Chapter VIII The Baker Street Irregulars

ndback.Ifhe’dbeenawayinthebargeI’dha’thoughtnothin’formanyatimeajobhastakenhimasfarasGravesend,andtheniftherewasmuchdoin’therehemightha’stayedover.Butwhatgoodisasteamlaunchwithoutcoals?” “Hemighthaveboughtsomeatawharfdowntheriver.” “Hemight,sir,butitweren’thisway.ManyatimeI’veheardhimcalloutatthepricestheychargeforafewoddbags.Besides,Idon’tlikethatwooden-leggedman,wi’hisuglyfaceandoutlandishtalk.Whatdidhewantalwaysknockin’aboutherefor?” “Awooden-leggedman?”saidHolmes,withblandsurprise. “Yes,sir,abrown,monkey-facedchapthat’scalledmore’nonceformyoldman.Itwashimthatrousedhimupyesternight,and,what’smore,mymanknewhewascomin’,forhehadsteamupinthelaunch.Itellyoustraight,sir,Idon’tfeeleasyinmymindaboutit.” “But,mydearMrs.Smith,”saidHolmes,shrugginghisshoulders,“Youarefrighteningyourselfaboutnothing.Howcouldyoupossiblytellthatitwasthewooden-leggedmanwhocameinthenight?Idon’tquiteunderstandhowyoucanbesosure.” “Hisvoice,sir.Iknewhisvoice,whichiskindo’thickandfoggy.Hetappedatthewinder,—aboutthreeitwouldbe.‘Showaleg,matey,’sayshe:‘timetoturnoutguard.’MyoldmanwokeupJim,—that’smyeldest,—andawaytheywent,withoutsomuchasawordtome.Icouldhearthewoodenlegclackin’onthestones.” “Andwasthiswooden-leggedmanalone?” “Couldn’tsay,Iamsure,sir.Ididn’thearnooneelse.” “Iamsorry,Mrs.Smith,forIwantedasteamlaunch,andIhaveheardgoodreportsofthe—Letmesee,whatishername?” “TheAurora,sir.” “Ah!She’snotthatoldgreenlaunchwithayellowline,verybroadinthebeam?” “No,indeed.She’sastrimalittlethingasanyontheriver.She’sbeenfreshpainted,blackwithtworedstreaks.” “Thanks.IhopethatyouwillhearsoonfromMr.Smith.IamgoingdowntheriverandifIshouldseeanythingoftheAuroraIshalllethimknowthatyouareuneasy.Ablackfunnel,yousay?” “No,sir.Blackwithawhiteband.” “Ah,ofcourse.Itwasthesideswhichwereblack.Good-morning,Mrs.Smith.—Thereisaboatmanherewithawherry,Watson.Weshalltakeitandcrosstheriver. “Themainthingwithpeopleofthatsort,”saidHolmes,aswesatinthesheetsofthewherry,“isnevertoletthemthinkthattheirinformationcanbeoftheslightestimportancetoyou.Ifyoudo,theywillinstantlyshutuplikeanoyster.Ifyoulistentothemunderprotest,asitwere,youareverylikelytogetwhatyouwant.” “Ourcoursenowseemsprettyclear,”saidI. “Whatwouldyoudo,then?” “IwouldengagealaunchandgodowntheriveronthetrackoftheAurora.” “Mydearfellow,itwouldbeacolossaltask.ShemayhavetouchedatanywharfoneithersideofthestreambetweenhereandGreenwich.Belowthebridgethereisaperfectlabyrinthoflanding-placesformiles.Itwouldtakeyoudaysanddaystoexhaustthem,ifyousetaboutitalone.” “Employthepolice,then.” “No.IshallprobablycallAthelneyJonesinatthelastmoment.Heisnotabadfellow,andIshouldnotliketodoanythingwhichwouldinjurehimprofessionally.ButIhaveafancyforworkingitoutmyself,nowthatwehavegonesofar.” “Couldweadvertise,then,askingforinformationfromwharfingers?” “Worseandworse!Ourmenwouldknowthatthechasewashotattheirheels,andtheywouldbeoffoutofthecountry.Asitis,theyarelikelyenoughtoleave,butaslongastheythinktheyareperfectlysafetheywillbeinnohurry.Jones’senergywillbeofuse