Sherlock Holmes In Montague Street Volume 2 (14 page)

“Come,” said Holmes, taking my arm and marching me off, “we are going to look for some stabling. Try to feel as though you'd just set up a brougham and had come out to look for a place to put it in. I fear we may have to delude some person with that belief presently.”

“Why - what do you want stables for? And why make me your excuse?”

“As to what I want the stables for - really I'm not altogether sure myself. As to making you an excuse - well, even the humblest excuse is better than none. But come, here are some stables. Not good enough, though, even if any of them were empty. Come on.”

We had stopped for an instant at the entrance to a small alley of rather dirty stables, and Holmes, paying apparently but small attention to the stables themselves, had looked sharply about him with his gaze in the air.

“I know this part of London pretty well,” Holmes observed, “and I can only remember one other range of stabling near by; we must try that. As a matter of fact, I'm coming here on little more than conjecture, though I shall be surprised if there isn't something in it. Do you know anything of aphasia?”

“I have heard of it, of course, though I can't say I remember ever knowing a case.”

“I've seen one today - very curious case. The man's a Frenchman, discovered helpless in the street by a policeman. The only thing he can say that has any meaning in it at all is ‘
je le nie
,' and that he says mechanically, without in the least knowing what he is saying. And he can't write. But he got sketching and scrawling various things on some paper, and his scrawls - together with another thing or two - have given me an idea. We're following it up now. When we are less busy, and in a quiet place, I'll show you the sketches and explain things generally; there's no time now, and I
may
want your help for a bit, in which case ignorance may prevent you spoiling things, you clumsy ruffian. Hullo! here we are, I think!”

We had stopped at the end of another stable-yard, rather dirtier than the first. The stables were sound but inelegant sheds, and one or two appeared to be devoted to other purposes, having low chimneys, on one of which an old basket was rakishly set by way of cowl. Beside the entrance a worn-out old board was nailed, with the legend, “Stabling to Let,” in letters formerly white on a ground formerly black.

“Come,” said Holmes, “we'll explore.”

We picked our way over the greasy cobble-stones and looked about us. On the left was the wall enclosing certain back-yards, and on the right the stables. Two doors in the middle of these were open, and a butcher's young man, who with his shiny bullet head would have been known for a butcher's young man anywhere, was wiping over the new-washed wheel of a smart butcher's cart.

“Good day,” Holmes said pleasantly to the young man. “I notice there's some stabling to let here. Now, where should I inquire about it?”

“Jones, Whitfield Street,” the young man answered, giving the wheel a final spin. “But there's only one little place to let now, I think, and it ain't very grand.”

“Oh, which is that?”

“Next but one to the street there. A chap 'ad it for wood-choppin', but 'e chucked it. There ain't room for more'n a donkey an' a barrow.”

“Ah, that's a pity. We're not particular, but want something big enough, and we don't mind paying a fair price. Perhaps we might make an arrangement with somebody here who has a stable?”

The young man shook his head.

“I shouldn't think so,” he said doubtfully; “they're mostly shop-people as wants all the room theirselves. My guv'nor couldn't do nothink, I know. These 'ere two stables ain't scarcely enough for all 'e wants as it is. Then there's Barkett the greengrocer 'ere next door.
That
ain't no good. Then, next to that, there's the little place as is to let, and at the end there's Griffith's at the butter-shop.”

“And those the other way?”

“Well, this 'ere first one's Curtis's, Euston Road - that's a butter-shop, too, an' 'e 'as the next after that. The last one, up at the end - I dunno quite whose that is. It ain't been long took, but I b'lieve it's some foreign baker's. I ain't ever see anythink come out of it, though; but there's a 'orse there, I know - I seen the feed took in.”

Holmes turned thoughtfully away.

“Thanks,” he said. “I suppose we can't manage it, then. Good day.”

We walked to the street as the butcher's young man wheeled in his cart and flung away his pail of water.

“Will you just hang about here, Brett,” he asked, “while I hurry round to the nearest iron-monger's? I shan't be gone long. We're going to work a little burglary. Take note if anybody comes to that stable at the farther end.”

He hurried away and I waited. In a few moments the butcher's young man shut his doors and went whistling down the street, and in a few moments more Holmes appeared.

“Come,” he said, “there's nobody about now; we'll lose no time. I've bought a pair of pliers and a few nails.”

We re-entered the yard at the door of the last stable. Holmes stooped and examined the padlock. Taking a nail in his pliers he bent it carefully against the brick wall. Then using the nail as a key, still held by the pliers, and working the padlock gently in his left hand, in an astonishingly few seconds he had released the hasp and taken off the padlock. “I'm not altogether a bad burglar,” he remarked. “Not so bad, really.”

The padlock fastened a bar which, when removed, allowed the door to be opened. Opening it, Holmes immediately seized a candle stuck in a bottle which stood on a shelf, pulled me in, and closed the door behind us.

“We'll do this by candle-light,” he said, as he struck a match. “If the door were left open it would be seen from the street. Keep your ears open in case anybody comes down the yard.”

The part of the shed that we stood in was used as a coach-house, and was occupied by a rather shabby tradesman's cart, the shafts of which rested on the ground. From the stall adjoining came the sound of the shuffling and trampling of an impatient horse.

We turned to the cart. On the name-board at the side were painted in worn letters the words, “Schuyler, Baker.” The address, which had been below, was painted out.

Holmes took out the pins and let down the tail board. Within the cart was a new bed-mattress which covered the whole surface at the bottom. I felt it, pressed it from the top, and saw that it was an ordinary spring mattress - perhaps rather unusually soft in the springs. It seemed a curious thing to keep in a baker's cart.

Holmes, who had set the candle on a convenient shelf, plunged his arm into the farthermost recesses of the cart and brought forth a very long French loaf, and then another. Diving again he produced certain loaves of the sort known as the “plain cottage “ - two sets of four each, each set baked together in a row. “Feel this bread,” said Holmes, and I felt it. It was stale - almost as hard as wood.

Holmes produced a large pocket-knife, and with what seemed to me to be superfluous care and elaboration, cut into the top of one of the cottage loaves. Then he inserted his fingers in the gap he had made and firmly but slowly tore the hard bread into two pieces. He pulled away the crumb from within till there was nothing left but a rather thick outer shell.

“No,” he said, rather to himself than to me, “there's nothing in
that
.” He lifted one of the very long French loaves and measured it against the interior of the cart. It had before been propped diagonally, and now it was noticeable that it was just a shade longer than the inside of the cart was wide. Jammed in, in fact, it held firmly. Holmes produced his knife again, and divided this long loaf in the centre; there was nothing but bread in
that
. The horse in the stall fidgeted more than ever.

“That horse hasn't been fed lately, I fancy,” Holmes said. “We'll give the poor chap a bit of this hay in the corner.”

“But,” I said, “what about this bread? What did you expect to find in it? I can't see what you're driving at.”

“I'll tell you,” Holmes replied, “I'm driving after something I expect to find, and close at hand here, too. How are your nerves today - pretty steady? The thing may try them.”

Before I could reply there was a sound of footsteps in the yard outside, approaching. Holmes lifted his finger instantly for silence and whispered hurriedly, “There's only one. If he comes
here
, we grab him.”

The steps came nearer and stopped outside the door. There was a pause, and then a slight drawing in of breath, as of a person suddenly surprised. At that moment the door was slightly shifted ajar and an eye peeped in.

“Catch him!” said Holmes aloud, as we sprang to the door. “He mustn't get away!”

I had been nearer the doorway, and was first through it. The stranger ran down the yard at his best, but my legs were the longer, and half-way to the street I caught him by the shoulder and swung him round. Like lightning he whipped out a knife, and I flung in my left instantly on the chance of flooring him. It barely checked him, however, and the knife swung short of my chest by no more than two inches; but Holmes had him by the wrist and tripped him forward on his face. He struggled like a wild beast, and Holmes had to stand on his forearm and force up his wrist till the bones were near breaking before he dropped his knife. But throughout the struggle the man never shouted, called for help, nor, indeed, made the slightest sound, and we on our part were equally silent. It was quickly over, of course, for he was on his face, and we were two. We dragged our prisoner into the stable and closed the door behind us. So far as we had seen, nobody had witnessed the capture from the street, though, of course, we had been too busy to be certain.

“There's a set of harness hanging over at the back,” said Holmes; “I think we'll tie him up with the traces and reins - nothing like leather. We don't need a gag; I know he won't shout.”

While I got the straps Holmes held the prisoner by a peculiar neck-and-wrist grip that forbade him to move except at the peril of a snapped arm. He had probably never been a person of pleasant aspect, being short, strongly and squatly built, large and ugly of feature, and wild and dirty of hair and beard. And now, his face flushed with struggling and smeared with mud from the stable-yard, his nose bleeding and his forehead exhibiting a growing bump, he looked particularly repellent. We strapped his elbows together behind, and as he sullenly ignored a demand for the contents of his pockets Holmes unceremoniously turned them out. Helpless as he was, the man struggled to prevent this, though, of course, ineffectually. There were papers, tobacco, a bunch of keys, and various odds and ends. Holmes was glancing hastily at the papers when, suddenly dropping them, he caught the prisoner by the shoulder and pulled him away from a partly-consumed hay-truss which stood in a corner, and toward which he had quietly sidled.

“Keep him still,” said Holmes; “we haven't examined this place yet.” And he commenced to pull away the hay from the corner.

Presently a large piece of sackcloth was revealed, and this being lifted left visible below it another batch of loaves of the same sort as we had seen in the cart. There were a dozen of them in one square batch, and the only thing about them that differed them from those in the cart was their position, for the batch lay bottom side up.

“That's enough, I think,” Holmes said. “Don't touch them, for Heaven's sake!” He picked up the papers he had dropped. “That has saved us a little search,” he continued. “See here, Brett; I was in the act of telling you my suspicions when this little affair interrupted me. If you care to look at one or two of these letters you'll see what I should have told you. It's Anarchism and bombs, of course. I'm about as certain as I can be that there's a reversible dynamite bomb inside each of those innocent loaves, though I assure you I don't mean meddling with them now. But see here. Will you go and bring in a four-wheeler? Bring it right down the yard. There's more to do, and we mustn't attract attention.”

I hurried away and found the cab. The meaning of the loaves, the cart, and the spring-mattress was now plain. There was an Anarchist plot to carry out a number of explosions probably simultaneously, in different parts of the city. I had, of course, heard much of the terrible “reversing” bombs - those bombs which, containing a tube of acid plugged by wadding, required no fuse, and only needed to be inverted to be set going to explode in a few minutes. The loaves containing these bombs would form an effectual “blind,” and they were to be distributed, probably in broad daylight, in the most natural manner possible, in a baker's cart. A man would be waiting near the scene of each contemplated explosion. He would be given a loaf taken from the inverted batch. He would take it - perhaps wrapped in paper, but still inverted, and apparently the most innocent object possible - to the spot selected, deposit it, right side up - which would reverse the inner tube and set up the action - in some quiet corner, behind a door or what not, and make his own escape, while the explosion tore down walls and - if the experiment were lucky - scattered the flesh and bones of unsuspecting people.

The infernal loaves were made and kept reversed, to begin with, in order to stand more firmly, and - if observed - more naturally, when turned over to explode. Even if a child picked up the loaf and carried it off, that child at least would be blown to atoms, which at any rate would have been something for the conspirators to congratulate themselves upon. The spring-mattress, of course, was to ease the jolting to the bombs, and obviate any random jerking loose of the acid, which might have had the deplorable result of sacrificing the valuable life of the conspirator who drove the cart. The other loaves, too, with no explosive contents, had their use. The two long ones, which fitted across the inside of the cart, would be jammed across so as to hold the bombs in the centre, and the others would be used to pack the batch on the other sides and prevent any dangerous slipping about. The thing seemed pretty plain, except that as yet I had no idea of how Holmes learned anything of the business.