Chapter VIII The Baker Street Irregulars

“Whatnow?”Iasked.“Tobyhaslosthischaracterforinfallibility.” “Heactedaccordingtohislights,”saidHolmes,liftinghimdownfromthebarrelandwalkinghimoutofthetimber-yard.“IfyouconsiderhowmuchcreasoteiscartedaboutLondoninoneday,itisnogreatwonderthatourtrailshouldhavebeencrossed.Itismuchusednow,especiallyfortheseasoningofwood.PoorTobyisnottoblame.” “Wemustgetonthemainscentagain,Isuppose.” “Yes.And,fortunately,wehavenodistancetogo.EvidentlywhatpuzzledthedogatthecornerofKnight’sPlacewasthatthereweretwodifferenttrailsrunninginoppositedirections.Wetookthewrongone.Itonlyremainstofollowtheother.” Therewasnodifficultyaboutthis.OnleadingTobytotheplacewherehehadcommittedhisfault,hecastaboutinawidecircleandfinallydashedoffinafreshdirection. “Wemusttakecarethathedoesnotnowbringustotheplacewherethecreasote-barrelcamefrom,”Iobserved. “Ihadthoughtofthat.Butyounoticethathekeepsonthepavement,whereasthebarrelpasseddowntheroadway.No,weareonthetruescentnow.” Ittendeddowntowardstheriver-side,runningthroughBelmontPlaceandPrince’sStreet.AttheendofBroadStreetitranrightdowntothewater’sedge,wheretherewasasmallwoodenwharf.Tobyledustotheveryedgeofthis,andtherestoodwhining,lookingoutonthedarkcurrentbeyond. “Weareoutofluck,”saidHolmes.“Theyhavetakentoaboathere.”Severalsmallpuntsandskiffswerelyingaboutinthewaterandontheedgeofthewharf.WetookTobyroundtoeachinturn,but,thoughhesniffedearnestly,hemadenosign. Closetotherudelanding-stagewasasmallbrickhouse,withawoodenplacardslungoutthroughthesecondwindow.“MordecaiSmith”wasprintedacrossitinlargeletters,and,underneath,“Boatstohirebythehourorday.”Asecondinscriptionabovethedoorinformedusthatasteamlaunchwaskept,—astatementwhichwasconfirmedbyagreatpileofcokeuponthejetty.SherlockHolmeslookedslowlyround,andhisfaceassumedanominousexpression. “Thislooksbad,”saidhe.“ThesefellowsaresharperthanIexpected.Theyseemtohavecoveredtheirtracks.Therehas,Ifear,beenpreconcertedmanagementhere.” Hewasapproachingthedoorofthehouse,whenitopened,andalittle,curly-headedladofsixcamerunningout,followedbyastoutish,red-facedwomanwithalargespongeinherhand. “Youcomebackandbewashed,Jack,”sheshouted.“Comeback,youyoungimpforifyourfathercomeshomeandfindsyoulikethat,he’llletushearofit.” “Dearlittlechap!”saidHolmes,strategically.“Whatarosy-cheekedyoungrascal!Now,Jack,isthereanythingyouwouldlike?” Theyouthponderedforamoment.“I’dlikeashillin’,”saidhe. “Nothingyouwouldlikebetter?” “I’dliketwoshillin’better,”theprodigyanswered,aftersomethought. “Hereyouare,then!Catch!—Afinechild,Mrs.Smith!” “Lor’blessyou,sir,heisthat,andforward.Hegetsa’mosttoomuchformetomanage,’speciallywhenmymanisawaydaysatatime.” “Away,ishe?”saidHolmes,inadisappointedvoice.“Iamsorryforthat,forIwantedtospeaktoMr.Smith.” “He’sbeenawaysinceyesterdaymornin’,sir,and,truthtotell,Iambeginnin’tofeelfrightenedabouthim.Butifitwasaboutaboat,sir,maybeIcouldserveaswell.” “Iwantedtohirehissteamlaunch.” “Why,blessyou,sir,itisinthesteamlaunchthathehasgone.That’swhatpuzzlesmeforIknowthereain’tmorecoalsinherthanwouldtakehertoaboutWoolwicha