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I rose to my feet
hurriedly and noted that Holmes was regarding our unusual visitor
with a surprised look as if wondering if the body was real and not
carved by a woodworker using Gog and Magog as models.

"This 'ere's Tiny,"
said Burlington Bertie.

"I see,"
replied Holmes. I admired his sangfroid.

"Do be seated,
gentlemen."

The humor of Lambeth and
Limehouse, Chelsea and Croydon, is of a simple nature. How could this
gargantuan be named anything but "Tiny"? I watched his
progress into the room with alarm, trusting that our furniture would
survive. Holmes directed traffic in such a manner that Tiny was
aimed at our largest chair by the fire.

"Tiny don't say
much but 'e's a good lad."

"Quite,"
replied Holmes. "I can see that he would not need many words."

The movements of the
good lad fascinated me. They were delicate, as though he trod on eggs
and maneuvered in a doll's house. Of course, I thought, the poor chap
has to be careful. An inadvertent gesture and he's liable to push
down a wall!

Tiny lowered himself
into his designated chair in so fluid a manner that there was not
even a creak. He sat with his hands placidly folded in his lap, his
face slowly moving between Holmes, Bertie, and myself with interest,
and his smile never wavered.

"You said there
might be some business, Mr. 'Olmes, so I brung the boy along to see
if 'e'll pass muster."

"He'll do just
fine," replied my friend.

Tiny was obviously
listening and capable of understanding, for he started to rise
but was forestalled by a gesture from his companion.

"There's more yet."

As the giant resumed his
seat, Bertie turned again to Holmes. "Loik I says to yer
earlier, Mr. 'Olmes, there's not a sign of that third bloke wot I
caved in on the docks when I hies meself back there t'other night."

"You mentioned
pursuing some leads," replied the sleuth, who had managed to
drag his eyes away from Tiny.

"I 'ad in mind
Blind Louie, the beggar. 'E lives not far from the docks and wot 'e
don't see ain't worth viewin'." As though this required
additional verification, Bertie turned towards me. "Sharpest
eyes between 'ere and Land's End, Doctor."

"Blind Louie?"

"At's roight. Oi
'ad me a good idea for Blind Louie was comin' 'ome 'bout the time of
the fracas wot 'e seen. 'E's got the end of that white cane of 'is
weighted and was goin' ter lend a 'and but 'e sees me and the late
Negro 'ad got things under control. Anyways, after I leaves, Blind
Louie is thinkin' 'bout gettin' on the dock to see if the cove I
coshed ain't got a few pence wot 'e don't need, but Louie is
cautious, 'e is, and a good fing, fer some Chinks comes by and picks
up the body, and carts 'im away. Now Louie don't know 'oo the Chinks
is but 'e figgers maybe the boyo I coshed is Sidney Putz."

Holmes shook his head,
disclaiming knowledge of this sinister citizen.

"Me, neither, Mr.
'Olmes, but Louie says Putz used to work fer Weisman, the usurer. And
'at's all I could dig up."

"A good job,
Bertie." My friend was crossing to the desk again as he spoke.
"We'll see if we can learn more of Sidney Putz. Meanwhile,
I am expecting some action and I want you and Tiny to be on call."
Holmes secured more notes from the cash drawer and passed them to
Bertie. "I don't know what is involved, but I'll get a message
to you at the usual place."

"Right-o, Mr.
'Olmes. Wotever the caper, you just do the thinkin' and Tiny and me,
we'll make out."

"Of that I'm sure,"
stated Holmes with deep-seated conviction.

Fascinated, we both
watched Bertie and Tiny depart.

I sank back in my chair
and mopped my forehead with Irish linen. "Really, Holmes, life
is never dull at 221B Baker Street."

"How fortunate for
us. Keeps us young, you know."

He did have the good
grace not to let the matter drop at that.

"As you gathered, I
spoke to Bertie earlier. Almost as an afterthought, I recalled those
two giant Manchurians we came in contact with once before. Followers
of Chu San Fu. Now Bertie is no midget, so I asked him if he could
locate another good man in a brawl."

"I would say,"
I answered, "that Bertie filled the bill."

Chapter
Seven

Special
Commission

The following morning
when my senses sluggishly saw fit to rise from the sea of the
subconscious, I guessed that the hour was not an early one. The
warmth of my blankets held appeal, but I resisted the impulse to
lower my lids again and deny the world of reality.

I rose with a half
groan, my feet searched the cold floor for my worn bedroom slippers,
and shortly thereafter, clutching my dressing gown round me, I
descended to the sitting room of our bachelor abode. The possibility
that Sherlock Holmes, habitually a late riser, might still be abed
was disproved by the acrid smell of the strong shag of his morning
pipe which assaulted my nostrils on the stairs. I found my friend
seated at the desk regarding messages.

"My good Watson,"
he said without looking up, "the heel of one of your slippers is
loose. Do have it looked after before you come acropper."

"How did you—!"
I began, and then bit back the words. "A revealing sound during
my descent, no doubt," I concluded.

"Exactly. We
readily detect the sounds of others but tend to ignore those we make
ourselves." Holmes rose to knock out his pipe in the fireplace.
"But we cannot ignore some news just in. Action is called for,
and I have a special commission for you."

My spirits brightened.
It had been some time since the disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax,
but the adventure remained etched in my mind.
^*
Holmes had
deputized me to conduct an investigation relative to the lady, and
his critique had been to the point.

^*
Surely
Watson is in error here. "The Disappearance of Lady Frances
Carfax" is generally agreed to have been in the Summer
of
1902, long after this adventure.

"A very pretty hash
you have made of it," were his words, and he had twisted the
knife further by later adding: "I cannot at the moment
recall any possible blunder that you have omitted." Since that
moment, I had yearned for the chance to redeem myself.

"It is vital that I
have someone on the scene at Mayswood," continued Holmes.

"But Gilligan and
Styles—" I began.

"I have a cable
from Slim on the desk. But I need an inside man, Watson. Matters are
coming to a head with greater rapidity than I anticipated. You can
catch the late morning train for Surrey at Waterloo."

"And my mission?"

"You will inform
Clyde Deets that I have uncovered a warm trail as regards his
nocturnal intruder. Let me impress upon you, ol' fellow, that
this is true. We are not telling the gentleman the whole story, but
that's neither here nor there." Holmes was regarding me closely.
"Deceit is not one of your strong points, and I want you at ease
with your conscience."

"Oh, come now—"

A hand gesture stifled
my retort, a good thing since this subject was shaky ground for me.

"Tell Deets that
you wish to make inquiries in Litchfield and the surrounding area.
You can be a bit mysterious about it. Clients rather like that. He
will offer you the use of a carriage, but you suggest that you could
perform your investigations better from horseback."

"Holmes, would you
have me on a racehorse?"

"Tut, tut! Have no
fear of that. I'm sure he can provide a hunter suitable to your
needs."

"Well, it's been a
while since I've been in a saddle, but I suppose I can carry it off."

"Assuming our
duplicity holds water, as I fancy it will, ride off in the direction
of Litchfield. Out of sight of the establishment, circle the area
carefully, making note of the roads and where they lead. You'll have
to ride into the hamlet itself to preserve the facade of conducting
an investigation. Pay particular attention to the railroad, Watson."

"I'm to survey the
terrain, then. Sounds a bit like a military campaign."

"Agreed," said
Holmes with an approving smile that banished some of my doubts.
"Also, I want you to acquaint yourself with the stables at
Mayswood, especially those devoted to the riding animals. Locate
the tack room. Mention that you are addicted to strolls after dinner.
I want you familiar with the stable area in the dark. Deets may
volunteer to accompany you, so much the better. Horses are his
business so he'll readily give you a guided tour. Now, one other
thing: when you arrive at the breeding farm, manage to be at the
window of the room made available to you between nine and nine-thirty
at night. Extinguish the lights and use a candle. Pass it three times
back and forth before the window. Then await an answering signal,
three flashes from a lantern. Repeat the process, if necessary, until
your signal has been acknowledged."

I regarded Holmes with
an expression akin to astonishment.

"But why this
hocus-pocus? Reminds me of that Baskerville affair."

Holmes's concerned and
serious manner was swallowed up by a chuckle. "So it does.
Hadn't occurred to me. But consider that for my peace of mind I must
know your exact location. You play such an important part in the
weapon that we are forging."

His words produced a
glow of pride, and my spirits rallied at the thought that he
placed such faith in me. Later it occurred to me that his words
actually revealed nothing, and when I was on the Surrey-bound train,
I experienced a moment of panic at the realization that I knew so
little of Holmes's plans. His instructions did not appear to involve
anything vital at all. But I banished my misgivings, determined
to let the drama unfold. I really had very little choice.

Holmes had cabled ahead,
alerting Deets of my arrival, and the same carriage and driver,
Alfred, awaited me at the Litchfield station. My host had held
luncheon for me, and as indicated previously, he set a fine board. He
was seemingly delighted to learn that Holmes was "on to
something," as I put it. My revelations were flimsy fabrics
indeed, but I managed to introduce some suggestive silences and wise
looks, all of which he readily accepted.

Suddenly I realized that
the threadbare information with which Holmes had dispatched me had
been no oversight by the master man-hunter. Detailed explanations
were not needed, and I felt that I had earned some scattered
applause interspersed by a few faint "bravos!" Not for
my performance as the supposed investigator, but for the fact that my
words were honored without question. The career of my friend was at
this period certainly approaching its zenith, and his name was a
household word, due in part to the recountings of certain of his
adventures that I had made available to the reading public. When
Holmes was on a case, his methods were immune to criticism, and in
truth the solution was considered a fait accompli. Such was the aura
of infallibility that surrounded his name that even a sophisticated
man of the world like Deets was caught up in the cloak of
invincibility worn by the man from Baker Street.

When Dooley, the butler,
showed me to my room, I found that my valise had been opened and my
things hung up. The aged family retainer, during the serving of
lunch, must have heard my request for the use of a horse, for there
were riding pants available along with boots that suited me nicely.
The butler was a bit long in the tooth for the trade of espionage,
but I felt he would be pleasing to Mycroft Holmes, who put such store
in "anticipation."

Deets took me personally
to the stables and had a groom saddle up a chestnut mare, all the
while assuring me that she was a gentle animal. As Holmes had
instructed, I made
note of the area where the saddles,
bridles, and blankets were kept, resolving to revisit it come
nightfall. Deets gave me simple directions to Litchfield and
mentioned that should I get lost, my steed would, if given a free
rein, return me to Mayswood without fail. I sensed that, with
the eye of an expert, he placed little faith in my horsemanship.

I had managed to make a
fair mount and set off with high resolve to emulate cavalry officers
I'd known when with the Fifth Northumberland, my old regiment. I must
have been holding the curb rein too tight, for the chestnut,
"Fandango" by name, worried at her bit and was lathering at
the mouth, showing a disposition to introduce short, nervous
side steps. I loosened the reins and contented myself with indicating
my desired direction by the pressure of my knees, an arrangement that
seemed to suit the horse, who relaxed so that we both were able to
enjoy the warm afternoon sun and bracing air.