moment in a most peril
ous
investigation. Any member of the Dowson gang
would
have bartered whatever soul they had left to see
the
end of Sherlock Holmes, and to secure him in that
private
fortress where his body could be disposed of so
easily
would have seemed like manna from heaven to
that
band of unscrupulous ruffians. Creeping to my sta
tion,
it occurred to me that they would be happy to set
tle
my fate as well, since I was a dangerous witness.

Pressing my ear carefully against
the wall, I tried to
quiet
the pounding of my heart and listened eagerly, but to no avail.
Suddenly, there was a scent in my nostrils
which
alarmed me, until I realized that Holmes had his trusty can of oil
lubricating the mechanism of the con
cealed
aperture, a precaution that would never have oc
curred
to me. Then there was faint light in our hiding
place
and I knew Holmes had opened the peephole.

The light remained for what seemed
an interminable
time
but could have been but a brief ten seconds. Then
it
disappeared. Holmes's hand located my shoulder and
he
startled me by speaking, though softly.

"Judging from the width of
the wall, sound is not a
peril
unless the peephole is open. Nothing is happening at the moment, but
I judge we are in luck. You can see
for
yourself."

Guided by his hand, my head was
positioned and
then
the aperture was reopened. At first, it was like
looking
through gauze but as my eyes adjusted to the
light,
I made out a small section of the room beyond. The line of sight was
narrow but I could see a desk.
Seated
facing me was none other than Count Negretto
Sylvius,
Baron Dowson's right-hand man. He seemed
in
an attitude of waiting, so I judged him to be the only
one
in the room. I shifted my head but could not see a door or any area
beyond that immediately surrounding
the
desk. It was like looking through a long tunnel. Sylvius's
features were distinguishable but blurred. Ob
viously,
the eye of the picture that secreted the peephole was covered with a
filmy material that provided concealment. An excellent piece of
workmanship I thought,
and
then recalled that this very deception which we
were
making such good use of had separated wealthy
and
titled Englishmen from a quarter of a million
pounds,
before the nefarious scheme had been uncov
ered
by the world's only consulting detective.