Secret Archives of Sherlock Holmes, The, The (11 page)

‘Several seconds later, I caught sight of the Beau as well, keeping a discreet distance from the two ladies, his appearance slightly altered from the last time I saw him, the moustache replaced by a neatly clipped goatee beard.

‘There was an air of purpose about the two of them which convinced me that they had chosen their victim and would carry out the theft within a very short space of time.

‘When, a few seconds later, they actually performed the crime, I had to admire their skill. Their timing and coordination were impeccable. They hung back until they were within yards of the exit doors and only then made their move when other people were either entering or leaving the building so that the area round the doors was crowded. The only warning Pound and I had was the Beau’s sudden change of pace. Instead of tagging along behind the Widow and her chosen victim, he stepped smartly forward so that he was ahead of them.

‘The next second, the Widow had also moved forward so that she was alongside the elderly lady and her companion. It was then that she pounced. Brushing past
her victim, she seemed to lose her balance momentarily, as if someone had pushed against her. In that moment, something was passed to the Beau who, picking up speed, hurried towards the exit doors, thrusting whatever he had been given into the pocket of his ulster.

‘The theft was carried out with such audacity and professionalism that the old lady seemed unaware that her reticule was no longer hanging on her arm. Then the truth dawned on her and she gave a little cry of alarm, but rather too ladylike to arouse much response in the people milling about in the aisles. By the time her
lady-companion
was aware of the incident, the Beau had left the building and the Widow and the little girl were also about to disappear through the swing doors.

‘I had already arranged with Constable Pound that we would split forces when it came to making an arrest: he would tackle the Beau while I would take on the Widow. Therefore the two of us sprinted off on our separate missions, he in close chase of the man, I following hard on the heels of the woman who, aware by now that they had been “rumbled”, to use the slang term they themselves would have employed, was struggling to rid herself of the little girl who was still clinging to her hand and was impeding her progress, as the child was having difficulty in keeping up with her.

‘It was only later that I realised what the Widow was doing as she plunged about under her cloak. All I saw was the child’s sudden release and the Widow who,
lifting up her skirts, was running ahead of me like a black hare into the crowds, leaving the little girl standing alone on the pavement and, to my utter bewilderment, still holding the woman’s hand.

‘That, of course, was impossible!

‘If I was confused, so, too, was the child. For a moment or two she remained standing hand in hand with what I now realised as I drew nearer was an artificial arm and hand, the latter wearing a black mitten, the whole contraption attached to a sort of shoulder harness. As soon as I saw it, light dawned.

‘So that was how the theft was carried out! What a fool I had been not to realise it before!

‘Before setting out to commit the crime, the Widow had strapped on a shoulder harness to which a false arm and hand were attached. These were then passed down through her mantle, the child taking hold of the fake hand when it emerged from the sleeve. The Widow’s real hand and arm were then allowed to hang loose inside this outer garment which had an opening at the side through which the Widow could either snatch at the victim’s reticule or cut it loose with a knife or a pair of scissors.

‘When the theft had been accomplished, the Beau would then move forward and the Widow would pass the stolen reticule to him, which he would swiftly conceal in his own pocket. In the meantime, the Widow and the child, still apparently hand in hand, would walk away from the scene of the crime, looking the very picture of innocence.

‘It was unlikely she would be arrested, for there would be few, if any, witnesses to the theft. It was over in a matter of seconds and who would be callous enough to accuse a young, widowed mother of such a felony, let alone lay hands on her and proceed to stop and search her?

‘The whole affair was devilishly cunning, Watson, and, in a perverse way, I had to admire the sheer ingenuity of the crime. A false arm! A widowed mother! A pretty, young child! And the choice of venue and victim were also inspired. The crime took place in a middle-class setting and the victim herself looked respectable. People from that social category do not expect to be robbed by three-handed widows and, should they suspect that such a crime had taken place, they are unlikely to make a scene in public.’

‘So the Widow and her Beau were not arrested?’ I said, assuming that was the end of the story. Holmes quickly corrected me.

‘Certainly not, Watson! The law had to be allowed to run its course and I had to follow it to the very end. Pray allow me to finish.

‘Once the theft had taken place and the reticule had been handed over to the Beau, it was Constable Pound’s turn to bring the curtain down on part of this little drama. As I have already explained, Pound and I had come to an agreement. He was to arrest the Beau, I the Widow. So, as soon as the Beau made off for the exit doors with the stolen reticule concealed in his
ulster, Pound acted. Shouting “Stop thief!”, he bounded forward. I, too, made ready to seize the Widow. But she was an extremely slippery fish. Dropping the false hand and arm, she, too, made a run for the doors.’

‘Abandoning the child?’ I asked in horrified disbelief. ‘Oh, Holmes, what a dreadful thing to do!’

‘That is exactly what I thought at the time. How utterly disgraceful! But I need not have wasted my sentiment. As soon as the Widow disappeared, the child also vanished, wriggling her way through the crowds and out of the door. By the time I reached the exit, the Widow had disappeared but the child, whose legs were much shorter, was still visible, running for dear life, her charming little black bonnet bobbing up and down as she went.’

‘So what did you do?’ I asked, aghast at the situation.

‘Followed her, of course,’ Holmes said crisply. ‘There was no other choice. Over the years, I have in my professional career trailed various criminals and, on occasions, dogs as well.
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But never have I acted like a bloodhound in pursuit of a child. Oh, she was very nimble, Watson! A veritable little terrier! In and out
of the crowds she went, down alleyways and through passages with me hot on her heels. She was unaware I was following her, for she did not once glance over her shoulder. But one thing was clear to me: young though she was, she was fully familiar with the backstreets of that area of London, which convinced me that she had been taken there on other thieving excursions in the past.

‘Down Oxford Street we went before turning left in the direction of Warren Street, where we entered one of those indeterminate areas of London composed of shabby little side streets that are neither disreputable enough to be called a slum, nor respectable enough to be considered genteel. Here our journey ended in front of a small terraced house, in design not unlike the type where Colonel Carruthers lived, only much neater and better kept. In the complex strata of the English class system, I would have placed it three rungs up from the bottom of the social ladder. It had clean lace curtains at the windows and a brightly polished door-knocker in the shape of a mermaid. There were even pots of geraniums standing on the sill.

‘I paused outside for a moment or two, earnestly studying my notebook that I had taken from my pocket as if verifying the address, before lifting the mermaid by the tail and rapping smartly on the door.

‘It was opened by a plump, motherly-looking woman in a clean pinafore carrying a baby on one arm, wrapped in a shawl. Just beyond her, I caught a glimpse of a door
partly set open, which afforded me a view of the room beyond: a parlour, by the look of it, with a cheerful fire burning on the hearth, the shelves of the overmantel crowded with little ornaments in glass and china and fretted wood.

‘And there, before the fire, sitting on a velvet-covered pouffe, her bonnet off and her plump little legs extended comfortably towards the flames, was the pretty child who had clung so loyally to the Widow’s third hand.

‘There was no sign of the Widow nor, come to that, of the Beau but there were three or four other children of various ages seated about the room, playing quietly together; nicely dressed children with neatly combed hair, their little faces shining with health and cleanliness.

‘It took a moment or two for the significance of the scene to dawn on me and, when it did, I was deeply shocked. The little girl and the other children, including the baby, were the means whereby the woman made her living. She rented them out by the day to people like the Widow and the Beau who, in turn, made their own livings by begging or stealing or any other fraudulent activities in which the presence of a child would help to enhance their professional takings.

‘My train of thought was interrupted by the woman who had answered the door, the owner of those children.

‘“Yes, sir; can I ’elp you?” she inquired in that soft, wheedling tone of voice that door-to-door sellers of trinkets or lucky white heather tend to use and that I
always find particularly nauseating for its obvious insincerity. But, not wishing to rouse her suspicions, I asked in as normal and pleasant manner I could muster if I could speak to Mrs Harrison.

‘“I think you’ve come to the wrong address, sir,” she replied. “There’s no Mrs ’Arrison livin’ ’ere.”

‘So I thanked her and moved on.

‘I was also anxious to find out from Constable Pound, whom I had already arranged to meet once the arrests had been carried out, if the Beau had been taken into custody and to pass on to him the information regarding the Widow and, in particular, the child.

‘We met in a discreet little coffee shop not far from Scotland Yard, a rendezvous which he had apparently used before, because the waitress, a middle-aged lady, greeted him as an old friend, addressing him as “Bert” and showing us into a small back room, empty apart from the two of us.

‘Yes, the Beau, alias Johnny Wilkins, had been arrested, Pound informed me, and, as the old lady’s reticule had been found in his pocket, he was charged with theft for which, considering his criminal record, he would probably serve two or three years in Pentonville.

‘As for the Widow, Wilkins had given him an address in the Clerkenwell area, but when he called there, she had either flown the roost or Wilkins had deliberately misinformed him.

‘“But there’s no need to fret,” Pound assured me
cheerfully. “They’ll pick her up some other time for sure.”

‘When I mentioned the false arm, Pound burst out laughing.

‘“Oh, that old trick!” he declared. “Sometimes they don’t even bother with the extra arm. They’ll use a sling or keep their arm inside their coat and pin up the empty sleeve to look as if the arm’s been amputated. It works wonders, that one does, ’specially if the ‘dipper’ plays the ‘old soldier’s lay’ and wears a row of medals across his chest!”

‘When I came to the subject of the child, his smile disappeared.

‘“Yes, you’re right,” he replied. “They hire the little kiddies out at so much a day.”

‘“And later, when the children are older?” I asked.

‘“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, they’re rented out for other purposes, ’specially the girls.”’

‘Oh, Holmes!’ I interjected, horrified by the information. ‘What can we do about it?’

‘For that particular child, nothing at all. You have forgotten the case took place years ago. But, in fact, something was done at the time and by a most unlikely person. Can you guess who?’

‘Someone who took part in the inquiry?’ I asked, intrigued by the riddle.

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘And someone unlikely?’

‘Extremely unlikely.’

I was silent for a few moments while I tried to guess to whom he was referring. And then the answer came to me in a flash.

‘Obviously not the young curate, Thorogood. He is too likely a candidate. Now, if I were a betting man—’
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I continued, breaking off as Holmes burst out laughing.

Seeing my expression, he straightened his face before adding, ‘You are getting warmer, my dear fellow!’

‘Then,’ I continued, ‘my money would be on a rank outsider, the Rev. Samuel Whittlemore.’

‘Oh, well done, Watson!’ Holmes exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. ‘To change to another sporting metaphor, you have hit the bullseye! It was indeed Whittlemore, and to extend the image even further, he came up trumps! When I returned to the rectory to inform him about the arrest of Wilkins, who was involved in the theft of his parishioner’s reticule – “Lady Dee” as I named her – I happened to mention the little girl and the circumstances in which I found her and the other children. Whittlemore in turn must have passed on the information to Lady Dee who, being an extremely wealthy lady, founded the charity called “The Little Flowers of St Matthias the Less”, not a name I would
have chosen myself but, as she was paying the piper, so to speak, she called the tune.

‘And her goodwill did not end there. Knowing your predilection for happy endings, Watson, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the child, who is now rechristened Ruth, alias Pity, was adopted by Lady Dee, who still must remain anonymous, and is now a charming heiress, happily married to a member of the House of Lords, and is the patroness of her late adoptive mother’s charity. So, you see, my dear fellow, to use another
well-thumbed
metaphor, or in this case, an aphorism, “every cloud has a silver lining”.’