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When Wilson had gone, Holmes turned to me. “Well, Watson,” he asked. “What do you think?”
“I have no idea,” I answered. “It is very strange. What are you going to do?”
“Go hear some music,” replied Holmes. “There is a violin concert at St. James’s Hall this afternoon. Come along. We have time to make a stop on the way.”
We took the underground train to Aldersgate. A short walk, and we were in Coburg Square.
One of the corner houses wore a sign that read “J. B. Wilson.” Holmes stopped in front of the house. He thumped on the pavement with his stick. He pounded in two or three more spots. Then he walked up and knocked on the door.
Mr. Wilson’s helper answered. He was a bright, clean looking young man.
“So sorry to bother you,” said Holmes. “But can you tell me how to get to the Strand?”
“Third right, fourth left,” the young man answered. He closed the door.
“That,” said Holmes as we walked away, “is the fourth smartest man in London. I have seen him before. Did you get a look at his knees?”
“What about his knees?” I asked. “What do you know, Holmes? Why did you hit the pavement like that?”
“My dear Watson,” said Holmes. “This is no time to talk. This is the time to look. Let’s see what lies behind this quiet street.” We turned the corner.
To my surprise, we found ourselves on a busy street. “Let’s see,” said Holmes. “There’s a cigar store. And there’s the City Bank. And there is a restaurant. Hmm, yes …”
He turned to me. “I’ll want your help,” he said. “Can you be ready at ten tonight? Good. See you then. Oh, and Dr. Watson. Do you have your gun? You had better bring it along.”
He waved his hand. Then he disappeared.
I got back to Baker Street just before ten o’clock that evening. Two horse-drawn cabs were waiting outside. Inside, I found two men with Holmes.”
“Ah! We are all here now!” Holmes said. “You know Inspector Jones of Scotland Yard, don’t you, Watson? And this is Mr. Merryweather.”
Mr. Merryweather was long, thin, and sad-faced. He wore a very shiny top hat. He did not look at all happy. “This had better not be a waste of time,” he said. “I’m missing my Saturday night card game. First time in twenty years.”
Holmes laughed. “You’ll play a more exciting game tonight,” he said. “You, Mr. Merryweather, stand to win or lose thirty thousand pounds. And you, Mr. Jones? You will get your man.”
“That’s right!” cried Inspector Jones. “John Clay. Killer. Robber. He’s a young man. But he’s one of the most wanted criminals in London”
“Yes—he’s quite a man, John Clay. The grandson of a duke. Went to the most expensive private schools. His head is as quick as his fingers. I’ve been on his trail for years. I’ve never even set eyes on him yet.”
“I hope you will meet him tonight,” said Holmes. “Let’s go. Two cabs are waiting outside. You two men take the first cab. Dr. Watson and I will follow in the second.”
