The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (12 page)

‘So you really think you can find this unknown address?’

‘I believe I can at least locate the immediate area. There were several clues in Dr Moore Agar’s account of the journey, including the length of time it took. If you care to hand down my gazetteer which contains a large-scale map of London, I shall begin my research. As I know nothing about Nature, I shall assign the leaf which the doctor so thoughtfully brought with him to you for study, Watson. I believe there is a volume somewhere on the shelves which deals with the subject. It has never afforded me the slightest pleasure to tramp about the countryside, exclaiming over the beauties of bird, beast and flower.’

I have commented before on the strange gaps in Holmes’
knowledge
*
and, as I fetched the volumes of reference, handing the gazetteer to Holmes, I could not resist remarking,

‘I am surprised at your lack of interest, Holmes. After all, Nature is a study of botany which is a branch of science. Think of osmosis and the dissemination of seeds.’

‘I would rather not, my dear fellow. Given the choice, I should much prefer to inspect a footprint than a foxglove. Or if you insist on forcing the foxglove upon me, then it would be its medicinal properties which would engage my attention and the effects of digitalis on the human heart.’

From an illustration in that section of the reference book devoted to deciduous species, I had no difficulty in identifying the leaf as coming from a beech tree, a discovery which I communicated to Holmes who was still poring over the map which he had spread out upon the table.

‘And I,’ said he, ‘believe I may have traced the greater part of the route which Dr Moore Agar took last night.’ As I joined him, he continued, placing a long finger on the page, ‘Harley Street is here, Watson, and the carriage was facing towards the park. When it started off, it turned to the left, almost certainly into Marylebone Road, before turning again, this time to the right into, I believe, Park Road. Now, according to our client, it then continued on a straight route for some considerable distance. This would have taken it into Wellington Road which leads through Swiss Cottage to Finchley Road, the main thoroughfare where Dr Moore Agar was aware of lights and other vehicles. Somewhere along that road, the carriage turned again to the right and began to climb a long hill. This could answer the description of Belsize Lane or any of these other turnings which lead eventually to the steeper incline of Heath Street in Hampstead. As it was here that the carriage turned to
the left, it will be in this area,’ he concluded, his finger resting on a portion of the map which indicated a series of side roads to the south and west of Hampstead Heath, ‘that we shall find the house we are looking for. As soon as I have made a large-scale copy of this particular portion of the map, our hunt shall begin.’

We set off shortly afterwards by hansom, Holmes giving the driver precise instructions as to the first part of our journey which followed the route he had indicated in the gazetteer.

Having reached Hampstead and the cab having gained the top of the steep hill which was Heath Street, Holmes ordered the cabby to turn to the left.

We now found ourselves in a residential district, comprising quiet side roads, many lined with large houses, any one of which could have answered Dr Moore Agar’s description of the unknown residence he had visited the night before.

It was here that our knowledge of our client’s exact route failed us and our real search began. With his copy of the map in his hand, Holmes called out to the driver to turn either left or right as we traversed the area, following a logical pattern of my old friend’s devising.

After we had taken several such turnings, the little flap door in the roof of the hansom flew open and a bleary eye appeared in the aperture.

‘What h’exact h’address is you lookin’ for, guvn’r?’ inquired the cabby.

‘It is more a matter of finding a beech tree than a precise road,’ Holmes replied. ‘Drive on! I shall tell you when to stop.’

For a moment, the eye continued to regard us suspiciously.

Then, ‘A beech tree!’ came a disgusted voice, the flap was slammed shut and the cab continued on its way.

We found the tree in the seventh or eighth turning. By that time, I had lost count of the number of roads we had driven down although Holmes kept a record, ticking off each name on the map he had prepared.

It was situated in Maplewood Avenue and stood on the right-hand side in the garden of a tall, brick villa, very similar to the others which lined the road.

Holmes rapped on the roof and, after the cab had drawn up and my old friend had paid off the driver, we stood waiting until the hansom had driven away before Holmes gave me my own instructions.

‘We shall walk casually past the place, Watson, without staring at it or paying it any undue attention. However, do please take a note of those distinctive details which Dr Moore Agar mentioned, such as the red and black tiled path and the dolphin-shaped knocker.’

The house did indeed possess these features but, as we strolled past the gate, I noticed, to my great disappointment, that the number affixed to it was twenty-three.

‘We should have kept the cab, Holmes,’ I remarked as we passed down the road. ‘Dr Moore Agar specifically stated that it was number thirty-two. It is the wrong house.’

‘I think not,’ Holmes replied. ‘You may have remarked, Watson, that the figures were made of brass and were screwed into place, thus making it easy for them to be removed and replaced in reverse order. What you evidently failed to notice, but which I took particular pains to observe, were the scratch marks on the heads of the screws, tiny but quite fresh, which suggest that this is indeed what occurred.’

In fact, I had not noticed such a trifling detail although I was not in the least surprised that Holmes should have done so. Not only are his powers of observation remarkable but he has the keenest eyesight of any man I know.

‘In addition,’ Holmes continued, ‘the exterior of the house answers in every particular the description given to us by Dr Moore Agar. However, one problem remains. How are we to contrive to see inside the place? Before we can involve the official police in the investigation, I must have some data to prove we have found the correct address. Neither Lestrade nor any of his colleagues will be impressed when the only evidence we have to offer them is a beech leaf.’

‘Could we not approach the house on some pretext or other?’ I suggested.

‘What have you in mind?’

In truth, I had nothing in mind although, casting my mind
back quickly to another investigation in which we had successfully impersonated two clergymen in order to gain entrance to one particular residence,
*
I said, ‘Could we not pretend we are collecting on behalf of some charitable organization?’

‘No, no! That would not do at all!’ Holmes sounded impatient. ‘Supposing no one answers or we are turned away on the door-step? We shall have seen no more of the place than the porch or, at best, the hall. That will hardly satisfy Lestrade. We must be certain that Wetherby and the young lady, his supposed daughter, are indeed in residence.’

While we had been discussing the matter, we had emerged at the top of Heath Street and were walking down the hill past some small, rather nondescript shops which lined the road when an empty hansom passed us. Holmes hailed it and, bundling me unceremoniously inside, gave the driver our Baker Street address, calling out, as the cab drew away, leaving him standing on the pavement, ‘I shall see you later, my dear fellow!’

I was, I confess, not only bewildered by this sudden and unexpected turn of events but also somewhat annoyed and it was with considerable impatience that, after arriving at Baker Street, I waited for Holmes to return and explain his extraordinary behaviour.

It was more than an hour later, however, before he came bursting into the sitting-room to fling a large brown paper parcel down on to the table.

‘There, Watson!’ said he with a triumphant air. ‘Our problem is solved! We shall return to Maplewood Avenue this afternoon where we shall not only see inside the house but, if I am not mistaken, also make the acquaintance of Mr Josiah Wetherby.’

‘How shall we contrive that?’ I asked, my curiosity quite overcoming my earlier exasperation.

‘By the simple method of disguising ourselves as window-cleaners.’

‘Window-cleaners, Holmes?’ I protested. ‘But I can hardly pass as a window-cleaner dressed as I am. I shall need clothes …’

‘They are here,’ he replied, laying a hand on the parcel.

‘… not to mention special equipment such as buckets and ladders. How shall we acquire those?’

‘They are already spoken for,’ he replied. ‘As we walked down Heath Street, I noticed the entrance to a small yard with a sign advertising a window-cleaning firm. I thought it might arouse the owner’s suspicions if the two of us approached him. That is why I so rudely hustled you into the hansom, for which I apologize most sincerely, my dear fellow. He is a certain Joseph Smallwood who runs the business with the assistance of his son, young Dorian. In consideration of a fee, two guineas to be exact, Mr Smallwood senior agreed to lend me his hand-cart, his window-cleaning equipment and also a set of his working clothes, Mr Smallwood being of approximately the same height and figure as yourself. Oh, I can assure you, Watson,’ Holmes continued, seeing my dubious expression, ‘that although Mr Smallwood may be a tradesman in a very minor capacity, he is quite clean in his person and a thoroughly respectable citizen, being, as I understand from my conversation with him, a sidesman at St John’s in Church Row. As for my own disguise, I have plenty of clothes in my wardrobe amongst which I have no doubt I shall find something suitable for the occasion.

‘I also visited the house agents in the area and discovered the very one, Nichols and Allison’s, which handled the lease of twenty-three Maple wood Avenue. On the pretext that I had heard this particular property had been on the market and that I was most anxious to rent it myself, should it ever fall vacant, I learned some very pertinent information from the junior partner, Mr Allison.

‘It appears, Watson, that the present occupant has taken it on a very short lease, one month to be exact, and that he is due to move out at the beginning of October, in one week’s time. I think we may deduce from this fact that, whatever nefarious business Mr Wetherby may be engaged on, he expects to have it completed by that date. It also means that time is short and
that we have not long before our bird flies the coop. Hence my anxiety to return to Hampstead this afternoon without delay.’

As soon as luncheon was over, we put on our disguises. Mine consisted of a flannel shirt, a waistcoat, a pair of corduroy trousers, very worn about the knees, and an old jacket, also showing signs of wear on the elbows and cuffs. Despite Holmes’ assurance that Mr Smallwood was approximately my size, he must have been considerably stouter than I about the waist for the trousers had to be held up by means of a strong leather belt which Holmes produced from his collection of suitable accessories. As for the boots, they were several sizes too large and, although crumpled paper stuffed into the toes made them an adequate fit, they were far from comfortable.

It is extraordinary what a change of clothes will do to a man’s apparent social standing. Dressed in this attire and with Mr Smallwood’s cap upon my head, I saw, when I looked in the long glass in Holmes’ bedroom, that my appearance was completely altered from that of a respectable member of the professional classes to that of a workman of the lower orders; not a comfortable experience when one considers that mere outward appurtenances such as one’s boots or the cut of one’s coat can bring about so fundamental a change.

Holmes appeared to suffer no such qualms. From his extensive wardrobe of disguises, he had selected garments very similar to mine with the addition of a red-spotted kerchief which he knotted casually about his neck.

It was on my insistence that we wore our topcoats over this shabby apparel. As a respectable doctor, I was sensitive about appearing in public in Baker Street, where neighbours might recognise me, dressed as I was. Holmes, who is quite oblivious to the opinions of others, had no such misgivings. Indeed, I have known him come and go from our lodgings dressed in all manner of disguises from a Nonconformist clergyman to an old woman.

However, he acquiesced in my demand and, with our working men’s attire decently covered, at least as far as our lower legs and feet, we took a cab to Mr Smallwood’s yard in Hampstead where the proprietor of the window-cleaning business,
Mr Smallwood himself, a cheerful, rotund man, was waiting for us, together with the equipment of his trade.

It was piled on to a hand-cart and consisted of two lengths of ladder which could be assembled together to form one long one, a collection of various polishing-rags and wash-leathers, and two buckets, half-full of water, swinging from hooks on the back. As if the cart were not conspicuous enough, along both sides were painted the words
Jo
Smallwood
&
Son,
Potter’s
Yard,
Heath
Street
in large, white letters.

Leaving our topcoats in the care of Mr Smallwood and watched by both Smallwoods, father and son, who appeared to find much to their amusement in the situation, Holmes and I trundled the cart out of the yard and up the hill towards Maplewood Avenue.

I cannot say, in all honesty, that I enjoyed the experience, unlike Holmes who entered into the spirit of the occasion with great gusto, to the extent of tipping his cap at a rakish angle and whistling the tune of a rather vulgar music-hall song, made popular among the lower classes by Marie Lloyd.
*

By the time we reached Maplewood Avenue not only was I in considerable discomfort from Mr Smallwood’s boots but my arms were aching so much with the effort of pushing the loaded cart up the steep incline that I was twice forced to ask Holmes to slow down his pace.

It had been arranged between us that I should hold the ladder while Holmes mounted the rungs to look in at the rooms while he wiped the windows and, recalling Dr Moore Agar’s statement, that the bed-chamber where he had examined the young lady was in the front of the house and to the left of the door, it was at this window that Holmes chose to start his activities.