For All Our Sakes

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Watson

I employed the indeterminable period of time after Cauldwell left me in sitting quietly so as to rest my sore mind and body as best I could under the circumstances. Brown returned, but he was far less sociable, and sat in the chair opposite mine smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper.

We sat like this for quite some time—judging by the shifting of the rays of sunlight sifting through windows high on the walls—when I heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind me.

"Afternoon, Brown," said the first voice, which I recognised after a moment as belonging to Williams.

"Afternoon, Williams," replied Brown, looking up from his newspaper and nodding at Williams.

I attempted to turn a little in my chair to see behind me. Williams and Jefferson—whose nose was no longer bleeding—were approaching Mr. Brown and myself.

"Jeff and I are here to take this fellow off your hands," said Williams. He's wanted elsewhere at the moment." He turned to the red-headed man. "Jeff, untie his legs."

"Why should I?" asked Jefferson irritably.

Williams gave him a haughty look. "Just do as you're told—I'll be untying his arms."

Brown held up his hands in a gesture of defeat and stood up. "Pipe down you two, and I'll untie his legs and arms." He bent down to begin.

"You can lead him out to the cab this time as well, Brown," shot Williams over his shoulder as he walked out of my line of sight toward the door. "All you've done today is sit around reading that bloody paper of yours, while I was out nearly getting my legs broken by this gent." He gestured in my direction.

"You deserve to have them both broken. Twice," muttered Jefferson as he followed his companion.

Brown struggled with the rope binding my ankles for a minute, muttering, "Where in blazes did Williams learn how to tie a knot?" Finally, with a vociferous grunt, he managed to untie aforesaid rope, then started on my wrists, which he managed a bit more quickly. He helped me to my feet. He steadied me as my head grew light and I thought I might fall to the ground.

After helping me to put my coat back on, he blindfolded me, retied my wrists, and led me back out of the warehouse and into what I suspected was another four-wheeler, where I seemed to be joining both of my companions of earlier. As I climbed in, the side of my right thigh pushed part of my coat to the side of the cab, and I noticed an unfamiliar object in one of my pockets on that side. I had been picked clean, so to speak, after I had been attacked in the alleyway earlier, so the fact that there was any object was an anomaly. Based on the size, shape, and weight, I was sure that it was either a pocketknife, or something very similar to a pocketknife in those three respects. (I had carried a small knife in one of my pockets since my father decided I was old enough to do so safely, so I had a fair bit of experience recognising what having one in my pocket felt like.) As I seated myself, I wondered if for some unfathomable reason Brown, Williams, or Jefferson had put this object in my pocket.

We set off at a fairly rapid clip in I knew not which direction. I considered attempting to reach the object in my pocket to ascertain whether it was indeed a knife, but without my sight, I would not know if either of the two men were observing my actions as I did so.

However, a vague plan of action was beginning to form in my mind, and if it worked, then I would be free and on my way to safety in a matter of minutes.

Holmes

I stopped the hansom half a block away from my destination and walked the remaining distance. As I walked, I carefully examined everything—the pavement, the buildings, the loafers, drunks and street urchins—between the cab and my destination. I hoped that the rain of earlier would work in my favour, and wash away the things from previous days, leaving the clews for which I was searching. To my irritation, there was nothing of note for the entire distance leading up to house number seventeen.