Free The House Of Silk by Anthony Horowitz Page A

jot!’ Once the old man had started, there seemed to be no stopping him. ‘Picture-dealing is a respectable business, Mr Holmes. We deal with a great many aristocratic clients. I would not wish it to be known that we have been involved with gunmen and murder!’ The old man’s face fell as he saw that he was involved with more besides, for the door had just opened and a boy had rushed in. I at once recognised Wiggins, who had been in our room only that morning but to Finch it was as if the worst assault were being committed. ‘Go away! Get out of here!’ he exclaimed. ‘We have nothing for you.’
    ‘You need not concern yourself, Mr Finch,’ Holmes said. ‘I know the boy. What is it, Wiggins?’
    ‘We’ve found ’im, Mr ’olmes!’ Wiggins cried, excitedly. ‘The cove you was looking for. We saw him with our own eyes, me and Ross. We was about to go in the jerryshop on Bridge Lane – Ross knows the place for ’e’s in and out of there often enough ’imself – when the door opens and there ’e is, clear as daylight, wiv ’is face cut livid by a scar.’ The boy drew a line down his own cheek. ‘It was me what saw him. Not Ross.’
    ‘Where is he now?’ Holmes asked.
    ‘We followed ’im to ’is ’otel, sir. Will it be a guinea each if we take you there?’
    ‘It will be the end of you if you don’t,’ replied Holmes. ‘But I have always played you fair, Wiggins. You know that. Tell me, where is this hotel?’
    ‘In Bermondsey, sir. Mrs Oldmore’s Private Hotel. Ross will be there now. I left ’im there to act as crow while I hiked all the way to your rooms and then ’ere to find you. If your man steps out again, ’e’ll watch where ’e goes. Ross is new to the game but ’e’s as canny as they come. Are you going to come back with me, Mr ’olmes? Will you take a four-wheeler? Can I ride with you?’
    ‘You can sit up with the driver.’ Holmes turned to me and I saw at once the contracted eyebrows and the intensity of expression that told me that all his energies were focused on what lay ahead. ‘We must leave at once,’ he said. ‘By a lucky chance, we have the object of our investigation in our grasp. We must not let him slip between our fingers.’
    ‘I will come with you,’ Carstairs announced.
    ‘Mr Carstairs, for your own safety—’
    ‘I have seen this man. It was I who described him to you, and if anyone can be sure that these boys of yours have correctly identified him, it is I. And I have a personal desire to see this out, Mr Holmes. If this man is whom I believe he is, then I am the cause of his presence here and it is only right I see it to the end.’
    ‘We have no time for argument,’ Holmes said. ‘Very well. The three of us will leave together. Let us not waste another minute.’
    And so we hurried out of the gallery, Holmes, Wiggins, Carstairs and myself, leaving Mr Finch gaping after us. A four-wheeler was located and we climbed in, Wiggins scrambling up beside the driver who glanced at him disdainfully but then relented and allowed him one fold of his blanket. With a crack of the whip we were away, as if something of our urgency had communicated itself to the horses. It was almost dark and with the coming of the night the sense of ease that I had felt had quite dissipated, and the city had once again turned cold and hostile. The shoppers and the entertainers had all gone home and their places had been taken by a different species altogether, shabby men and gaudy women who needed shadows in which to conduct their business and whose business, in truth, carried shadows of its own.
    The carriage took us over Blackfriars Bridge where the wind was at its iciest and cut into us like a knife. Holmes had not spoken since we had left, and I felt that in some way he’d had a presentiment of what was to come. This was not something he had ever admitted and had I ever suggested it I know he would been annoyed. No soothsayer he! For him it was all intellect, all