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ElapticAI-512

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“Not him.
“What then?
“The knees of his trousers.
“And what did you see?
“What I expected to see.
“Why did you beat the pavement?
“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are
spies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.
Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from
the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as
the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main
arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west.
The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in
a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with
the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we
looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that
they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant
square which we had just quitted.
“Let me see, said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along
the line, “I should like just to remember the order of the houses here.
It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is
Mortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg
branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and
McFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the
other block. And now, Doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time we had
some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land,
where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no
red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums.
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very
capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the
afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness,
gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his
gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those
of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted,
ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his
singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his
extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought,
the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which
occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from
extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never
so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in
his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.
Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him,
and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of
intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would
look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other
mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St.
James’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom
he had set himself to hunt down.
“You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor, he remarked as we emerged.
“Yes, it would be as well.
“And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This
business at Coburg Square is serious.
“Why serious?
“A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to
believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday
rather complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night.
“At what time?
“Ten will be early enough.
“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.
“Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so
kindly put your army revolver in your pocket. He waved his hand,
turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always
oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock
Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had
seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not
only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the
whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my
house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story
of the red-headed copier of the Encyclopædia down to the visit to
Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from
me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?
Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes
that this smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant was a formidable man—a
man who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it
up in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an
explanation.