Chapter X The End of the Islander

“Whichwouldhavebeennever.ThismanSmallisaprettyshrewdfellow.Hewouldsendascoutonahead,andifanythingmadehimsuspiciousliesnugforanotherweek.” “ButyoumighthavestucktoMordecaiSmith,andsobeenledtotheirhiding-place,”saidI. “InthatcaseIshouldhavewastedmyday.IthinkthatitisahundredtooneagainstSmithknowingwheretheylive.Aslongashehasliquorandgoodpay,whyshouldheaskquestions?Theysendhimmessageswhattodo.No,Ithoughtovereverypossiblecourse,andthisisthebest.” Whilethisconversationhadbeenproceeding,wehadbeenshootingthelongseriesofbridgeswhichspantheThames.AswepassedtheCitythelastraysofthesunweregildingthecrossuponthesummitofSt.Paul’s.ItwastwilightbeforewereachedtheTower. “ThatisJacobson’sYard,”saidHolmes,pointingtoabristleofmastsandriggingontheSurreyside.“Cruisegentlyupanddownhereundercoverofthisstringoflighters.”Hetookapairofnight-glassesfromhispocketandgazedsometimeattheshore.“Iseemysentryathispost,”heremarked,“butnosignofahandkerchief.” “Supposewegodown-streamashortwayandlieinwaitforthem,”saidJones,eagerly.Wewerealleagerbythistime,eventhepolicemenandstokers,whohadaveryvagueideaofwhatwasgoingforward. “Wehavenorighttotakeanythingforgranted,”Holmesanswered.“Itiscertainlytentoonethattheygodown-stream,butwecannotbecertain.Fromthispointwecanseetheentranceoftheyard,andtheycanhardlyseeus.Itwillbeaclearnightandplentyoflight.Wemuststaywhereweare.Seehowthefolkswarmoveryonderinthegaslight.” “Theyarecomingfromworkintheyard.” “Dirty-lookingrascals,butIsupposeeveryonehassomelittleimmortalsparkconcealedabouthim.Youwouldnotthinkit,tolookatthem.Thereisnoaprioriprobabilityaboutit.Astrangeenigmaisman!” “Someonecallshimasoulconcealedinananimal,”Isuggested. “WinwoodReadeisgooduponthesubject,”saidHolmes.“Heremarksthat,whiletheindividualmanisaninsolublepuzzle,intheaggregatehebecomesamathematicalcertainty.Youcan,forexample,neverforetellwhatanyonemanwilldo,butyoucansaywithprecisionwhatanaveragenumberwillbeupto.Individualsvary,butpercentagesremainconstant.Sosaysthestatistician.ButdoIseeahandkerchief?Surelythereisawhiteflutteroveryonder.” “Yes,itisyourboy,”Icried.“Icanseehimplainly.” “AndthereistheAurora,”exclaimedHolmes,“andgoinglikethedevil!Fullspeedahead,engineer.Makeafterthatlaunchwiththeyellowlight.Byheaven,Ishallneverforgivemyselfifsheprovestohavetheheelsofus!” Shehadslippedunseenthroughtheyard-entranceandpassedbehindtwoorthreesmallcraft,sothatshehadfairlygotherspeedupbeforewesawher.Nowshewasflyingdownthestream,nearintotheshore,goingatatremendousrate.Joneslookedgravelyatherandshookhishead. “Sheisveryfast,”hesaid.“Idoubtifweshallcatchher.” “Wemustcatchher!”criedHolmes,betweenhisteeth.“Heapiton,stokers!Makeherdoallshecan!Ifweburntheboatwemusthavethem!” Wewerefairlyafterhernow.Thefurnacesroared,andthepowerfulengineswhizzedandclanked,likeagreatmetallicheart.Hersharp,steepprowcutthroughtheriver-waterandsenttworollingwavestorightandtoleftofus.Witheverythroboftheengineswesprangandqui