The Sign of the Four
landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly have
been scuttled to hide their traces,—though that always remained as a
possible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small had a
certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of
anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a product
of higher education. I then reflected that since he had certainly been
in London some time—as we had evidence that he maintained a continual
watch over Pondicherry Lodge—he could hardly leave at a moment’s
notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a day, to
arrange his affairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate.”
“It seems to me to be a little weak,” said I. “It is more probable that
he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his
expedition.”
“No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a
retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he
could do without it. But a second consideration struck me. Jonathan
Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion,
however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and
possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp
enough to see that. They had started from their head-quarters under
cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad
light. Now, it was past three o’clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when
they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and people would be about
in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They
paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final
escape, and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a
couple of nights, when they had time to see what view the papers took,
and whether there was any suspicion, they would make their way under
cover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no
doubt they had already arranged for passages to America or the
Colonies.”
“But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings.”
“Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite
of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small, and
looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably consider
that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would make
pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How, then,
could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted? I
wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I could only
think of one way of doing it. I might hand the launch over to some
boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling change in
her. She would then be removed to his shed or yard, and so be
effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at a few
hours’ notice.”
“That seems simple enough.”
“It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be
overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at once
in this harmless seaman’s rig and inquired at all the yards down the
river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth—Jacobson’s—I
learned that the _Aurora_ had been handed over to them two days ago by
a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to her rudder.
‘There ain’t naught amiss with her rudder,’ said the foreman. ‘There
she lies, with the red streaks.’ At that moment who should come down
but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner? He was rather the worse for
liquor. I should not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed out
his name and the name of his launch. ‘I want her to-night at eight
o’clock,’ said he,—‘eight o’clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen
who won’t be kept waiting.’ They had evidently paid him well, for he
was very flush of money, chucking shillings about to the men. I
followed him some distance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so I
went back to the yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the
way, I stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand at
water’s edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall
be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not
take men, treasure, and all.”
“You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men or
not,” said Jones; “but if the affair were in my hands I should have had
a body of police in Jacobson’s Yard, and arrested them when they came
down.”
“Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewd fellow.
He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him suspicious lie
snug for another week.”
“But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to their
hiding-place,” said I.
“In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a hundred
to one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he has liquor
and good pay, why should he ask questions? They send him messages what
to do. No, I thought over every possible course, and this is the best.”
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the
long series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City the
last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of St.
Paul’s. It was twilight before we reached the Tower.
“That is Jacobson’s Yard,” said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of masts
and rigging on the Surrey side. “Cruise gently up and down here under
cover of this string of lighters.” He took a pair of night-glasses from
his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. “I see my sentry at his
post,” he remarked, “but no sign of a handkerchief.”
“Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them,” said
Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and
stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going forward.
“We have no right to take anything for granted,” Holmes answered. “It
is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be
certain. From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they
can hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We
must stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the
gaslight.”
“They are coming from work in the yard.”
“Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some little
immortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look at
them. There is no _a priori_ probability about it. A strange enigma is
man!”
“Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal,” I suggested.
“Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,” said Holmes. “He remarks
that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate
he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never
foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with precision what
an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages
remain constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a handkerchief?
Surely there is a white flutter over yonder.”
“Yes, it is your boy,” I cried. “I can see him plainly.”
“And there is the _Aurora_,” exclaimed Holmes, “and going like the
devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the
yellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves to
have the heels of us!”
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind two
or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before we
saw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore,
going at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his
head.
“She is very fast,” he said. “I doubt if we shall catch her.”
“We _must_ catch her!” cried Holmes, between his teeth. “Heap it on,
stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have
them!”
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful
engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp,
steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to
right and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and
quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows
threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a
dark blur upon the water showed where the _Aurora_ lay, and the swirl
of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. We
flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind
this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but
still the _Aurora_ thundered on, and still we followed close upon her
track.
“Pile it on, men, pile it on!” cried Holmes, looking down into the
engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,
aquiline face. “Get every pound of steam you can.”
“I think we gain a little,” said Jones, with his eyes on the _Aurora_.
“I am sure of it,” said I. “We shall be up with her in a very few
minutes.”
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with
three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting our
helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could round
them and recover our way the _Aurora_ had gained a good two hundred
yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky uncertain
twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our boilers were
strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with
the fierce energy which was driving us along. We had shot through the
Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up
again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us
resolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty _Aurora_. Jones
turned our search-light upon her, so that we could plainly see the
figures upon her deck. One man sat by the stern, with something black
between his knees over which he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass
which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while
against the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to
the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some
doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as
we followed every winding and turning which they took there could no
longer be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about three
hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have been more
than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in many
countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such
a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we
drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we could
hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern
still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he
were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a
glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and
nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boat’s
lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a
clear reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the
melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the
stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at us,
cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,
powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I could
see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump upon the
right side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there was
movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself
into a little black man—the smallest I have ever seen—with a great,
misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had
already drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the sight of this