with him and under two coats stitched together. Horse-tail hair (a key apothecary’s medicinal ingredient) was used for human locks under the hat.
Within an hour, Holmes is on High Street in Hounslow. No one is following him. He must get back to the apothecary shop and then on to school without being detected. It has to seem, to anyone who might be observing, that today is a normal day for him. Bell has given him enough money to get to the far suburbs and back. They have agreed to meet near Hyde Park Corner at about the time Big Ben strikes eight and slip into the trees there to re-costume themselvesas the Fat Man. Simply wearing padding underneath the big trousers was not an option – a mighty amount would have been needed to give Sherlock the girth he wanted and everything would have to have been stashed before he went to Hounslow
and
still be available when he returned. As well, he could not secretly watch the house as a huge Fat Man; he would have stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb in the suburbs. Neither would he have been able to effectively run away in such a disguise. And with Bell (magically) out of the shop and unobserved as such, the old man could spend his time near the Treasury, making sure that Grimsby was still going to work.
Sherlock instructs the driver to turn off High Street at exactly the spot where Sir Ramsay’s carriage turned the other night, but stops him before he gets to the narrow road where the house sits. He asks him to wait there. The boy gets out, turns onto the little street, and cautiously makes his way along it until he comes to the front of the residence.
The house looks quiet. Sherlock is guessing that it is nearing seven o’clock. It is likely that this “kept” woman has no occupation outside her home, but Sherlock is figuring she does
something
on her front step or beyond in the morning, even if she simply emerges to water her many flowers or goes out of doors to take the air. He desperately hopes that this is a perfect time for her to appear, otherwise this daring outing is for nothing. He needs to observe her again in the hope that doing so will help him unravel the exact nature of this secret. But he doesn’t have much time, hardly any at all.
After another ten or fifteen minutes of nothing stirring at the house, the boy, who is by turns hiding behind the hedge he used the other night and strolling back and forth along the street, decides to do something he knows is very risky. He thinks of the danger Grimsby’s superior may be in.
I have to learn something, anything
.
He walks past the house and stops right on the front walkway. He glances through the little front window and cannot see any movement inside. He looks down, but at first can’t make out any markings on the brick walkway, which is covered with a thin film of dirt.
At least it hasn’t been thoroughly swept
. Sherlock knows he shouldn’t, but he drops down anyway, onto his knees on the bricks. He examines them closely.
There!
He sees shoe prints. But there are several: faint ones from well-made, expensive footwear, and others, more clearly marked, from a gentleman of more modest means. He spots lady’s prints too, and lines, as if made by narrow wheels. He had thought that such indicators on the walkway might tell him something. But they have made things even more mysterious.
At that instant he hears voices approaching the door from the inside. He leaps to his feet, dusts off his knees, and begins to walk away as quickly and yet as inconspicuously as possible. He can hear the door open sharply behind him. He crosses the street, moving fast. Then, he realizes something.
I won’t be able to see her!
So, he takes another chance. Once he is twenty or so strides down the narrow foot pavement on the other side of the street, he turns around and walks back. He is prayingthat she is preoccupied with whatever she is doing, perhaps watering those flowers, did not see him striding away, and thus won’t be
Within an hour, Holmes is on High Street in Hounslow. No one is following him. He must get back to the apothecary shop and then on to school without being detected. It has to seem, to anyone who might be observing, that today is a normal day for him. Bell has given him enough money to get to the far suburbs and back. They have agreed to meet near Hyde Park Corner at about the time Big Ben strikes eight and slip into the trees there to re-costume themselvesas the Fat Man. Simply wearing padding underneath the big trousers was not an option – a mighty amount would have been needed to give Sherlock the girth he wanted and everything would have to have been stashed before he went to Hounslow
and
still be available when he returned. As well, he could not secretly watch the house as a huge Fat Man; he would have stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb in the suburbs. Neither would he have been able to effectively run away in such a disguise. And with Bell (magically) out of the shop and unobserved as such, the old man could spend his time near the Treasury, making sure that Grimsby was still going to work.
Sherlock instructs the driver to turn off High Street at exactly the spot where Sir Ramsay’s carriage turned the other night, but stops him before he gets to the narrow road where the house sits. He asks him to wait there. The boy gets out, turns onto the little street, and cautiously makes his way along it until he comes to the front of the residence.
The house looks quiet. Sherlock is guessing that it is nearing seven o’clock. It is likely that this “kept” woman has no occupation outside her home, but Sherlock is figuring she does
something
on her front step or beyond in the morning, even if she simply emerges to water her many flowers or goes out of doors to take the air. He desperately hopes that this is a perfect time for her to appear, otherwise this daring outing is for nothing. He needs to observe her again in the hope that doing so will help him unravel the exact nature of this secret. But he doesn’t have much time, hardly any at all.
After another ten or fifteen minutes of nothing stirring at the house, the boy, who is by turns hiding behind the hedge he used the other night and strolling back and forth along the street, decides to do something he knows is very risky. He thinks of the danger Grimsby’s superior may be in.
I have to learn something, anything
.
He walks past the house and stops right on the front walkway. He glances through the little front window and cannot see any movement inside. He looks down, but at first can’t make out any markings on the brick walkway, which is covered with a thin film of dirt.
At least it hasn’t been thoroughly swept
. Sherlock knows he shouldn’t, but he drops down anyway, onto his knees on the bricks. He examines them closely.
There!
He sees shoe prints. But there are several: faint ones from well-made, expensive footwear, and others, more clearly marked, from a gentleman of more modest means. He spots lady’s prints too, and lines, as if made by narrow wheels. He had thought that such indicators on the walkway might tell him something. But they have made things even more mysterious.
At that instant he hears voices approaching the door from the inside. He leaps to his feet, dusts off his knees, and begins to walk away as quickly and yet as inconspicuously as possible. He can hear the door open sharply behind him. He crosses the street, moving fast. Then, he realizes something.
I won’t be able to see her!
So, he takes another chance. Once he is twenty or so strides down the narrow foot pavement on the other side of the street, he turns around and walks back. He is prayingthat she is preoccupied with whatever she is doing, perhaps watering those flowers, did not see him striding away, and thus won’t be
Similar Books
