Just outside the doctor’s office, we looked about for a cab to convey us to Holmes’s next destination: Piotr Flan’s pawnshop, which was on the far outskirts of town. I must have been out for some time at Dr Macready’s for it was indeed midnight, and at that moment I was feeling no pain. Darkness engulfed the city and it had begun to rain in great pelting drops. No cabs were to be found.
When I noticed that we were standing somewhat near the police station, I suggested to Holmes that we be less visible. He turned into an alleyway and in five minutes, we were lost.
‘The map, Watson?’
I no longer had it with me. We would have to ask for help. The rain grew into a downpour, but luck was with us. Or in reality, luck had been following us. Upon exiting an alley near the Round Church, we came upon Polly. We had not seen her since Dillie’s murder. She was breathless, pale and – as we were – dripping wet.
‘Mr ’Olmes! Dr Watson! I been trying to flag you. I was outside the Cross and Anchor when you left with an arrow in Doctor Watson, and I tagged on back of that cab and waited for you outside the surgery. But you left so fast. I wants to help you, any way I can. For Miss Dillie. Please, can I help?’
‘Do you know the way to Piotr Flan’s pawnshop?’
‘Yes, I knows it. Follow me. It’s quite far.’
‘Can you make it, Watson?’
I nodded. I was feeling no pain.
‘Then you pawned items for Miss Wyndham?’ asked Holmes as we hurried through the streets.
‘No. I always waited outside. This way.’
We arrived at Piotr Flan’s pawnshop at one in the morning. Thanks to Macready’s cocaine, I felt nothing of my wound, but I knew this long walk would do me no good. Of course, the shop was closed and dark, but Holmes rang the bell repeatedly.
‘Holmes, we will have to wait until morning!’ I said, but he persisted.
‘Chances are he lives upstairs,’ said Holmes. ‘If not …’
Polly eyed the large padlock on the grating that had been placed in front of the door and front window of the shop. She removed a lockpick from her sleeve. ‘I could maybe unlock this,’ she said.
Holmes and I turned to her in surprise. I wondered briefly if everyone but me had mastered this skill. But before she could begin, a small light appeared in the back of the shop. A grizzled old man approached, peering at us owl-like from the interior, directing his lantern to shine on our faces. He had a strange corona of corkscrew hair that stuck out in all directions from an ill-fitting nightcap and an expression of what I imagined was permanent distrust on his lined visage.
He did not look inclined to open up. Polly put her lockpick away.
‘Vat you vant?’ he shouted, barely audible through the closed and locked door.
From his waistcoat, Holmes unclipped his gold watch, a high-quality timepiece which I had long admired, and held it up with what appeared to be a desperate and conciliatory smile.
Soon we faced Piotr Flan across a glass and mahogany counter filled with jewelled and gilded items. He had lit several lights and the small shop was now almost bright as daylight. His wife, in her nightdress and dressing gown, had come down to join him, apparently with the explicit purpose of keeping a sharp watch on Polly and me during the transaction. I felt a little like a rabbit in hawk territory. The woman was more than ready to pounce, and she carried a battered policeman’s truncheon in stark contrast with her flowered nightclothes.
‘All right then, you had better make this vorth my vile,’ said the man, with an accent I could not identify.
Flan spread out a large velvet cloth and tapped it, inviting Holmes to lay out his treasure. Polly began to wander through the small shop and the pawnbroker’s wife followed close on her heels. ‘Touch nuffink,’ the woman growled in a distinctly Cockney accent, ‘if ye know what’s good for yer.’
‘Just looking,’ said Polly. ‘No trouble, ma’am.’
‘Nuffink, hear me?’ the woman repeated, slightly jiggling the stick at her side.
Holmes laid the watch out on the velvet cloth. The pawnbroker took out a loupe and leaned in to examine it.
‘Got it! Both of ’em!’ cried Polly from across the room.
Holmes looked up, scooped up his watch and crossed over to Polly. I followed. She pointed to a locked case in which were a wide variety of jewelled rings. ‘Those two,’ said she. ‘The big diamond one, there, with the two emeralds – that’s from Mr Eden-Summers. And the littler one with the sapphire is Mr Vitale’s.’
‘You’re sure, Polly?’ asked Holmes.
‘As sure as this lady thinks we’re about to steal ’em.’
Indeed, the woman now held her stick aloft and ready to strike, and her husband appeared behind her, now pointing a gun at the three of us.
‘Hold your stick, please, madam. And sir, be assured,’ said Holmes, ‘we mean you no harm.’ Holmes raised his hands and nodded to Polly and me. We followed suit. The woman lowered her stick, but her husband kept his gun trained on us, or rather on Holmes specifically.
‘This is as I thought,’ said my friend. ‘Dillie had planned this all along, to fund her escape. May I see these two rings please, sir?’ asked Holmes. He began slowly to lower his hands.
The pawnbroker hesitated but did not lower his gun. ‘You buying or you selling?’
‘I am buying,’ said Holmes, clipping his watch back onto its chain and replacing it in his pocket.
‘Vat is this all about?’
‘I would like to purchase information from you, sir. There is a young woman who I believe has been bringing in items, including these, to your shop. I would estimate she has been doing this over the last year.’
‘Year and a half, more like,’ said Polly.
‘I wish you had mentioned this before,’ said Holmes.
‘She weren’t dead before.’
‘Dead?’ exclaimed Mrs Flan. ‘Piotr! This is a police matter!’ She raised her stick menacingly. ‘You three! Out!’
‘Calm yourself, Luisa! People die. That’s life.’
A philosopher! I suppressed a grin, catching Holmes’s sidelong glance at me.
The man turned to Holmes. ‘I don’t gossip about my customers,’ rasped the old man. ‘Otherwise I vould have no customers.’
‘Understood,’ said Holmes. ‘But I am prepared to buy this information from you. There is no threat implied, you obviously run an honest business. Here is a picture of the young lady.’ From his pocket he removed a daguerreotype of Odelia Wyndham.
‘Where did you get that?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Freddie was kind enough to lend it to me,’ he said. ‘Without his knowledge.’ A little smile.
The old man eyed the picture. ‘I am not sure. I may have seen her. May have not.’
There was a long pause.
Holmes took out two sovereigns and laid them on the counter. The man pushed them back towards Holmes.
‘No. I am still not sure.’
Holmes frowned. ‘Watson?’
I reached into my pocket. I found a five-pound note I was carrying and reluctantly added it to Holmes’s coins on the counter. The man’s face melted into what passed for a smile.
‘I remember now! Yes, she has pawned six items here. Three have sold. I can show you the other three,’ said Mr Flan. ‘Luisa, the diamond earrings in case six.’ He nodded towards his wife. ‘And that gold bracelet vith a seahorse …’
‘I am only interested in these two rings,’ said Holmes, leading Flan to the case where Dillie’s two engagement rings sat.
‘Girl in the picture did not pawn those.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Positive. They only just came in – last night, vasn’t it, Luisa?’
‘I don’t trust these ’ere people,’ said his wife, eyeing us malevolently.
She was right to be suspicious of us. Holmes was certainly lying by omission.
‘Last night? Who brought them, then?’ asked Holmes.
The man hesitated, and glanced from Holmes to me and back again, estimating his chances. He smiled. ‘I am not sure.’
We exchanged a look. Then we both reached deep into our pockets, and between us found only a few additional coins. We laid them on the glass case containing the two engagement rings. The man paused, then shook his head.
‘This is all I have. I am not a wealthy man,’ said Holmes.
Flan waved his fingers at Holmes’s gold chain and watch.
My friend sighed. ‘All right. I will not give it, but will pawn it, and pay you from the fee. How much will you loan me for it?’
‘Five.’
Holmes swallowed. ‘It is worth much more. You make this difficult.’
The man shrugged.
‘All right, then. You won’t sell my watch, then?’ said Holmes, anxiously. ‘I will be back for it, you can be sure.’
The man shrugged. ‘That is vat they all say.’
Holmes placed his watch on the velvet cloth. Flan took up the watch without even looking at it again and pocketed it with a small grin of satisfaction. He handed Holmes a five-pound note.
Holmes took it, sighed, then handed back the five-pound note he had just been given.
The pawnbroker pocketed that as well. This put the fellow twelve pounds and Holmes’s good watch ahead. We had nothing more to offer, and I hoped he would cooperate.
‘A young man. Came and pawned them in the middle of the night. Last night.’
‘A young man?’ I exclaimed.
‘Can you describe him, please?’ said Holmes.
‘Twenties. Fair hair. All curly. Gold-rimmed spectacles. Nice ones.’
Deacon Buttons! It must have been! Even Holmes looked surprised. We exchanged a look.
Never one to assume, Holmes pressed on. ‘Tall?’
‘Fairly so.’
‘Awkward looking, or a handsome man?’
‘Both. A good-looking young man. But something about him. Shy, perhaps.’
‘Small gold ring on the left fifth finger?’ asked Holmes.
‘Yes. He tried to pawn that, too, but vould not take my offer.’
It was definitely Deacon Buttons.
‘Understandable. At what time was this?’
The man shrugged.
‘Three-thirty in the mornin’,’ said his wife.
‘Was he wearing a cleric’s collar by chance?’ asked Holmes.
‘No.’
‘I would have removed it as well. All right, thank you.’ Holmes appeared to be disappointed. ‘Sir, you have been a great help. Madam.’ He turned to leave. ‘Oh, before we go, may I have my watch back, please? Without it you are twelve pounds the richer, for naught but a few minutes of your time. Surely you have the advantage of me, even so.’
Flan shook his head, patting his pocket with the watch. ‘We have made our deal,’ said he. ‘It will be fifteen if you get back before I sell it.’
‘Well, then,’ said Holmes, ‘let me offer you this in exchange for the watch. That small diamond tiara over there? It was stolen from a minor royal with a country house nearby. Lady Debenby, you have heard of her? The thief killed a treasured servant in the taking, and the family are offering a hefty reward to identify the culprit. May I suggest you bring your information to the police?’
Flan looked askance at Holmes.
‘I am a good friend of Detective Inspector Hadley,’ remarked Holmes.
We left with the watch.