Lestrade took one look at the body. 'This would indeed seem to be the man we have been seeking.' Holmes said nothing and Lestrade glanced at him sharply. 'How did you come to find him?'

'It was absurdly simple. I knew, thanks to the brilliance of your own inquiries, that he had returned on the train to London Bridge. Since then, my agents have been scouring the area and two of them were fortunate enough to come across him in the street.'

'I a.s.sume that you are referring to that gang of urchins you have at your beck and call. I'd keep my distance if I were you, Mr Holmes. No good will come of it. They're all thieves and pickpockets when they are not being encouraged by you. Is there any sign of the necklace?'

'There seems to be no obvious sign of it no. But then I have not yet had a chance to search the room in its entirety.'

'Then maybe we should start by doing just that.'

Matching his actions to his words, Lestrade examined the room carefully. It was a fairly dismal place with tattered curtains, a mouldering carpet and a bed that looked more exhausted than anyone who might have attempted to sleep in it. A cracked mirror hung on one wall. A washstand stood in the corner with a soiled basin and a single, misshapen lump of cast-iron soap. There was no view. The window looked over a narrow alley to a brick wall opposite, and although it was out of sight and some distance away, the River Thames had permeated the place with its dampness and smell. Next he turned his attentions to the dead man who was dressed as Carstairs had first described him, in a frock coat that came down to his knees, a thick waistcoat and a shirt b.u.t.toned to the neck. All of these were saturated with blood. The knife that had killed him had buried itself up to the hilt, penetrating the carotid arterty. My training told me that he would have died instantly. Lestrade searched his pockets but found nothing. Now that I was able to scrutinise him more carefully, I saw that the man who had followed Carstairs to Ridgeway Hall was in his early forties, well built, with thickset shoulders and muscular arms. He had close-cropped hair that had begun to turn grey. Most striking of all was the scar which began at the corner of his mouth and slanted over his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye. He had come close to death once. He had been less fortunate the second time.

'Can we be sure that this is the same man who imposed himself on Mr Edmund Carstairs?' Lestrade asked.

'Indeed so. Carstairs was able to identify him.'

'He was here?'

'Briefly, yes. Sadly, he was compelled to leave.' Holmes smiled to himself and I recalled how we had been compelled to bundle Edmund Carstairs into a cab and send him on his way to Wimbledon. He had barely glimpsed the body but it had been enough to send him into a fainting fit and I had understood how he must have been on board the Catalonia following his experiences with the Flat Cap Gang in Boston. It may be that he had the same sensitivity as some of the artists whose works he displayed. It was certainly the case that the blood and grime of Bermondsey were not for him.

'Here is further evidence if you need it.' Holmes gestured at a flat cap, lying on the bed.

Lestrade had meanwhile turned his attention to a packet of cigarettes lying on a table nearby. He examined the label. 'Old Judge ...'

'Manufactured, I think you will find, by Goodwin and Company of New York. I found the stub of one such cigarette at Ridgeway Hall.'

'Did you now?' Lestrade let out a silent exclamation. 'Well,' he said, 'I suppose we can discard the idea that our American friend was the victim of a random attack? Though there have been plenty of those in this neighbourhood, and it is always possible that this fellow returned to his room and surprised someone as they were ransacking the place. A fight ensued. A knife was drawn. And there's the end of it ...'

'I think it is unlikely,' Holmes agreed. 'It would seem too much of a coincidence that a man who arrived recently in London and who was clearly up to no good should suddenly meet his end in this way. What happened in this hotel room can only be a direct result of his activities in Wimbledon. And then there is the position of the body and the angle at which the knife was driven into his neck. It seems to me that the attacker was waiting for him beside the door in the darkened room, for there was no candle burning here when we arrived. He walked in and was seized from behind. Looking at him, you can see that he was a powerful man, capable of looking after himself. But in this instance he was taken by surprise and killed with a single blow.'

'Theft might still be the motive,' Lestrade insisted. 'There are the fifty pounds and the necklace to be accounted for. If they are not here, where are they?'

'I have every reason to believe you will find the necklace in a p.a.w.nbroker on Bridge Lane. Our man had just come from there. It would certainly appear that whoever killed him took the money, but I would suggest that was not the primary reason for the crime. Perhaps you should ask yourself what else was taken from the room. We have a body with no ident.i.ty, Lestrade. You would think that a visitor from America might have a pa.s.sport or letters of introduction, perhaps, to recommend him to a bank. His wallet, I notice, is absent. You know what name he used on entering the hotel?'

'He called himself Benjamin Harrison.'

'Which is of course the current American president.'

'The American president? Of course. I was aware of that.' Lestrade scowled. 'But whatever name he chose, we know exactly who he is. He is Keelan O'Donaghue, late of Boston. You see the mark on his face? That's a bullet wound. Don't tell me you'll argue with that!'

Holmes turned to me and I nodded. 'It is certainly a gun wound,' I said. I had seen many similar injuries in Afghanistan. 'I would say it is about a year old.'

'Which ties in exactly with what Carstairs told me,' Lestrade concluded, triumphantly. 'It seems to me that we have come to the end of this whole sorry episode. O'Donaghue was injured in the shootout at the Boston tenement. At the same time, his twin brother was killed and he came to England on a mission of revenge. That much is as plain as a pikestaff.'

'To my eyes, it could hardly be less plain if a pikestaff had been used as the murder weapon,' Holmes demurred. 'Perhaps you can explain to us, then, Lestrade: who killed Keelan O'Donaghue and why?'

'Well, the most obvious suspect would be Edmund Carstairs himself.'

'Except that Mr Carstairs was with us at the time of the murder. Also, having been witness to his reaction on discovering the body, I really don't think he would have had the nerve or the willpower to strike the blow himself. Besides, he did not know where his victim was staying. As far as we know, n.o.body at Ridgeway Hall had that information for we ourselves were only told at the very last moment. I might also ask you why, if this really is Keelan O'Donaghue, he has a cigarette case marked with the initials WM?'

'What cigarette case?'

'It is on the bed, partly covered by the sheet. That would doubtless explain why the killer missed it, too.'

Lestrade found the object in question and briefly examined it. 'O'Donaghue was a thief,' he said. 'There is no reason why he might not have stolen this.'

'Is there any reason why he would have stolen it? It is not a valuable item. It is made of tin with the letters painted on.'

Lestrade had opened the case. It was empty. He snapped it shut. 'This is all the merest moonshine,' he said. 'The trouble with you, Holmes, is that you have a way of complicating things. I sometimes wonder if you don't do it deliberately. It's as if you need the crime to rise to the challenge, as if it has to be unusual enough for it to be worth solving. The man in this room was American. He had been wounded in a gunfight. He was seen once in the Strand and twice in Wimbledon. If he did visit this p.a.w.nshop of yours, then we will know him to be the thief who broke into Carstairs's safe. From there, it is easy enough to construe what took place here. Doubtless O'Donaghue would have had other criminal contacts here in London. He may well have recruited one of them to help him in his vendetta. The two of them fell out. The other pulled a knife. This is the result!'

'You are certain of that?'

'I am as certain as I need to be.'

'Well, we shall see. But there is nothing more to be gained from discussing the matter here. Perhaps the owner of the hotel will be able to enlighten us.'

But Mrs Oldmore, who was now waiting in the small office that had formerly been occupied by the Boots, had little to add. She was a grey-haired, sour-faced woman who sat with her arms wrapped around her as if she were afraid that the building would contaminate her unless she could keep herself as far away as possible from its walls. She was wearing a small bonnet and had a fur stole across her shoulders, although I shuddered to think what animal had provided it nor how it had met its end. Starvation seemed a likely option.

''e took the room for the week,' she said. 'And paid me a guinea. An American gentleman, just off a ship at Liverpool. That much 'e told me, though not much more. It was 'is first time in London. He didn't say so, but I could tell for he 'ad no idea 'ow to find 'is way around. He said there was someone 'e 'ad come to see in Wimbledon and 'e asked me how to get there. "Wimbledon," I said. "That's a posh area and plenty of rich Americans with fancy homes, and no mistake." Not that there was anything fancy about him he had little luggage, his clothes were tatty, and then there was that nasty wound on 'is face. "I will go there tomorrow," he said. "For there is someone who owes me something and I mean to collect it." From the way 'e talked, I could tell 'e was up to no good and I thought to myself then and there whoever this person is, maybe he should look out for 'imself. I was expecting trouble, but what can you do? If I turned away every suspicious-looking customer who came knocking at my door, I'd have no business at all. And now this American, Mr Harrison, is murdered! Well, it's to be expected, I suppose. It's the world we live in, isn't it, where a respectable woman can't run a hotel without having blood on the walls and corpses spread out on the floorboards. I should never have stayed in London. It's an 'orrible place. Utterly 'orrible!'

We left her sitting in misery and Lestrade took his leave. 'I'm sure we'll run into each other again, Mr Holmes,' he said. 'And if you need me, you know where to find me.'

'If I should ever find myself in need of Inspector Lestrade,' Holmes muttered after he had gone, 'then things will have come to a pretty pa.s.s. But let us step into the alleyway, Watson. My case is complete and yet there is still one small point which must be addressed.'

We went out of the front of the hotel into the main street and then entered the narrow, litter-strewn alleyway that ran past the room in which the American had met his end. The window was clearly visible about halfway down, with a wooden crate set just beneath it. It was evident that the killer had used this as a step to gain entrance. The window itself had not been locked and would have opened easily from outside. Holmes glanced at the ground in a perfunctory way, but there seemed to be nothing there to attract his attention. Together we followed the alley to the point at which it ended with a high wooden fence and an empty yard beyond. From there, we returned to the main road. By now, Holmes was deep in thought and I could see the unease in his pale, elongated face.

'You remember the boy Ross last night,' he said.

'You thought that there was something he was holding back.'

'And now I am certain of it. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of both the hotel and the alleyway, the end of which, as we have both seen, is blocked. The killer can only have entered, therefore, from the road, and Ross may well have had a sight of who it was.'

'He certainly seemed ill at ease. But if he saw something, Holmes, why did he not tell us?'

'Because he had some plan of his own, Watson. In a way, Lestrade was right. These boys live on their wits every hour of their lives. They must learn to do so if they are to survive. If Ross thought that there was money to be made, he would take on the devil himself! And yet there is something here that I don't understand at all. What is it that this child could possibly have seen? A figure caught in the gaslight, flitting down a pa.s.sageway and disappearing from sight, perhaps he hears a cry as the blow is struck. Moments later, the killer appears a second time, hurrying away into the night. Ross remains where he is and a short while later the three of us arrive.'

'He was afraid,' he said. 'He mistook Carstairs for a police officer.'

'It was more than fear. I would have said the boy was in the grip of something close to terror, but I a.s.sumed ...' He struck a hand against his brow. 'We must find him again and speak with him. I hope I have not been guilty of a grave miscalculation.'

We stopped at a post office on the way back to Baker Street and Holmes sent another wire to Wiggins, the chief lieutenant of his little army of irregulars. But twenty-four hours later, Wiggins had still not reported back to us. And it was a short while after that that we heard the worst possible news.

Ross had disappeared.

SIX.

Chorley Grange School for Boys In 1890, the year of which I write, there were some five and a half million people in the six hundred square miles of the area known as the Metropolitan Police District of London and then, as always, those two constant neighbours, wealth and poverty were living uneasily side by side. It sometimes occurs to me now, having witnessed so many momentous changes across the years, that I should have described at greater length the sprawling chaos of the city in which I lived, perhaps in the manner of Gissing or d.i.c.kens fifty years before. I can only say in my own defence that I was a biographer, not a historian or a journalist, and that my adventures invariably led me to more rarefied walks of life fine houses, hotels, private clubs, schools and offices of government. It is true that Holmes's clients came from all cla.s.ses, but (and perhaps someone might one day have pause to consider the significance of this) the more interesting crimes, the ones I chose to relate, were nearly always committed by the well-to-do.

However, it is necessary now to reflect upon the lower depths of the great cauldron of London, what Gissing called 'the nether world', to understand the impossibility of the task that faced us. We had to find one child, one helpless tatterdemalion among so many others, and if Holmes was right, if there was danger abroad, we had no time to spare. Where to begin? Our enquiries would be made no easier by the restlessness of the city, the way its inhabitants moved from house to house and street to street in seemingly perpetual motion so that few knew so much as the names of those who lived next door. The slum clearances and the spread of the railways were largely culpable, although many Londoners seemed to have arrived with a restlessness of spirit that simply would not allow them to settle long. They moved like gypsies, following whatever work they could find; fruit-picking and bricklaying in the summer, bunkering down and scurrying for coal and sc.r.a.ps once the cold weather arrived. They might stay a while in one place, but then, once their money had run out, they would bolt the moon and be off again.

And then there was the greatest curse of our age, the carelessness that had put tens of thousands of children out on to the street; begging, pickpocketing, pilfering or, if they were not up to the mark, quietly dying unknown and unloved, their parents indifferent if indeed those parents were themselves alive. There were children who shared threepenny lodging houses, provided they could find their share of the night's rent, crammed together in conditions barely fit for animals. Children slept on rooftops, in pens at Smithfield market, down in the sewers and even, I heard, in holes scooped out of the dust-heaps on Hackney Marshes. There were, as I shall soon describe, charities that set out to help them, to clothe and to educate them. But the charities were too few, the children too many and even as the century drew to a close, London has every reason to be ashamed.

Come, Watson, that's quite enough of this. Get back to the story. Holmes would never have stood for it had he been alive!

Holmes had been a mood of constant disquiet from the moment we had left Mrs Oldmore's Private Hotel. During the day, he had paced up and down the room like a bear. Although he had smoked incessantly, he had barely touched his lunch or dinner and I was concerned to see him glance once or twice at the smart morocco case that he kept on his mantelpiece. It housed, I knew, a hypodermic syringe, but it would have been unheard of for Holmes, in the middle of a case, to indulge in the seven-per-cent solution of cocaine that was, without doubt, his most egregious habit. I do not think he slept at all. Late into the night, before my own eyes closed, I heard him picking out a tune on his Stradivarius, but the music was ragged and full of discords and I could tell that his heart wasn't in it. I understood all too well the nervous energy that afflicted my friend. He had spoken of a grave miscalculation. The disappearance of Ross suggested that he had been proved right and, if this were the case, he would never forgive himself.

I thought we might go back to Wimbledon. From what he had said at the hotel, Holmes had made it clear that the adventure of the man in the flat cap was over, the case solved and all that remained was for him to launch into one of those explanations that would leave me wondering how I could have been so obtuse as to have not see it for myself from the start. However, breakfast brought a letter from Catherine Carstairs, informing us that she and her husband had gone away for a few days, staying with friends in Suffolk. Edmund Carstairs, with his fragile nature, needed time to regain his composure and Holmes would never reveal what he knew without an audience. I would therefore have to wait.

In fact, it was another two days before Wiggins returned to 221B Baker Street, this time on his own. He had received Holmes's wire (quite how, I do not know, I never learned where Wiggins lived or in what circ.u.mstances) and since then he had been searching for Ross, but without success.

''e came to London at the end of the summer,' Wiggins explained.

'Came to London from where?'

'I've no idea. When I met 'im. 'e was sharing a kitchen in King's Cross with a family nine of them in two rooms and I spoke to them but they ain't seen 'im since that night at the 'otel. No one's seen 'im. It sounds to me like 'e's lying low.'

'Wiggins, I want you to tell me what happened that night,' Holmes said, sternly. 'The two of you followed the American from the p.a.w.nbroker to the hotel. You left Ross watching the place while you came for me. He must have been alone there for a couple of hours.'

'Ross was game. I didn't make him.'

'I'm not suggesting that for a moment. Finally, we returned, Mr Carstairs, Dr Watson, you and I. Ross was still there. I gave you both money and dismissed you. You left together.'

'We didn't stay together long,' Wiggins replied. ''e went 'is way and I went mine.'

'Did he say anything to you? Did the two of you speak?'

'Ross was in a strange mood and no mistake. There was something 'e'd seen ...'

'At the hotel? Did he tell you what it was?'

'There was a man. That was all. It put the wind up 'im. Ross is only thirteen but 'e normally knows what's what. You know? Well, 'e was shook to the core.'

'He saw the killer!' I exclaimed.

'I don't know what 'e saw but I can tell you what 'e said. "I know 'im and I can make something from 'im. More than the guinea I got from b.l.o.o.d.y Mr 'olmes." Forgive me, sir. But them were 'is words exactly. I reckon he was all set to put the squeeze on someone.'

'Anything else?'

'Only that 'e was in an 'urry to be off. 'e ran into the night. 'e didn't go to King's Cross. I don't know where 'e went. The only thing is that n.o.body saw 'im no more.'

As Holmes listened to this, he was as grave as I had ever seen him. Now he moved closer to the boy and crouched down. Wiggins seemed very small beside him. Malnourished and sickly, with matted hair, rheumy eyes and skin befouled by London dirt, it would have been impossible to distinguish him in a crowd. It may be that this was why it was so easy to ignore the plight of these children. There were so many of them. They all looked the same. 'Listen to me, Wiggins,' Holmes said. 'It seems to me that Ross could be in great danger-'

'I looked for 'im! I searched everywhere!'

'I'm sure of it. But you must tell me what you know of his past. Where did he come from before you met him. Who were his parents?'

''e never 'ad no parents. They were dead, long ago. 'e never said where 'e come from and I never asked. Where do you think any of us come from? What does it matter?'

'Think, boy. If he found himself in trouble, is there anyone he would turn to, any place where he might seek refuge?'

Wiggins shook his head. But then he seemed to think again. 'Is there another guinea in it for me?' he asked.

Holmes's eyes narrowed and I could see he was struggling to compose himself. 'Is the life of your compatriot worth as little as that?' he demanded.

'I don't understand "compatriot". 'e was nothing to me, Mr 'olmes. Why would I care if 'e lived or died? If Ross were never seen again, there are twenty more that would take 'is place.' Holmes was still glaring at him and Wiggins suddenly softened. 'All right. He was looked after, for a while anyway. There was a charity what took 'im in. Chorley Grange, up 'amworth way. It's a school for boys. 'e told me once that 'e'd been there but 'e 'ated it and ran away. That was when 'e set up in King's Cross. But, I suppose, if 'e was scared, if someone was after 'im, maybe he could have gone back. Better the devil you know ...'

Holmes straightened up. 'Thank you, Wiggins,' he said. 'I want you to keep looking for him. I want you to ask anyone you meet.' He took out a coin and handed it over. 'If you find him, you must bring him here at once. Mrs Hudson will feed you both and look after you until I return. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, Mr 'olmes.'

'Good. Watson, I trust you will you accompany me? We can take the train from Baker Street.'

One hour later, a cab dropped us off in front of three handsome buildings that stood next to one another on the edge of a narrow lane which climbed steeply for at least half a mile from the village of Roxeth up to Hamworth Hill. The largest of these, the one at the centre, resembled an English gentleman's country home of perhaps a hundred years ago, with a red-tiled roof and a veranda running its full length at the level of the first floor. The face of the house was covered in vines which might be luxuriant in the summer but which were bare and spindly now, and the entire habitation was surrounded by farmland, with a lawn slanting down to an orchard filled with ancient apple trees. It was hard to believe that we were so close to London, for the air was fresh and the surrounding countryside most attractive, or it would have been had the weather been more clement, for it was very cold again and had begun to drizzle. The buildings on each side were either barns or brewhouses but had presumably been adapted to the school's needs. There was a fourth structure on the other side of the lane, this one surrounded by an ornate metal fence with an open gate. It gave the impression of being empty for there was no light or movement there. A wooden sign read: Chorley Grange Home for Boys. Looking across the fields, I noticed a small group of boys attacking a vegetable patch with spades and hoes.

We rang the front bell and were admitted by a man who was sombrely dressed in a dark grey suit and who listened in silence as Holmes explained who we were and on what mission we had come. 'Very good, gentlemen. If you would like to wait here ...' He admitted us into the building and left us standing in an austere, wood-panelled hall with nothing on the walls apart from a few portraits, so faded as to be almost indecipherable, and a silver cross. A long corridor with several doors stretched into the distance. I could imagine cla.s.srooms on the other side, but not a sound came from within. It struck me that the place was more like a monastery than a school.

Then the servant, if that was what he was, returned, bringing with him a short, round-faced man who had to take three steps for every one of his companion's and panted loudly in his efforts to keep up. Everything about this new arrival was circular. In shape, he reminded me of the snowmen that I might see any time now in Regent's Park, for his head was one ball and his body another and there was a simplicity about his face that could have been suggested with a carrot and several lumps of coal. He was about forty years old, bald, with just a little dark hair around his ears. He was dressed in the manner of a clergyman, complete with dog collar, which formed another circle around his neck. As he walked towards us, he beamed and spread his arms in welcome.

'Mr Holmes! You do us a great honour. I have of course read of your exploits, sir. The greatest consulting detective in the country, here at Chorley Grange! It is really quite remarkable. And you must be Dr Watson. We have read your stories in cla.s.s. The boys are delighted by them. They will not believe that you are here. Might you have time to address them? But I am running ahead of myself. You must forgive me, gentlemen, but I cannot contain my excitement. I am the Reverend Charles Fitzsimmons. Vosper tells me that you are here on serious business. Mr Vosper helps to administer this establishment and also teaches maths and reading. Please, come with me to my study. You must meet my wife and perhaps we can offer you some tea?'

We followed the little man down a second corridor and through a door into a room which was too large and too cold to be comfortable even though some effort had been made with bookcases, a sofa and several chairs arranged around a fireplace. A large desk, piled high with doc.u.ments, had been positioned so as to look out through a set of picture windows on to the lawn and the orchard beyond. It had been cold in the corridor, and it was colder here, despite the fire in the grate. The red glow and the smell of burning coal gave the illusion of warmth but little more. The rain was hammering now against the windows and running down the gla.s.s. It had drained the colour out of the fields. Although it was only the middle of the afternoon, it could just as well have been night.

'My dear,' exclaimed our host. 'This is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. They have come to ask us for our help. Gentlemen, may I present my wife, Joanna?'

I had not noticed the woman who had been sitting in an armchair in the darkest corner of the room, reading a volume of several hundred pages which was balanced on her lap. If this was Mrs Fitzsimmons, then the two of them made an odd couple, for she was quite remarkably tall and, I would have said, several years older than him. She was dressed entirely in black, an old-fashioned satin dress that fitted high around the neck and tight around the arms, with beaded pa.s.s.e.m.e.nterie across the shoulders. Her hair was tied in a knot behind her and her fingers were long and thin. Were I a boy, I might have thought her witch-like. Certainly, looking at the two of them, I had the perhaps unworthy thought that I could understand why Ross had chosen to run away. Had I been in his shoes, I might very well have done the same.

'Will you have some tea?' the lady asked. Her voice was as thin as the rest of her, her accent deliberately refined.

'We will not inconvenience you,' Holmes replied. 'As you are aware, we are here on a matter of some urgency. We are looking for a boy, a street urchin whom we know only by the name of Ross.'

'Ross? Ross?' The reverend searched in his mind. 'Ah yes! Poor, young Ross! We have not seen him for quite a while, Mr Holmes. He came to us from a very difficult background, but then so do many of the charges in our care. He did not stay with us long.'

'He was a difficult and a disagreeable child,' his wife cut in. 'He would not obey the rules. He disrupted the other boys. He refused to conform.'

'You are too hard, too hard, my dear. But it is true, Mr Holmes, that Ross was never grateful for the help that we tried to give him and did not settle into our ways. He had only been here for a few months before he ran away. That was last summer ... July or August. I would have to consult my notes to be sure. May I ask why you are looking for him? I hope he has not done something amiss.'

'Not at all. A few nights ago he was the witness to certain events in London. I merely wish to know what he saw.'

'It sounds most mysterious, does it not, my dear? I will not ask you to elucidate further. We do not know where he came from. We do not know where he has gone.'

'Then I will not take up any more of your time.' Holmes turned to the door, then seemed to change his mind. 'Though perhaps before we leave, you might like to tell us something about your work here. Chorley Grange is your property?'