The House Of Silk

his head in my hands. ‘Can you tell me what happened here?’
    Holmes made no response and a moment later, I became aware of another man who had approached silently and was now standing over me, next to the Scottish doctor. ‘Please will you get to your feet,’ he demanded, in a voice as cold as the night itself.
    ‘This man is my friend—’ I began.
    ‘And this is the scene of a crime in which you have no business to interfere. Stand up and move back. Thank you. Now, if anyone here saw anything, give your name and place of address to the officer. Otherwise, return to your homes. You children, get out of here before I put the whole lot of you under arrest. Officer? What’s your name? Perkins! Are you in charge here?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘This is your beat?’
    ‘It is, sir.’
    ‘Well, you seem to have done reasonably good work so far. Can you tell me what you saw and what you know? Try to keep it concise. It’s a damned cold night and the sooner we have it wrapped up, the sooner we can be in bed.’ He stood in silence as the constable gave his version of events which added up to little more than I already knew. He nodded. ‘Very well, Constable Perkins. Look after these people. Write down the details in your notebook. I’ll take charge of this now.’
    I have not yet described this new arrival and find it difficult to do so even now for he was quite simply one of the most reptilian men I have ever encountered, with eyes too small for his face, thin lips and skin so smooth as to be almost featureless. His most prominent feature was a thick mane of hair of a most unnatural white, which is to say that it really was completely colourless and might never had any colour at all. It was not as if he was old – he could not have been more than thirty or thirty-five. The hair was in complete contrast to his wardrobe, which consisted of black overcoat, black gloves and black scarf. Although he was not a large man, he had a certain presence, even an arrogance, which I had already witnessed in the way he had taken command of the situation. He spoke softly, but his voice had an edge that left you in no doubt that he was used to being obeyed. But it was his mercurial quality that most unnerved me, his refusal to connect emotionally with anyone at all. That was what put me in mind of the snake. From the moment I had first spoken to him, I had felt him slithering around me. He was the sort of person who looked through you or behind you but who would never look
at
you. I had never met anyone quite so in command of themselves, living in a world in which the rest of us could be only trespassers, forbidden to come near.
    ‘So your name is Dr Watson?’ he said.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And this is Sherlock Holmes! Well, I rather doubt we’ll be reading of this in one of your famous chronicles, will we, unless it comes under the heading of
The Adventure of the Psychotic Opium Addict
. Your colleague was at Creer’s Place tonight?’
    ‘He was pursuing an investigation.’
    ‘Pursuing it with a pipe and a needle it would seem. A rather unorthodox method of detection, I would have said. Well, you can leave, Dr Watson. There is nothing more you can do tonight. A pretty business we have here! This girl can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen years old.’
    ‘Her name is Sally Dixon. She was working at a public house called The Bag of Nails in Shoreditch.’
    ‘She was known to her assailant?’
    ‘Mr Holmes was not her assailant!’
    ‘So you would have us think. Unfortunately, there are witnesses who have a different point of view.’ He glanced at the Scottish man. ‘You are a doctor?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘And you saw what happened here tonight?’
    ‘I already told the constable, sir. The girl was begging in the street. This man came from that building over there. I thought he was drunk or out of his mind. He followed the girl into this square and he killed her with a revolver. It’s as plain as that.’
    ‘In your opinion, is Mr Holmes well enough to travel with me to Holborn police station?’
    ‘He cannot walk. But there is no reason why he should not travel in a cab.’
    ‘There is one on the way.’ The white-haired man, who had still not given me his name, walked slowly over to Holmes who still lay on the ground, a little recovered, fighting to regain his composure. ‘Can you hear me, Mr Holmes?’
    ‘Yes.’ It was the first word he had spoken.
    ‘My name is Inspector Harriman. I am arresting you for