Free Unknown by Braven

Chinese
criminal caused me to spend part of the dying day oiling my
trusty Webley and checking its load. Holmes had a seeming
disregard for his personal safety, which I tried to counterbalance
by being as prepared as I could.
    When nightfall came, I
ate a solitary meal and tried to cushion Mrs. Hudson's concern about
the eating habits of her famous tenant. The nutritive needs of the
detective were one of the many worries of the dear lady and revealed
her extreme patience. When Holmes disappeared, one never knew when he
would return, and when he did, he would like as not decide to have a
bite, which might range from a nibble of cheese to half a joint of
beef. When frustrated by a case, and on the premises, he frequently
sat brooding at the table, his meal untouched, and our landlady's
wheedling was to no avail. But if Holmes has a problem, Mrs. Hudson
had some cause to feel pride in her skill with stove and skillet.
Even in those early days when I was still recovering from my wartime
wound and subsequent illness, I had been blessed with a good
appetite and consistently did justice to her provender.
    The dishes had been
cleared away and, possibly spurred by our trip to the Mayswood stud,
I had made some check marks against entries in the Southgate Plate
due to be run over the weekend. Our news dealer, who delivered copies
of all editions, included a biweekly racing sheet that I fancied.
I had narrowed my choice to Vortex out of Grand Dame by Nurania when
there were footsteps on the stairs.
    Before I could arise,
Holmes opened the door and Slim Gilligan, a valise in one hand,
followed him in. The former master-cracksman was our most frequent
visitor from the inside group. His lock-and-key establishment,
originally financed by Sherlock Holmes, was a successful
business venture, small wonder since his workmen, mostly
graduates of Dartmoor or Princetown, were skillful indeed. Installing
a lock on a front door or making a new key for a file case was
child's play to one who has opened a Mills-Stroffner safe in the dead
of night by the light of a bull's-eye lantern. It was bruited about
in certain circles that Holmes was a silent partner in Gilligan's
business, which must have acted as a deterrent should any of the
employees consider resuming their wayward paths.
    Holmes favored me with a
quick nod as he crossed to the desk, unlocking the cash drawer.
Gilligan, his cloth hat at a jaunty angle and an unlit cigarette
stuck behind one ear, winked in my direction. His expression
indicated, "We're at it again."
    "There is an inn in
the village, Slim," my friend was saying, "and I'm sure you
can work out a good cover story."
    "A breeze, Guv,"
was the abnormally thin man's response.
    Holmes removed some
currency from the desk, placed it in an envelope, and handed it to
Gilligan.
    "A cable here will
reach me or Watson. If not, Billy will find us. I don't know of any
other problems save those we've discussed. How about Styles?"
    Oh ho! I thought.
Slippery Styles, the human shadow, is involved.
    "'E's at Waterloo,
waitin' fer me. You'll 'ave yer cable, Guv—in jig time."
    With a cheerful wave in
my direction, the cracksman was gone. I did not hear the downstairs
door open or close, but when Slim came or went I never did. He just
seemed to materialize like a genie at Holmes's call and then vanish.
For a time, I had thought that by night he came and went via the
roof. Gilligan was a great fancier of rooftops. Of late, it had
crossed my mind that he might know about the house next door and the
secret entrance to our establishment. I refrained from bringing
this matter up. If Holmes wanted me to know, he would tell me. One of
my friend's catch phrases was: "I tell as much or as little as I
choose." Usually, he modified this somewhat cavalier statement
with the additive: "That is the advantage of being unofficial."
The years had taught me that this was an elastic phrase meaning that
he alone possessed carte blanche. In truth, he had on occasion