Chapter 13: Irene

Holmes finally declared that he was ready to leave the Savoy when night was nearly turning to morning. By that time, he had scoured the hotel’s records and searched for clues on the ground floor and in the two ascending rooms, but the incessant tramp of feet and the presence of so many people had obscured whatever might have originally existed. I could see weariness and discouragement in his look. Our worries were unspoken between us, but we shared the dread that we might never see Billy alive again.

I thought about remaining at the hotel, but under the present circumstances, I did not think I could sleep anyway, and Holmes did not seem eager to leave me to my own devices after one of his own had disappeared from under its nose. I, too, felt even more unsettled than I had before. The Savoy had seemed like a safe haven, at least to some extent, and that feeling of security was now destroyed.

During the drive to Baker Street, Holmes was nearly silent, save for the moment when he turned to me and said, “The coming of night is always irritating, but in cases such as this, it is absolutely inexcusable.”

“I agree,” I answered. Normally, I was a great proponent of sleep, but for once, I could feel the desperation that underpinned an investigation when speed was of the essence. My mind kept returning to Billy, and it was only with great effort that I managed to keep from being paralysed by my anxiety. I did not know what was in Holmes’s mind, but I was sure it was more productive than mine, which was fast becoming overcome by emotion, tiredness, and frustration.

When we arrived at the flat, we entered quietly to keep from disturbing Dr Watson. Wiggins, too, was asleep in the visitor’s chair, with his legs curled up underneath him. He looked about ten years old, and I was reminded that he was still a child, no matter how much confidence Holmes might have in him. He slept heavily and did not stir.

I went to the small kitchen to make tea, which seemed a slightly absurd thing to do in the small hours of the morning, but I was thirsty and wished for an occupation. Holmes took his place in his chair and lit his pipe, as I had now seen him do countless times. I couldn’t really understand it. I had tried to smoke one time and nearly vomited, but I could not imagine my friend without his pipe. It was like an extension of him. In an odd way, his lighting of it gave me hope. I believed that with it in hand, he could not fail to find the solutions that had thus far been elusive.

I took my place in Dr Watson’s armchair and clutched my steaming cup of tea. I did not speak so as not to disturb my friend’s thoughts, but I would have liked to do so. I wanted to hear him reassure me that all would be well, but that was not Holmes’s way.

After a while, I opened my eyes and realised that in spite of my certainty that I never could fall asleep, I had managed to do so quite quickly once I had finished my fragrant brew. The sun was beginning to come up, and Holmes was still opposite me, sitting motionless with his eyes closed, but I knew that he was not sleeping. Instead, he was deep inside his own mind, mining for the ore he knew it contained. Wiggins, too, was still sound asleep, with his jacket over his head.

I yawned and smoothed the hair from my face. In spite of my stiff limbs and the feeling that I hadn’t ever quite relaxed, I was glad that I had rested at the flat. If I’d stayed at the Savoy, I would have spent the night in fear. As it was, I’d spent a few hours feeling safe, even if my sleep had not managed to fully rejuvenate me.

Wiggins awoke soon after I did, and he greeted the world with a grin, as was his usual practice. “Morning,” he said, rising and stretching his limbs. “I suppose I’ll be off.”

“No,” said Holmes shortly. “I won’t risk you out on your own. There’s no need for you to look after Miss Adler, as she won’t be on her own, either. You’re to stay here today, and you can accompany me if needed.”

The boy’s eyes flashed. He was not of a placid temperament, and I doubted his association with Holmes had been without its conflicts. “I’m no child,” he said, looking as much like one as anyone possibly could. Holmes simply looked at him.

Once, when I was very young, I had observed a Cherokee horse trainer with an unbroken horse. Seemingly by only looking at it and moving in the most miniscule of increments, he’d managed to convince the horse to let him put a rope around its neck within an hour or two. I was reminded of this as I sat in Dr Watson’s chair and watched with no little amount of fascination as Holmes interacted with his own high-strung specimen.

For a while, Wiggins held his gaze, and the two were like fire and ice - Wiggins, young like an ember that has just begun burning, and Holmes, like an unmoving, ancient glacier. I knew little about psychology as a study, but I couldn’t help wondering if the younger man truly sought to win, or if, like the young lions who spar with the old, he simply wished to test his strength against a more powerful combatant.

After a while, the boy’s gaze dropped away, and he sat back down with a huff. Holmes did not respond, but I noticed a suspicious curling of his lip that looked as if it wanted to turn into a smile.

Mercifully, Dr Watson soon emerged to spare us further awkwardness. “Goodness,” he said, “Holmes went out alone last night and has multiplied. Is there anything I ought to know?”

“Billy was taken from the hotel,” I said. “It appears the Klan is responsible.”

The doctor looked horrified. “Holmes, I assume you have a plan. What are we to do?”

“First,” said my friend, “I intend to turn Keating. I will go to Scotland Yard, and I would be glad if you and Irene will accompany me. Wiggins will remain here in case someone tries to send word about Billy.”

Wiggins looked discontented, but he did not comment. Holmes, I thought, was doing it on purpose to test the boy’s willingness to follow orders. He could as easily have left me behind, unless there was something he wished me to do that I did not yet know about. I had not given it much thought, but I realised that in order to keep his army of children in order, Holmes would have had to exert his authority at least once in a while. I also understood, even if Wiggins did not, that Holmes was extremely concerned for his safety. Knowing my friend as I did, I was sure that the death of Anna and the kidnapping of Billy must have made him deeply worried for all others who were important to him. He would never let the feeling overcome him, but it would certainly inform his decisions.

“Very well,” said Dr Watson, “but I, for one, would like something to eat before I embark on the day’s tasks. I won’t be much good otherwise.” I looked at him gratefully, and Wiggins, too, perked up at this. I volunteered to rouse Mrs Hudson, for it was earlier than her usual hour.

I tapped at her door lightly, not wishing to alarm her, but she opened it in an instant. “Don’t worry, I sleep lightly,” she said. “I heard commotion last night. I thought more of you returned than had left.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Wiggins is here also.”

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll be happy to have someone to cook for. Mr Holmes barely eats when he’s engaged in the chase, and the doctor isn’t particular.”

“I, for one, would be delighted to consume a full breakfast,” I said, “but I’m afraid there isn’t time.”

“I suppose not,” she answered. “There never seems to be.” In spite of her dismay, she followed me into 221B and set about making coffee and gathering fruit and ham, which I helped her quickly set out.

Wiggins, Dr Watson, and I ate rapidly, while Holmes gathered his notebook and magnifying glass in case he should need them. He was ready before we were, but all of us were conscious of the need for quick action. Breakfast seemed to improve Wiggins’s unfavorable opinion of staying behind. His spirits visibly rose as he realised that he was to remain where food was plentiful and available.

***

We arrived at Scotland Yard without incident, and Holmes said that Keating had not been following us, making it more likely that he was already at the Yard, which suited my friend’s purposes. As soon as we entered the imposing building, I caught sight of the young sergeant, who was standing over a desk near the door, deep in conversation with a fellow policeman. It took him a moment to catch sight of us, and for that short time, he was out of character, confident and relaxed instead of the nervous newcomer he had shown himself to be at the scene of Anna’s murder. I wondered how he could explain such a discrepancy of manner to Inspector Lestrade, but knowing what I did of the man, I thought perhaps he hadn’t noticed.

When Keating saw us, he immediately stood to attention and came over, taking care to blink and rub his hands anxiously. “Good morning,” he said. “I’ll let the inspector know you’ve come.”

“That won’t be necessary, for the moment,” said Holmes. “I’d like to talk the case over with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Cer - certainly,” he answered. “I will hear anything you have to say.” He looked around as if he expected Holmes to speak right then and there, in the middle of the Yard. I could not tell if his nervous way of speaking was completely feigned, or if he might have begun to suspect that Holmes was on to him.

“We will speak privately,” said Holmes, leading us to the back of the building. None of the policemen or the few disreputable-looking characters who filled the room made any sort of response, and it appeared that most of the occupants were used to Holmes’s way.

The detective took us into a tiny, empty office with nothing in it but an abandoned wooden desk. The room was small for a group that included me, Dr Watson, Keating, and Holmes, and I thought that he had chosen it purposefully.

“Now, Sergeant, it will save time if I tell you what I know,” said Holmes, speaking quickly. “You have been following me. You are affiliated in some way with members of the Ku Klux Klan, who are responsible for the murders of Anna Mason and a journalist named Thomas Matthews. They have also kidnapped a man by the name of Billy, who is in my employ. I have no idea how you convinced them to trust that you were on their side; I suspect they were desperate for someone with the ability to actually get at me, and they were so eager to use the information you gave them that they didn’t question overmuch how vigilant you were, until you’d made too many mistakes. Of course, no murder is perfect, nor is any murderer. They were bound to err, and you happened to be the weak link in their chain. I’m sure you thought you were clever to follow me undetected for a time. Indeed, you have some skill there. If you’d stayed honest, it might have served you well as an officer of the law.”

“I see that you would like to speak, but in order to save time, let me finish first. You will say that I do not have proof. The truth is that last night, you followed me to Pall Mall. I caught a glimpse of you when I doubled back. Your exact involvement in the other crimes I do not know, but I know that you informed the Klan of our plan regarding the arrest of Miss Adler, which led directly to the murder of Matthews. I am perfectly prepared to report this to Lestrade this moment. He may not always appreciate my methods, but he has known me for many years. He will not take your word over mine.”

Holmes delivered this speech with extraordinary speed, and all the while, the young man’s face grew redder and redder, and he sputtered more and more. About two thirds of the way through, I could tell that he knew he was beaten. He appeared, at first, to hope that he might find a loophole in what Holmes knew, but none existed. We held all the cards, and he finally realised the fact.

“What do you want from me?” he asked at the end.

“I want you to help us,” said Holmes.

“Why should I do that?” he asked. “I’m done for already if you reveal my part in things.”

“You have a choice, right this moment,” said my friend firmly. “If you agree to help, I will speak for you. I give my word that I and my friends will testify on your behalf at trial, and I will do what I can to secure an offer for you to testify against others in exchange for a lesser sentence. I cannot guarantee that our word will carry weight, but if you refuse, you will certainly swing for your crimes, and there will be no one to defend you, make no mistake of that.”

“What do you want me to do?” Keating asked, clenching his fists at his sides.

“I want you to tell me with whom you are working and why. Then, I want you to bring me face to face with the ringleader of the gang without him having any warning. That will require you to act as if nothing untoward has happened. You will contact him in your usual way.”

“If I do this,” he asked, “you will not tell Lestrade right away?”

“For the moment, it will serve my purpose for you to continue in your present occupation,” said Holmes. “I am curious, however, how you convinced him to let you out on your own for enough time to follow me.”

“He’s not the cleverest man,” said Keating sullenly, “but he treated me well enough. He thought I had a bright future and encouraged me to take more responsibility.”

“I suspected as much,” said Holmes. “And now, make your choice. Either help us and secure for yourself what help you can, or take your chances in court alone. You have no way out of this.” My friend could be excessively intimidating when he chose, and he used his entire force of will to push the young man’s mind as far as he could.

We stood silent for a few moments that seemed, as everyone always says, to be much longer than they really were. Keating stood with his back to the desk, and we all faced him, a tribunal that was ready to convict. He looked at each of us in turn, and I thought he intended to gauge whether one of us was more sympathetic than the others, but he found no mercy in our eyes. He had forfeited it the moment Anna Mason had left the earth.

“Very well,” he finally said. “I am in the employ of a man named Roy Calhoun.”

***

“The most important matter for the moment is, where is Billy being held?” Holmes spoke eagerly, and I would not have wanted to cross him at that moment, so intent was he on the scent of the chase. Now that he had cornered Keating, I could tell that he had the end in sight.

“I don’t know,” the policeman answered.

“Don’t toy with me,” said Holmes, very sharply. “You have nothing to bargain with.”

“I truly don’t,” reiterated Keating miserably. “I’ve never even met Calhoun directly.”

“How do you get messages to him?” My friend, I could see, was losing what little patience he had left.

“Through Lady Helen Dabney,” he said.

“I know about her,” said Holmes. “Was she part of the scheme?”

“She only took messages,” he answered. “She didn’t like it, but she was set on Calhoun.”

“When is your next meeting?”

“Tonight,” Keating answered, “at Lady Colesworth’s party.”

“I wish to speak to her sooner.”

“There is no way. She spends her days with the American. I don’t know where they go.”

“How did you secure an invitation for this evening?”

“My mother is the earl’s distant cousin. We’ve never been close, but Helen used the connection to convince her mother to invite me.”

“Will Calhoun be there?”

“No, he is unknown to Helen’s parents. She meets with him under the pretext of calling on a friend. Her maid is very amenable and can be paid off to keep quiet.”

“I see,” said Holmes. “It will not serve my purposes for you to go alone this evening. Miss Adler, Dr Watson, and I will also attend.”

“How, Holmes?” asked the doctor.

“Irene will secure the invitations,” he said. “She was once a great friend of Lady Colesworth, Helen’s stepmother.”

Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several pipes over them, trying to separate those which were crucial from others which were merely incidental.

- The Crooked Man