"What then?"
"The knees of his trousers."
"And what did you see?"
"What I expected to see."
"Why did you beat the pavement?"
"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. Weare spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-CoburgSquare. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round thecorner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great acontrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It wasone of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the Cityto the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immensestream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward,while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm ofpedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the lineof fine shops and stately business premises that they reallyabutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant squarewhich we had just quitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancingalong the line, "I should like just to remember the order of thehouses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge ofLondon. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the littlenewspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank,the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-buildingdepot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. Asandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, whereall is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are nored-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only avery capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. Allthe afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfecthappiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to themusic, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyeswere as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes therelentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it waspossible to conceive. In his singular character the dual naturealternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness andastuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reactionagainst the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionallypredominated in him. The swing of his nature took him fromextreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he wasnever so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had beenlounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and hisblack-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chasewould suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoningpower would rise to the level of intuition, until those who wereunacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on aman whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw himthat afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall Ifelt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had sethimself to hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as weemerged.
"Yes, it would be as well."
"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. Thisbusiness at Coburg Square is serious."
"Why serious?"
"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason tobelieve that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day beingSaturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your helpto-night."
"At what time?"
"Ten will be early enough."
"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."
"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved hishand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among thecrowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I wasalways oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealingswith Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I hadseen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident thathe saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about tohappen, while to me the whole business was still confused andgrotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thoughtover it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headedcopier of the "Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-CoburgSquare, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint fromHolmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was aformidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried topuzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter asideuntil night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made myway across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to BakerStreet. Two hansoms were
standing at the door, and as I enteredthe passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On enteringhis room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,one of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official policeagent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with avery shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up hispea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack."Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let meintroduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion into-night's adventure."
"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones inhis consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man forstarting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to dothe running down."
"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.
"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," saidthe police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, whichare, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoreticaland fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. Itis not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business ofthe Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearlycorrect than the official force."
"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said thestranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that Ihave not had my rubber."
"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you willplay for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, andthat the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it willbe the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands."
"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's ayoung man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of hisprofession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than onany criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young JohnClay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has beento Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, andthough we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where tofind the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on himyet."
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and Iagree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It ispast ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you twowill take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in thesecond."
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long driveand lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard inthe afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-litstreets until we emerged into Farrington Street.