The House Of Silk

housed, I knew, a hypodermic syringe, but it would have been unheard of for Holmes, in the middle of a case, to indulge in the seven-per-cent solution of cocaine that was, without doubt, his most egregious habit. I do not think he slept at all. Late into the night, before my own eyes closed, I heard him picking out a tune on his Stradivarius, but the music was ragged and full of discords and I could tell that his heart wasn’t in it. I understood all too well the nervous energy that afflicted my friend. He had spoken of a grave miscalculation. The disappearance of Ross suggested that he had been proved right and, if this were the case, he would never forgive himself.
    I thought we might go back to Wimbledon. From what he had said at the hotel, Holmes had made it clear that the adventure of the man in the flat cap was over, the case solved and all that remained was for him to launch into one of those explanations that would leave me wondering how I could have been so obtuse as to have not see it for myself from the start. However, breakfast brought a letter from Catherine Carstairs, informing us that she and her husband had gone away for a few days, staying with friends in Suffolk. Edmund Carstairs, with his fragile nature, needed time to regain his composure and Holmes would never reveal what he knew without an audience. I would therefore have to wait.
    In fact, it was another two days before Wiggins returned to 221B Baker Street, this time on his own. He had received Holmes’s wire (quite how, I do not know, I never learned where Wiggins lived or in what circumstances) and since then he had been searching for Ross, but without success.
    ‘’e came to London at the end of the summer,’ Wiggins explained.
    ‘Came to London from where?’
    ‘I’ve no idea. When I met ’im. ’e was sharing a kitchen in King’s Cross with a family – nine of them in two rooms – and I spoke to them but they ain’t seen ’im since that night at the ’otel. No one’s seen ’im. It sounds to me like ’e’s lying low.’
    ‘Wiggins, I want you to tell me what happened that night,’ Holmes said, sternly. ‘The two of you followed the American from the pawnbroker to the hotel. You left Ross watching the place while you came for me. He must have been alone there for a couple of hours.’
    ‘Ross was game. I didn’t make him.’
    ‘I’m not suggesting that for a moment. Finally, we returned, Mr Carstairs, Dr Watson, you and I. Ross was still there. I gave you both money and dismissed you. You left together.’
    ‘We didn’t stay together long,’ Wiggins replied. ‘’e went ’is way and I went mine.’
    ‘Did he say anything to you? Did the two of you speak?’
    ‘Ross was in a strange mood and no mistake. There was something ’e’d seen …’
    ‘At the hotel? Did he tell you what it was?’
    ‘There was a man. That was all. It put the wind up ’im. Ross is only thirteen but ’e normally knows what’s what. You know? Well, ’e was shook to the core.’
    ‘He saw the killer!’ I exclaimed.
    ‘I don’t know what ’e saw but I can tell you what ’e said. “I know ’im and I can make something from ’im. More than the guinea I got from bloody Mr ’olmes.” Forgive me, sir. But them were ’is words exactly. I reckon he was all set to put the squeeze on someone.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Only that ’e was in an ’urry to be off. ’e ran into the night. ’e didn’t go to King’s Cross. I don’t know where ’e went. The only thing is that nobody saw ’im no more.’
    As Holmes listened to this, he was as grave as I had ever seen him. Now he moved closer to the boy and crouched down. Wiggins seemed very small beside him. Malnourished and sickly, with matted hair, rheumy eyes and skin befouled by London dirt, it would have been impossible to distinguish him in a crowd. It may be that this was why it was so easy to ignore the plight of these children. There were so many of them. They all looked the same. ‘Listen to me, Wiggins,’ Holmes said. ‘It seems to me that Ross could be in great danger—’
    ‘I looked for ’im! I searched everywhere!’
    ‘I’m sure of it. But you must tell me what you know of his past. Where did he come from before you met him. Who were his parents?’
    ‘’e never ’ad no parents. They were dead, long ago. ’e never said where ’e come from and I never asked. Where do you think any of us come from? What does it matter?’
    ‘Think, boy. If he found