The Circus Murders

A Glimpse of my Worth

It was October and the air was cooler as I turned down Baker Street, my feet carrying me there because some secretive part of my mind had already decided to go. I intended to see if he had any cases on, but mostly just to make sure that he was all right and that he was not mixing loneliness with cocaine and producing disastrous results.

He greeted my warmly.

"I am about to run off on an interesting errand," he cried. "Care to come along?"

I thought of my wife, who was probably just getting around to putting supper on, of the domestic bliss of dozing before the fireplace with my feet on the ottoman.

"Yes, of course."

"Very good!" He clapped me on the back. "We don't have much time to waste. They said our visiting window was only open for so long."

"Visiting window?" I echoed.

"I'll explain on the way." He seized his hat and was out the door, leaving me gawking after him.

"How odd..."

"We're going to try a little experiment," he explained in the cab. "I've talked to the inspectors and they've said it's all right. Honestly, I would have done it anyway without their permission. It is only too easy to steal a key from a prison guard."

"Steal a key from a prison guard!" I cried. "What are we up to."

"None of that. We are getting into prison the honest way. To see Phelps."

I must have paled at this statement because he rushed to reassure me. "Don't be afraid. He will cuffed the entire time."

"And what is the purpose of this?"

"I must see how he works," said Holmes, with a sparkle in his bright grey eyes. "I must see if I can be hypnotized."

"I highly doubt it."

"Perhaps then you will take the bait?"

"I will be more than happy to watch and add it as a footnote to the case."

"Very good!" He exclaimed. "Do you remember the case of the Devil's Foot, when we staged ourselves to test the drug even though I was almost certain it was a key factor?

I nodded.

"This is again my Devil's Foot. I have to make certain one hundred percent certain of my hypothesis that Phelps posseses the ability to hyptonize his subjects."

"I somehow have a difficult time picturing him getting to you."

We rode in silence the rest of the way to the prison, a formidable structure of old bricks with bars shielding the windows, the feeling of despair palpable even at a glance. Holmes spoke briefly with one of the guards and we were lead down a narrow hall with cells on the left and right that smelled of mildew and its human occupants.

Phelps was sitting in a chair in the corner of his cell, alone. When he saw Sherlock Holmes he spat on the floor. His hands were, thankfully, handcuffed in front of him.

"Do I have to do it?" asked Phelps spitefully to the pudgy guard that stood next to Holmes and myself.

"If you want your supper, yes," the guard replied, then unlocked the door and led us into the snake's cage.

"Why do you want this?" Phelps glared at my companion. "Yew've already had me socked away. What good can it do yew?"

"Curiosity. I enjoy seeing a trick done well," replied Holmes, pulling up the spare chair that had sat in the corner across from the pitiful plank of a bed and sitting down. "Work your magic."