Associates of Sherlock Holmes

A FLASH IN THE PAN William Meikle

They call me Porky Shinwell around town on account of me carrying a bit too much meat on my bones – at least most people do. But there is one gentleman that doesn’t – one that has always treated me as if I mattered, and I shall never forget that kindness. I was at the door, making sure no undesirables got inside, and it had been a while since I had seen him, so I almost didn’t recognise him in his tall hat and frock coat. I had only ever met him on the job before, but it was him right enough – Mr Sherlock Holmes himself, coming up the steps to the Gaiety Theatre for the evening show, with the doctor at his side.

“Mr Johnson,” he said. “It is good to see you in gainful employment for a change. And I note you have been following Watson’s advice. A bit more lime in the mixture though – you will see better colour in your gums.”

Holmes was the main reason I decided to go straight several years back. Having seen how he could just look at a man and see the history of his misdeeds writ large, I knew that I would never feel safe on a job after that – the old nerves would not take it. And here he was, at it again – how in blazes he could tell from where he was stood what manner of antiscorbutic I had been using for the scurvy I shall never know. But, damn him to hell, he was right. Mr Sherlock Holmes is always right, even when you think he is wrong.

I expected that to be the end of it, for we were in a public place and neither of us was overly keen to draw attention to any relationship between us, wishing to stay on opposite sides of the fence as it were. So Holmes surprised me when he leaned closer and, under the guise of passing me a tip, whispered in my ear.

“Keep an eye open, Shinwell. There are dark deeds afoot here tonight, and I might have need of you before the show is over.”

He said nothing more, and was off and away into the foyer before I even thought of a question. Besides, there was little enough I could do at that moment – I had to watch the door, let the gentry in and keep the rabble out until the show began. So it was that it was nearly twenty minutes later before I retired to the foyer and shut the house doors behind me. As Holmes had asked, I kept my eyes peeled, but for the life of me I could not see what had drawn him here; I did not have him pegged as a man to enjoy the musical frivolities of The Spring Chicken. I had seen no one pass me whom I would consider capable of what Holmes had called “dark deeds”, but both Holmes and I knew from our respective backgrounds that appearances could be most deceptive.

I did a tour of the foyer and saw nothing out of the ordinary, then went inside to stand at the back of the house. Up on stage Gertie Millar had them eating out of her hand as usual, but Holmes seemed to be the only one immune to her charms. I spotted him in a box near the stage on the right hand side, and he wasn’t watching Gertie at all – his complete attention was on a box directly opposite him.

I followed his gaze. There were two gentlemen in the box, and both had their opera glasses fixed firmly on Gertie. I didn’t recognise either of the men – out of my league if you catch my drift, all starched shirts and oiled hair – but if Holmes was watching them that closely, I decided I had better do the same. When Gertie’s big song came to an end, one of the toffs left his seat before the applause died down. I made sure my blackjack was snug in my hand and hurried round the stairs to that side of the house. I was just in time to see the toff reach the stage door. Sleepy Jack was manning that one – or so I thought – but the man opened it and went through without stopping. I saw why seconds later when I reached the door myself. Jack was sleepy all right, addled with what smelled like cheap gin, slumped against the wall. I suspect he’d been bribed, but I had no time to cogitate, for the toff was already walking away, past the wings and towards the dressing rooms at the rear. Given the ferocity of his gaze when he’d been eyeing Gertie just minutes before, I was starting to fear for the singer’s wellbeing.

I was almost running by the time I got to her dressing room. I burst in, blackjack in hand and immediately realised I had made a damn fool of myself – and not for the first time either. Our Gertie was a married woman. I knew her husband well, and the man she was wrapped around wasn’t him, but was indeed my mystery toff.

Luckily they were too involved in the kiss to even take note of me so I was able to back out without any fuss, only to almost bundle into Holmes and Dr Watson who were coming along from the other direction.

“Did you see him, man?” Holmes said.

“He’s in there with Gertie, Mr Holmes.”

Holmes pushed past me, intent on heading along the corridor back to the main house. “Not the duke, you idiot. The other one.”

The amorous couple had finally noticed that something was amiss, and the door opened behind me. The toff stood there, looking slightly dishevelled and more than a tad embarrassed. A look of disgust crossed Holmes’s face.

“I would stay where you are, sir,” Holmes said to the man. “You have exposed your infidelity far enough for one night.”

Gertie was standing behind the toff, and she didn’t look in the slightest bit mortified by the situation.

“One minute, Miss Millar,” someone called.

Gertie pushed past me, heading for the stage. The toff made to follow, but Holmes pushed him back inside the room.

“Not you, sir. I shall have questions for you anon. Shinwell? Can I prevail on you to ensure that this gentleman does not leave the room?”

I smiled – the toff did not like that one bit – and nodded. Holmes and Watson left quickly, following Gertie up towards the wings. The toff looked like he might try to pass me, but I slapped my blackjack into my left palm, and just the sound of the thud it made was enough to quiet him. He went back into the dressing room and made quite an act of lighting a cigarette and feigning nonchalance, but I saw the tremor in his fingers clearly enough – he wasn’t going anywhere as long as I was at the door.

He was still smoking when Holmes and Watson returned.

“As I expected,” Holmes said. “He fled as soon as he got his picture of the duke going through the stage door. I found this by his chair in the box.” He poured a fine powder from a paper cone into a glass vial and handed it to Watson. “He used this for the flash gun. Magnesium powder and potassium chlorate if I’m not mistaken, Watson. If I can identify the ratio of the mix back in Baker Street, we may be able to trace the supplier, and thence our man. Remember, do not let it get wet – or at least, if it does, do not let it near your matches. We would not want an explosion in your pocket. And there’ll be a camera somewhere to be found too, although I expect we shall only uncover that once the film has been removed for developing.”

“Powder? Film? What the blazes is going on here?”

The toff had finally realised there was more to this night than a kiss with a pretty woman. Holmes ignored his question and answered with one of his own.

“What can you tell me about your companion in the box this evening?”

“Johnnie? Fine chap – met him last weekend at my club. Rowed for Cambridge, you know?”

“I doubt that very much,” Holmes said. “And I suppose he does not have a second name?”

“I never asked. And what bally business is it of yours?”

Holmes smiled thinly.

“Your father made it my business – when he got the first blackmail letter on Monday morning. I expect there will be another tomorrow, after your little fiasco here.”

The toff started to spit and bluster, but it seemed that Mr Holmes had already done with him, and the three of us walked away, leaving the toff shouting some rather ungentlemanly curses at our backs.

“Would you mind telling me what’s going on here, Mr Holmes?” I said when we got back to the stage door. Sleepy Jack was still out, snoring soundly.

“I am after a blackmailer, Shinwell. A nasty cove. I believe this is at least his third such case of extortion, and he is developing a taste for it. He targets young gentlemen with more money than sense. And, as you know, in this town that gives him plenty of custom. Our young duke back there has not been circumspect about his affair with Miss Millar – and that has been his undoing.”

“This blackmailing chap – you do not have a name?”

“Not yet. I was hoping you might be able to help with that. It is provident that you are here tonight, and I shall not look askance at such good fortune.”

“Anything I can do to help, Mr Holmes – you know that.”

“Good man – put out the word in the usual places – I am looking for someone, not from money himself, who has come into more of it than he knows what to do with. He might be spending a lot more than his usual means, and that might have caught the attention of one of your acquaintances.”

I laughed.

“That it might, Mr Holmes – it might even have caught my attention, once upon a time.”

There being a degree of urgency inherent in Mr Holmes’s request for help, I started that very night, after I got the crowd – including a very sheepish-looking duke – out onto the street and closed the doors of the theatre. Gertie wanted to go for a drink – eager to chase more young dukes no doubt – and some of the cast and crew agreed to accompany her, but I declined. She was heading uptown, whereas I was intending to travel in an altogether different direction.

But my first job was to get Sleepy Jack upright. I should have torn his ear off and tossed him out, but we go back a long way, Jack and I, and if the job, even menial as it was, was taken from him, the bottle would have him within days. He was too good a man to lose like that. I walked him up and down Aldwych until he was nearly sober.

“Who gave you the gin, Jack?” I asked when he was able to talk clearly.

“Some posh lad,” Jack said. “A bottle if I looked the other way.”

I described the young duke, but Jack shook his head.

“No – this lad had blond hair. Blue eyes, big nose and an old scar – here,” he ran a finger from the corner of his left eye down his cheek.

I thanked Jack and sent him on his way. I had somewhere to start.

I headed east to try to find someone who could tell me more. I’d been in most of the public houses the length of the Strand and Fleet Street and was in the Black Friar at the north side of Blackfriars bridge before I got the first whiff of our man. It was Blackie Collins who put me on the right trail. Blackie is a pickpocket – one of the best. He can have your wallet away from an inside pocket as nice as ninepence and you’ll never be the wiser. He was working the taproom when he saw me, and came to join me in a corner when I bought two pints of porter. I saw him take a pocket watch and a purse on the way over – Blackie never stopped working and I made sure my own wallet was tucked well away before I let him close to me.

In the end it cost me eight pints – four each – but it was worth it, for I left Blackie with my wallet still in my pocket and a name.

“James Mackie, from Edinburgh,” I said to Mr Holmes. It was early morning but he did not look like he’d had any more sleep than I had. He was still in his eveningwear from the night before, even as his landlady arrived with a spot of breakfast that I took to most eagerly.

“Is the name all you have?” Holmes said. He did not so much as look at the toast and eggs, but instead lit up a pipe.

“That, and the fact he lives somewhere around Russell Square these days,” I replied. “I can do some more asking around this evening after the show if you’d like.”

Holmes smiled. “I think I can get an answer rather sooner.”

He opened the window and whistled loudly. Within a minute there came the sound of many footsteps clattering up and down the stairs, accompanied by Mrs Hudson’s shouting.

Half a dozen street urchins burst into the room and gathered around Holmes while more continued to cause havoc out on the landing. At least the ones gathered in our sitting room seemed able to behave themselves, although that probably had something to do with Holmes’s supply of small denomination coinage.

“Now lads, you know what to do? Russell Square. James Mackie.” Holmes said. “First one to find him gets a florin.”

The boys departed in a rush of thudding feet, leaving only a smell that even the open windows didn’t quite dispel. Holmes seemed quite satisfied.

“I have deployed my scouts, Shinwell. Those lads know the streets far better than any of Lestrade’s men and at least as well as your own contacts,” he said. “If our man surfaces, then they will find him.”

And with that, Holmes seemed to have satisfied himself that as much as could be done was being done, and now he joined me at the breakfast table. The doctor arrived as I was on my second round of toast, and made a bit of a fuss checking my teeth and gums before he too joined us. I knew any camaraderie was only momentary, but for that short time I quite felt that I had indeed risen above my station – and for that, too, I have Mr Holmes to thank.

It could not last of course, and just as we were finishing breakfast I heard a pounding at the front door. Mrs Hudson showed a red-faced boy upstairs and into the sitting room, where Holmes had him stand by the fireplace for questioning.

“I done found ’im, Mr Holmes,” the lad said, even before Holmes could speak. He was out of breath, and smelled rather ripe – so much so that Mrs Hudson made a point of opening all the windows before she retired swiftly to the cleaner air in her domain below us.

If Holmes noticed the smell, he did not show it – the lad had his full attention. He took a florin from his waistcoat pocket and showed it to the boy, who made a grab for it, but was too slow to beat Holmes’s reflexes as the coin was made to vanish again.

“The story first,” Holmes said.

“After you described the geezer you was after, George and Ratty and the others went off to the houses on the south of Russell Square, but me and Tom, we decided that we’d have more luck trying where they weren’t, if you catch my drift? So we went round to the big hotel. Nearly got pinched by the doormen a coupla times too. We had to do a bit of duckin’ and divin’, I can tell you – Tom was fed to the back teeth. And right then, right when Tom was ready to jack it all in – that’s when I saw ’im – your cove, Mr Holmes. Just sitting there in the reading room – white hair and a big scar down his cheek, just like you said.”

Holmes sighed and waved the florin in front of the lad’s nose again.

“Try to keep this as brief as possible, there’s a good boy. And where might this have been, Stevenson?”

“I done told you already, sir – the big old place on the square with the columns and statues and such like.”

“The Hotel Russell?”

“That’s the one. He were just sitting there reading. I left Tom watching ’im, and ran right back here.”

Holmes passed the lad the florin.

“Mind to share it with Tom – if you do not, I shall hear of it.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll head back there now – just to make sure your man’s still there.”

The boy left at as fast a run as he had arrived.

Holmes immediately made for his coat and walking stick. Watson rose to join him, but I was unsure whether I was invited. Holmes soon put me to rights.

“Do join us, Shinwell. He disrupted you at your place of work last night – perhaps you should return the favour today.”

Two minutes later the three of us were in a hansom on our way to Russell Square.

I know the Russell well from the old days. Toffs leave all kinds of things in hotel rooms that they would not leave lying around in their homes – don’t ask me why, that is just the way it is – and it is easy pickings for chaps like me, or it was, back then. Rory Calquoun on the desk raised an eyebrow when he saw me with Holmes and Watson – back in the day he would have taken a couple of shillings off me and looked the other way for an hour. Today he made half a crown vanish into his waistcoat pocket when Holmes passed it over the counter and asked where Mackie could be found.

“Top floor,” he said. “Room 414 – he went up just five minutes ago.”

Holmes thanked Calquoun and took the stairs two at a time. I was quite out of puff by the time we reached the top, having carried twice the weight of the other two all the way up, so I was a few yards behind Holmes when he rapped on the door. A thin, blond chap opened it, and I recognised him immediately even before I got close enough to see the scar – he had been the one sitting next to the duke in the box last night – and he did not seem in the least bit surprised to see Holmes.

“After last night’s performance I have been expecting you, gentlemen. Come in and let us have a drink like civilised chaps.”

“There is little that is civilised about your behaviour, sir,” Holmes said as he followed him into the suite. The man, Mackie, merely smiled and waved a hand around, as if showing off the opulence and splendour that his endeavours had brought him. As I looked around I realised I had been in these rooms before too – a Russian gentleman had them then, and I had relieved him of thirty pieces of gold coin. I also knew that my knowledge gave me an advantage here that Holmes did not have. I made a bit more of my condition than I needed to, making a great show of being breathless and in dire need of water. Mackie was taking little note of me anyway, having his full attention on Holmes.

“You have nothing on me, Mr Holmes – and we both know it. It is not illegal to take photographs and none of my – shall we call them – customers will say anything against me to the authorities.”

“I might not have you to rights, yet,” Holmes replied. “I merely wanted you to know that I know – and that I shall be watching you closely.”

I missed the rest of the conversation – I was already off and away down the internal corridor of the suite. I found the bathroom, and a glass of water, which I carried with me for appearances’ sake should I be caught while casing the rest of the rooms.

At first I thought I was going to be out of luck – there were only clothes in the bedroom wardrobe – top quality though. But the second bedroom was where the real find was – the room had been made over into a small photography studio. I didn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for, but I recognised the flash powder right enough and remembered what Mr Holmes had said about it. I did what needed to be done and left quietly, putting the empty water glass on a sideboard before rejoining Holmes, Mackie and Watson in the main room.

Holmes and Mackie were still facing off to each other, but they were now sitting in armchairs and smoking cigarettes. I poured myself a Scotch – nobody seemed to be offering to do it for me, but nobody stopped me either – and joined Watson on the Chesterfield sofa. It all seemed a mite too civilised for my liking – I would have preferred to bust the villain’s head and have done with it – I suppose that is just another difference between Mr Holmes and myself, but I can’t say it’s one I am overly jealous of.

To be fair to him, Mr Holmes did not seem to be enjoying the verbal fencing, and his contempt for the Scotsman was writ large on his face as he listened.

“You cannot deny that I am only ushering in what we all know is in our future, Mr Holmes. The great unwashed do so love their tittle-tattle – gossip about their betters is the only thing that keeps them from despair. Who am I to deny them those pleasures if I am not to be paid to keep them to myself?”

“You talk far too blithely of despair for a man with so few moral scruples,” Holmes said. “I know it was you last night in the box, for I can see the magnesium powder in your hair where it has not been completely brushed out, and that scar on your cheek can be clearly seen even from the other side of the theatre.”

“And I know you saw me,” Mackie replied with a smile. “But here we are – and you can still do nothing about it, shackled by your conventions. Besides, even if you did find something against me, it is not as if you yourself are immune to scandal, is it Mr Holmes? There is more than enough in your past to keep your friend Lestrade busy for months should he come to hear of it.”

To his credit, Holmes never so much as blinked.

“We are not here to discuss my failings, Mr Mackie – I am all too aware of them. As I have said, I am merely here to let you know that I shall be watching you closely from now on until you make the mistake that allows me to put a stop to you once and for all.”

“Watch and learn, Mr Holmes. I have developed a taste for this life, and it is surely preferable to joining my stoker father on the Great Eastern Railway, so do your worst. I intend to be busy here in London for quite some time yet.”

And with that we were dismissed. As Holmes rose and walked past me he turned, looked into my eyes and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I, however, knew that look of old – he had spotted something, something that he deemed important. He did not speak of it though, not then, nor on the way back to Baker Street, where I took my leave of him and Watson and went down to the theatre to prepare for that evening’s show and, hopefully, catch a couple of hours of well-earned sleep.

I heard no more until three nights later, when a street lad – I think he was one that I had seen in Baker Street but I cannot be sure – delivered a note to the stage door.

It was not signed, but I knew the sender. I left Sleepy Jack in charge of the house – with severe admonishments as to the consequences should he take to the gin again – and made my way across town to Soho.

Everyone in central London knows Miss Jane’s, but nobody will admit to ever being there, despite it being packed to the gunwales with lonely gentlemen on any given night. Tonight was no exception – the downstairs hallway was so crowded with well-suited toffs that I had to push through them to make my way inside. Holmes and Watson were there ahead of me, standing at the foot of a flight of stairs.

“The Irregulars followed him,” Holmes said. “And they did a fine job of it. He has a new quarry tonight.”

Holmes mentioned a name and this time it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. European royalty, even minor royalty, was indeed a step up for Mackie, and one that would ensure him plenty of those worldly pleasures he seemed to covet should he succeed in his play.

“He has two rooms – His Majesty is in one with the lady, and I believe Mackie is in the other with his camera. Watson will get the prince out without any fuss, and you and I shall beard Mackie in his den. Agreed?”

Both Watson and I nodded, and we made our way upstairs.

Watson seemed concerned. “Even if we catch him in the act, Holmes, there will still be nothing that Lestrade can use for a conviction – not enough in any case.”

“At least we will stop him tonight,” Holmes said, and he looked at me pointedly in the same manner as before; he knew more than he was saying.

We arrived outside a room on the second landing. It was obvious from the noises from within that His Majesty was enjoying all that the house had to offer.

“On my mark, Watson,” Holmes said, leading me to the next door along. We stood there for some seconds.

“Are we waiting for something, Holmes?” I asked, and again I got the raised eyebrow in reply.

“I was rather hoping you would tell me, Shinwell,” he said.

Luckily, before I had time to think of an answer that would be evasive enough to get past Holmes, the gap at the bottom of the door lit up as a flash went off within. Even as I put a shoulder to the door, I knew we would be too late, for the screams that immediately followed the flash were too high and too wild to come from a man with any hope of living.

The door split under my weight, and revealed the hellish scene inside. Mackie’s whole upper torso was aflame, his hair singed off, his skin bubbling and seething under a white fire that burned so hard it hurt the eyes to look at it. By the time we reached him he had already fallen to the floor, and by the time we doused the flames by wrapping him in a rug the man was dead. There was only a smoking ruin where his smug smile had been.

I saw through a connecting door to the room beyond that Watson was already leading the prince away and out of sight of what would soon be many prying eyes.

Holmes looked down at the body and pursed his lips.

“Well, Shinwell, it seems that your ploy worked.” He went on, without giving me time to protest my innocence. “I smelled the fixing reagent on you as soon as you came back into the hotel room so I know you found the developing room. And I noted the empty glass on the sideboard as we left. That, and the fact that you were present when I told Watson of the properties of the flash powder, and now the look on your face. I know this is your doing, so there is no sense in you denying it.”

“I would not want to deny it, if truth be told, Mr Holmes,” I said. “For if anyone deserved it, it is this piece of vermin. But I am happy to pay whatever price you deem necessary.”

Holmes smiled thinly.

“It is as much my doing as yours, Shinwell, for I knew it was coming and did nothing to intervene. Just do not tell Watson – he would not understand, and this is one case I would rather never have documented in full.”

We left the room together, just as the sound of police whistles pierced the air and Mr Mackie quickly became one of those very stories that he was so keen to see publicised.