During the period in which I was nursing my hurt over Sherlock Holmes' inconsiderate behavior, I came home to him standing before the mirror while scrubbing off some of the greasepaint from one of his disguises. He said to my reflection, "Watson, I have something I should like to tell you."
"Oh?" I asked frostily, still irritated that he would have considered making me the caretaker of his false lovesickness. "The truth, I hope."
"Of course, my friend." He turned around with false whiskers still dotting his face. "Do you remember when Bruno was here and you asked why I was going to Treacher's?"
"Oh." The syllable dripped with distaste.
"It might cheer you to know that I've been investigating him."
"Finally, a worthy villain," I said drily.
"Why do you dislike the man so, Doctor? It is most unlike you." By now Holmes' face was his own and he disappeared into his room to regain his clothing as well.
I followed in that direction and stood near the door. "He's simply a revolting man, Holmes, how else can I explain it?" I searched for words. "He has rather pointy ears—"
"You would condemn a man on that basis?" Holmes called.
"I was going to say it's the net effect of the ears, and the blinking, deep-set eyes and that straw or strawberry hair—I know not what it is—along with his short stature and the wide-shouldered jackets he favors. It all gives the effect that he's a small, off-ginger bat."
Holmes chortled from his chamber.
"But the hair color is unsettling. It gives me a sense of unhealth—that it was once red and has turned lighter from some kind of nutritional deficiency." There was a banging of drawers. "Or even worse, that his hair owes all of its color to all the dirt and tobacco smoke it's picked up from that loathsome tavern he never leaves."
Holmes emerged in his dressing gown and a light suit. "Dr. Watson! That is exceedingly unkind."
I followed him into the sitting area. "Some people one simply doesn't like," I replied. "If you don't require my reasoning, do not ask for it."
He handed me a box of especially nice Turkish cigarettes, which he must have picked up for my benefit, and I took one. "Mother Treacher, men of my set call him. Do you know why? Because he is considered to be the guarantee of safety, the connection that brings friendly cafes and cooperative hotels into a network of discretion."
"He spins his web like a spider, more like. The man could be composing a blackmail demand against you as we speak," I said.
Holmes stared at me. "If I were to lose my reputation, it would not be from the workings of Mr. Alphonse Treacher, as he is currently known."
"Then why are you investigating this saint?"
"Because he asked me to!" Holmes sat back and exhaled. "And because I would rather not have my own name ruined because of some other, as yet unidentified person, who has infiltrated his circle of trust."
"My dear Holmes, do you really think you are in danger?" Mycroft thought Holmes' associations to be a great risk. But then, his older brother had never loved, nor had he been to a card game in the back room of Giorgio's Café with some very congenial chaps.
Holmes continued. "I am investigating Treacher to find out who has managed to get past his admirable grasp of the human physiognomy. He's been in London for five years in the same place with no major problems because he only allows into his inner circle those who have been looked over by him personally."
"You've taken me to many establishments where one only need know the password. Perhaps this supposed intruder got in this way," I suggested.
"You're a bit of a special case, Watson. Every place you've entered has been with my imprimatur—but before I declared you an honorary member, even you were shut out by café owners. Still, the way proprietors manage these 'friends of the select' may vary." He gazed off into space. "It is possible that this person—I assume a man—has slowly worked his way in, layer by layer, into Treacher's world until three weeks ago, the unthinkable happened."
"One would not like to consider what is unthinkable for the likes of Mr. Treacher," I remarked.
"Over the course of a week, three of the couples to whom Treacher gave the chit were interrupted in their privacy by members of Scotland Yard, who knew exactly the hotels where they could be found."
"I suppose there is no chance that three different establishments would suddenly have qualms about their arrangement with Mr. Treacher," I said, though I knew better. These hotels were—either by principle or prudence—absolutely discreet, as no one would help me locate Holmes and Bruno when I was looking for him.
"None at all, Doctor. There is one weak point in this chit system—Mr. Treacher looks over his potential clients from the relative publicity of his tavern. This was how Madam Yvette saw me, if you remember. I have found out since that many careful pairs spend some time becoming familiar faces at the locale, and only then, when their presence is no longer remarkable, do they occasionally approach the proprietor for a chit. And Mr. Treacher prefers to give his blessing to men he knows well, so my situation with Bruno was rather exceptional."
"I would assume that the man has spun his filaments and attached them to everyone who frequents hat tavern of his," I said with distaste. "He would tug on anyone who disturbed that dubious peace he maintains among the city's criminal element."
Holmes looked at me, surprised. "That is precisely it. When I went to intimidate Madam Yvette into keeping the information about me to herself, I found it had already been done very efficiently by Mr. Treacher. Normally he takes an interest in the services brothels provide for men of like tastes, but he can 'tug,' as you say, the other way, and threaten to expose a madam's complete dossier of infractions to the law. But I've not told you this before, Dr. Watson."
"Everyone knows that Mr. Treacher's place is a veritable 'Who's Who' of every sin in London," I said drily. "You first heard of him when looking for a drugs network, and then again when an aristocratic young lady recurred to that man for help in running away from an arranged marriage, which he did by setting her up in a brothel. Yes, I've since found every mention of the man in our archives, and he's been named in the context of many infractions."
"Though never violent ones," Holmes was quick to point out. "You are absolutely correct, however, that Mr. Treacher's business enterprises are known to be efficient and discreet. He maintains this balance because of his admirable grasp of human expressions. No one will stay in his rowdy yet peaceful public house for more than a minute if he senses something wrong in his face."
Holmes laughed. "I, myself, have been ejected by his ruffians a few times. Once I remarked to a man, 'That's a very attractive cravat you're wearing,' and the next minute Mr. Treacher was grinning at me while his goons transported me to the street. It's not been comfortable for him to host someone of my observational skills in a place where no one wishes to be observed, but after a few such incidents we have worked out a sort of truce," the detective claimed with some pride.
I trusted the little businessman not at all, and wished that Sherlock Holmes hadn't invested all of his talents in forming some liaison with Mr. Treacher. Thus, I tried to return to the case, if that's what it was.
"You're saying the only way someone could have known to look for these three couples was if he witnessed the chit being passed from hand to hand," I said to my companion.
"Precisely. People talk to the proprietor for all sorts of reasons, but a man who was an accepted presence in that place could maneuver himself into proximity with the owner, such that he actually saw the chit bestowed on the three couples."
"Assuming this were true, the authorities would have to know which couples were seeking refuge in which hotel. That's quite a lot to arrange," I objected.
"Not at all, Watson. These inns can be found by word of mouth, as you found them." He smiled at the memory of me following him around the city in order to understand his relation with Bruno. "But unless the authorities wish to rouse the inhabitant of every single bed in a place, they must have precise information about which room to target. They would need a very good description of a guest, a person whom someone other than the hotel's complicit employees might have noticed."
"And you're saying three such memorable couples were found in their rented beds," I surmised.
Holmes nodded. "One pair involved a very tall man, evidently of soldierly bearing, with a noticeable limp, in the company of a much shorter man. Instantly recognizable. The next couple was two very young men, overdressed for the occasion, one of them in ill-fitting clothes that had been borrowed from the other. A young lord and his servant, as it turned out. Again, the contrast was eye-catching."
"And the third," I prompted.
"The third was a man we both know," he mentioned a name from the theater district. "He brought his chosen companion for a regular tryst, and they were torn from this refuge by the pounding of a policeman's fist on their door, and theirs alone."
"And his face would be easily marked by anyone who follows the theater news," I finished with a stab of sympathy for this nice young man who had always been happy to furnish me with the gossip about the latest plays.
"Thankfully, a trained actor is quick to improvise. Before the door was broken in, he and his friend were dressed and in the midst of a scuffle. 'I told you this is my room, you thief!' they were each exclaiming to the other. Since neither would admit he had done anything wrong except have the misfortune of being assigned a room that had been mistakenly booked twice by the management, they received a warning and no more."
"Whew," I let out my breath. "That was very quick thinking."
"But the other two couples were not so fortunate, and Mr. Treacher is not about to sit idly by while it happens again. You can imagine that the two hotels where arrests were made bowed out of the lucrative arrangement for the time being, and the few other complicit establishments are drastically cutting down on their clandestine services while their fees have become exorbitant. Each hotel told Treacher that there had been several more inquiries—by men in plain clothes—about couples who had been given refuge, but the employees are too discreet to divulge information and the couples were too indescript to have garnered attention. And needless to say, attempts by other male pairs of clandestine policmeen seeking lodging without the benefit of the chit were summarily turned away."
All this intrigue over temporary lodging seemed excessive. "I should not like you and Bruno to have been discovered the night you were forced to take such a measure, Holmes," I admitted. "Are these three the only incidents that have occurred?"
"No, Watson, not at all," laughed the detective. "Have you not noticed the increasing number of little skits and performances being offered by the actors you so admire?"
"I had not noticed any change. They're inventive people who like to express themselves."
"And they have been encouraged to do so away from the official theaters that employ them, for fear that some of the more irregular offerings will taint the shows in which they perform. I should inform you, Doctor, that there are all manner of performances that are not to my taste, and to which I have never brought you."
I laughed at my friend thinking himself worldly before a soldier. "Taken as a whole, my experience with risqué entertainment far exceeds your own, old man, though it is true I have seen little in your new community. But I didn't know they were being shut down."
"Yes, Watson. There is great discomfort all around. I have also discovered that establishments with secret back rooms are being inspected by the authorities, but most unsettling is the fact that men going to or from one of Treacher's hotels have claimed they felt as though they were followed."
"It must be a morality crusade," I said. "Though the last time the police attempted such a thing, it was all over the papers."
"None of my connections at the Yard will admit it, but this must be an exceedingly well organized campaign," he the great detective agreed with some discomfort.
I paused. "How long have you been aware of this?"
Holmes scoffed. "You may think my brain has gone soft along with the melting of my heart, but my visits to the secret side of London are at least as much self-preservation as enjoyment. I have turned my specialized antennae upon these corners and their inhabitants," he leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair, "And I have seen them to be men like myself. Wishing only to be themselves, alone or in company."
"Then I postulate the interloper you seek is genuinely a member of the guild, so to speak. This was how he managed to evade both you and Treacher. Though why a man with your tastes should wish to end London's havens for the same makes no sense," was my contributuion.
"Excellent, Watson. This I believe to be a very good theory, although it doesn't go much farther than that.
"Allow me to continue the results of my investigations. On a few evenings I have been out and suddenly had the sense that something was not correct. One night a small fire broke out—yes, yes, it could be from a stray cigar end, though it did blaze up very quickly. But the fire forced everyone out onto the street. If people were not so skilled at making haste from their amusements, the police who arrived on the heels of the fire brigade could have asked what all these men were doing, grouped in a supposed storeroom that was comfortably appointed with benches, one of which I had claimed for my own that evening."
"You could have been seen," I said, horrified at the implications.
"Tut tut. A consulting detective always has some case as an excuse," Holmes put his feet on the table and exhaled before continuing:
"Then there has been blackmail, if it can be called that."
"Yes, you've told me you've helped out quite a few people who have been targeted in this way," I interrupted, "But we both know that this is a hazard for anyone with inconvenient romantic attachments."
"One of these clients you sent my way, and her attachment was very inconvenient for you, as I remember," my friend twinkled.
I winced at the reminder. There are some young ladies of the artistic circles who accompany male friends to these clubs, much as I accompany Holmes. When one of these young women became friendly with me, I was dazzled by her beauty and wit, so much so that I did not realize she was of the Sapphic persuasion and trying to tell me of a blackmail attempt and her request for the most discreet help.
"Several people have brought me messages saying something like, 'You were seen going in the private lounge of the Revel last Tuesday evening. A friend.' Or, 'It would be a shame for your employer at W.W. Petrie to find out about your special companion. A friend,'" said Sherlock Holmes. "Always typewritten from the same machine."
"And this followed with an attempt to extort money, of course," I completed.
"No, Doctor. That is what is so curious. Money is never mentioned. The intent could be to let these persons know they are being watched; that their activities have been registered and could be divulged at any time. Or it could be genuinely to warn them."
"A considerate watcher? Wouldn't the most considerate thing be not to watch others' activities?"
"Perhaps. Such messages could also be a subtle but effective way at destroying the island of relative security maintained by the man you so despise, Mr. Treacher."
Holmes withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to me. The typewritten address read, "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 221 B Baker Street."
"'You were seen on Thursday night exiting the Winslow in company. A friend,'" I read aloud.
"What were you doing last Thursday, Dr. Watson?" came the soft question.
"Was it this past Thursday that we were at the Winslow?" I tried to recall when we had last attended an exclusive Shakespeare night that was offered by certain aficionados. "Of course it was. But many people interested in the theater attend that private party."
This was one of the delightful practices I had discovered in accompanying Holmes to the hidden cafes in London. Actors would get together and have a sort of contest—complete with wagers—in which they would do impressions of the most diverse people and things. It was fascinating to watch, and completely harmless. "Why should someone monitor that gathering, Holmes? And with whom did you leave?"
"With you, of course, Doctor," he said impatiently. "Do you think I am a fool? You are the only person with whom I ever leave any social activity. Bruno and I travel quite separately when he is in the city."
"Oh. Well then I'd like to see someone extort you about your torrid affair with me," I laughed.
My friend's expression was serious. "And I should not like to see the reverse happen with you. Your patients might not find it so amusing."
It took a moment for that to register as a real possibility. "But that's ridiculous! We've been colleagues for years. The whole city knows that."
"And we share quarters, as is documented in the stories people devour with their afternoon tea. I was going to ask you for your invaluable assistance very soon, my friend, for the case has matured to a point that I know what to ask of you. But when this letter arrived this morning—Charing Cross postmark, though each one comes from a different sector of town—I knew it was my duty to make you consider all of your actions related to me very closely."
"You've involved me in many marginally legal escapades, Holmes, and you should know I never shrink from what I think is right. I'm not going to be intimidated from playing cards with whom I like, or hearing the behind-the-scenes gossip about an upcoming production of 'Midsummer Night's Dream'! And I certainly shan't begin a practice of us leaving an evening's entertainment separately. How ridiculous! I've done nothing wrong!"
The detective was watching me quietly. "And neither have you," I added. "We've certainly done nothing wrong together!"
He finally gave a slight smile. "Yes, anyone who has ever seen Bruno hurling daggers of possessiveness from his eyes knows who holds the claim on me. Thankfully, he and I see each other too seldom to do much damage to our reputations. But I have written to him, asking that he stay away until I solve this case. He could lose everything he's working for once again if he were to be the one observed in the wrong venues with me."
His voice ended on a muted note.
"I am sorry that this siege upon private pastimes might interfere with your rare visits," I said. "How can I help you solve this thing?"
"You are a true friend, Doctor." Then he brightened with the telling of his case once more.
"The other incidents were more subtle, often involving a feeling of a threat never realized. Once I was at the tavern underneath the Green Elephant tavern. Some men brought a violin, a concertina, a few other instruments, as there are musical gentlemen who frequent that place, and I have listened to very fine music over a drink. But that night, someone suggested dancing. I couldn't say for sure whose idea it was, what with all the noise, and no one else was sure afterwards either. But I had the sense that this establishment, which is quite close to a main thoroughfare, was not a good location in which to put one's arms around another man and have a waltz."
Men's combinations could be readily understood on an anatomical level, but this aesthetic activity made no sense to me at all. "But how would two men—?"
Holmes nodded. "These things can be managed very gracefully, Watson, from what I hear. For whatever reason, no couples got up to dance, although there were challenges to be the first. I could not say who was watching, but I had the sense of a disaster nearly averted. That the dancing was part of a design to catch men in an incriminating position, and a signal would have been given. For there is no charge to be lodged against a group of men drinking and even playing cards, whether it is in a closet or a basement—though the proprietors might be responsible for allowing people to congregate in an unauthorized place."
"But if the authorities were to burst in upon men wrapped in each other's arms, there would be no explaining it away," I completed. "Good Lord, why would anyone take such a foolish risk?"
Holmes stood up. "Mrs. Hudson. Thank you so much for the early dinner," he said, taking the tray.
"You said it would be a late evening full of hungry work for you and the doctor, and he's put in a full day of honest work, for one." Mrs. Hudson fussed around the parlor, emptying ashtrays and making her presence felt while we started on the simple fare. Holmes gave me supplicating looks until we were alone and could continue our sensitive conversation.
"You will forgive me for counting on your help me this evening, Watson. The plan is already in motion, though of course you can halt it at any time."
While we ate, I heard what would be expected of me. Now that I began to understand the danger surrounding my old friend—and several new friends—with these anonymous letters, I was quite sure that any endeavor to help them qualified as just.
"You understand that I must ask this of you precisely because no accusations against you would hold," Holmes said as we pushed away our plates and smoked a fortifying cigarette each.
"Absolutely, Holmes. I'll think of it as a way to see things through your eyes," I said with a reassurance I didn't feel.
"Good fellow. Say hello to Mr. Treacher for me."
When I approached that infamous den, the revelry was just beginning. "Dr. Watson," he shouted over the din. "I'm so glad you've chosen to grace my haven with a visit."
My face felt hot and I only wished for this stage to be over.
"There, there, you can feel completely at home among friends," he said, this sincere kindness only serving to make me more nervous. He gestured and someone brought me a glass of surprisingly good whiskey.
I'd already picked out the young man in a very fashionable suit—one might almost say too fashionable—and even more affected boots, who was to be my companion for the evening. A young slip of a thing with a shock of wavy dark hair and a small, full mouth, just as Holmes had described, was standing somewhat away from the general noise.
We stared at each other in a matched disfavor and I edged towards him.
"Mr. Limstock, you are most kind to assist Mr. Holmes in his investigation."
"Mr. Holmes told me all I had to do was take the chit from Treacher and go to the hotel with you for a short while. That's all," he said more pointedly than I thought necessary.
"You needn't fear anything from me, young man," I said drily.
"No?" He seemed rather insulted, and we drank in silence.
Finally, I could stand it no more. "What could Holmes possibly have over you that you agreed to do this thankless deed? I frequently do all manner of foolishness for his investigations, but this?"
Someone at the other end of the room sang a few bars and several voices laughed as music struck up.
"Well, er, I was hoping to get to know your friend, Doctor," Mr. Limstock said shyly.
"Get to know Sherlock Holmes?" The idea was risible, even taking into account that it had been accomplished once before. "Many aspects of the man remain a mystery, even to me."
"That's just it." My co-conspirator's eyes were shining. "I've always admired Mr. Holmes from your stories. He's so decisive and strong. And when I met him in person and found him to be so rough and sculptural at the same time—"
I did not like my stories being read as romances. I said sharply, "You could sooner walk across the Thames as woo Sherlock Holmes." The boy looked crushed, and I amended. "Almost all of his pleasures are of the mind. His one dalliance was with a man of equal brilliance. Don't take it so hard—I don't hold myself in their company either, lad."
Seeing that Treacher had emerged from one of his dark corners, I made a motion to him. He came over and looked at me and my companion very closely, as if he had never seen us before. It was a singularly uncomfortable experience, even though the man knew all about Holmes' plan to try and discern who was observing these private hotel exchanges.
The tavern keeper pulled out a green chit and scrawled something on it. "You know how this works, don't you my boy?" he asked Mr. Limstock.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Treacher." The boy took me by the elbow and drew me out onto the street.
"Which hotel is it to be?" I asked.
"I don't know. We have to go to the newsagent's down the street. He's the one who knows what green means this evening. Mr. Treacher tries to keep a distance from these details."
We bought a newspaper and found the location where our supposed tryst was to take place, and then hailed a cab. The short ride ensued in silence.
We dismounted two blocks from the hotel and walked on opposite sides of the street. The boy had a queer, sidling gait that made him look even more effete. Poor fellow, he should really make an effort to be discreet, I thought. That suit was a distinctly Parisian fashion, when a good English cut would do.
The concierge took my payment with the chit inside. No one even gave me a second glance, nor did anyone seem to note that the well-dressed young man hovering in the background went up with me.
That short transaction made me feel utterly filthy.
The youth's disinterest seemed to emanate from his every move, rendering me the staid-looking man who had purchased his time. I imagined I could see the sordid story forming in every person's mind.
I entered the room with its one bed and I let out a sigh of relief before Mr. Limstock slid in and the awkwardness resumed. There was a note on the coverlet in Holmes' writing. "In the back of the second drawer you will find an old friend."
I half-hoped that Sherlock Holmes himself had fit himself into the bureau, but I was almost as glad to find my doctor's bag.
"Why is this here?" I asked the young man who was perched on the edge of the bed. "Are you ill?"
"Well, Mr. Holmes said as long as we had a few moments you would want to see."
He began unlacing his patent pumps but then faltered when he tried to remove them. "You should see what I have to go through to put them, on, Doctor, so once they're on they stay on." It took several savage yanks for each foot to remove the shoes.
The boy bit his hand to stifle the yelps.
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed when the socks had been gently removed.
"That's why I never take them off before anyone, Doctor, not even when I'm with a young man. They are horrible. I couldn't bear for anyone to see them, sir," Mr. Limstock said in a rush.
The left foot was a twisted mess of extra toes and abnormally high arch that had been scraped raw by its confinement in the worst possible shoe. The right had all the same maladies, compounded by a final extra toe growing out of the top of the arch. This miserable digit had been twisted and scraped so deeply that it alone could have been responsible for the boy's odd manner of walking.
I dashed down the hall, washbasin in hand. With my hands washed and a supply of water, I sprang to work trying to clean the wounds and prevent infection.
"My boy, I can't even begin to understand—" I commented during my careful motions.
"I work as an assistant at Guillaume and Dumas, dry goods importers."
"You've been standing on these feet all day in a shop?" One foot had been patted dry and I started on the next.
"No, Doctor, I'm more of a clerk. I assist the bookkeeper. But everyone there is expected to look nice, and we get a very good discount on the latest things from Paris, so we all dress very well."
I should have known he was too well spoken to be a simple shop-boy. "Surely it doesn't matter to them what is on a clerk's feet under a table."
"It's not that, Doctor. Well," he paused and then plunged ahead. "There is a dance coming up. And I thought if only I could get my feet used to them, soften the leather, like, I could wear proper dance slippers for once. I've been wearing these shoes every moment for days."
I stopped daubing his wounds with disinfectant to stare at this foolishness.
"No wonder I tore your skin separating them from the leather. You've kept unwashed injuries trapped in dank leather for days? Do you realize how serious an infection to the feet can be? You could lose a leg, Mr. Limstock. Two at this rate. You'll never dance again."
My patient was staring at me in horror when outside the door came the sound of footsteps and voices.
Just before someone let themselves in with the key, the lad pulled up the sheet with his greatest concern in his mind—that of preserving the secret of his hideous feet.
"What have we here?" The larger of the two policeman leered at me. "Is this your son? No, I'll tell you who this handsome chap is, Trumbull," he said to the stocky man behind him. "It's his nephew."
"In only one bed, do you reckon, Mahoney?" Trumbull chortled.
My doctor bag must have looked like a traveling valise, so I ordered my companion. "Show him."
"No." Mr. Limstock clutched the sheet under his chin.
I yanked off the bedcovering and he cried out in pain at the fabric rustling against his sores.
"Heaven's name!" Mahoney swore. The other looked away, revolted.
"I am a doctor. And this young man is clearly in need of medical attention." I showed them the contents of my bag and began wrapping the feet with gauze.
"Not too tight," my patient whimpered.
"See here, this is a hotel," Trumbull roused himself from the macabre sight. "Haven't you a surgery where you see patients?"
"Yes, I do," I said grimly. "It would be much better to have all my equipment and a clean environment. But this young man approached me, saying that he had a most embarrassing matter on which to consult me right before his wedding, and he couldn't risk being seen at my office. You can imagine what I thought—"
This had happened to me a few times in my career—a young man who feared he had picked up some social disease from a prostitute suddenly thinking how it might affect his soon-to-be-wife. Luckily, the excuse seemed completely reasonable to the police.
"Oh we know all right. And then he shows you these hooves!" Mahoney laughed.
"They look like smashed spiders," said the other. "And then that one's wandered away from his fellows and gotten stuck at the top! How many toes do you have anyway? Were you trying to cut them off?"
The boy looked as though he was about to cry. "My young friend was just explaining to me that his injuries were caused by wearing that cruel footwear," I pointed to the floor. There my inventiveness ran out. I had no idea how to link the shoes with my original pretext of a young man about to be married, but as the police approached the elegant boots I got an idea.
"If one of you would oblige, I would very much appreciate your taking this surgical knife," I plucked one from my bag, "To split his shoes so that they can be loosely laced around the bandages." I thrust the cutting tool at Mr. Trumbull.
"And you, take these clean bandages and roll them into laces. We shall have to create our own holes and gently enclose his feet."
To my satisfaction, the two policemen took to their tasks quite well, rather than have to watch what I was doing with the abraded flesh.
Mr. Limstock seemed equally pained by his wounds and the rending of the fine leather.
"Why would a man put these mincing boots on at all?" one constable wondered.
The young man finally found his voice. "My Betsy, that is to say, my fiancée, would have me at our wedding in the finest dancing shoes, waltzing with her in front of all her family and friends, who are quite well to do." The lad gave a weak smile. "I'm none too light on my feet in any sort of boots, as you might imagine with my infirmity, but she chose these as the most fitting for her bridegroom and I did not wish to tell her why they suited me so ill."
"Your sweetheart doesn't know about your deformity?" Mahoney asked.
"No, sir. I had hoped to never show her my feet as long as we both should live. Do you think I'll be healed up for the wedding, Doctor? It's in three weeks," he asked me with real urgency.
"See here, young man," I said severely. "If any of those wounds become septic you may be walking to the altar minus a leg. You will consult a special cobbler whose address I will provide you. He will make you some proper boots—that fit, though I can't vouch for how fashionable they will be."
He put his head in his hands.
The officer Trumbull handed me the shoes that had been very well refitted by the policemen. "I tell you, boy, you can't indulge a woman's every whim before you marry, or she'll expect the same from then on," he advised.
Very gently, I placed the bandaged feet within the split leather and then slowly closed them with the makeshift laces. The constables were imparting their own wisdom about handling wives to this young man who had no use for such information. They were even nice enough to help him into the cab with me.
"Health and happiness to you and Betsy," Mahoney called and they waved us off.
"They were rather decent, all things considered," I said to Mr. Limstock.
"They would have down to the station in a moment, if things had been different, Doctor," the lad said as if to a child.
Of course, he was right, and the euphoria at a mission well done began to leave me.
"You were very quick with your story, and just in time," I observed. "It's difficult to play doctor and detective at the same moment."
"That was Mr. Holmes' doing. He is very clever."
This gave me pause. "You mean Mr. Holmes gave you a part to play?"
"Why yes. And I said nothing extra, for he was quite concerned that I would talk too much. Be sure to tell him I did exactly as he said, will you, Dr. Watson?"
To distract from my thoughts, I gave my patient a stern lecture. "Mr. Limstock, I absolutely forbid you to go to work for the next two days. You may, however, go out by carriage to visit the cobbler. You will keep your feet elevated and change the dressings according to my instructions. I will come by the day after tomorrow to see that you are a man who truly wants to keep his feet."
"Yes, Doctor. That's very kind of you sir," he said meekly.
"Now tell me truly. Men dance together?" I had been wanting to ask him.
"Oh yes." He brightened. "That wasn't true what I said about my being clumsy. I'm a great one for dancing, when I have a chance."
"But do they take turns leading?" I couldn't imagine how it would work.
"I can dance either part," the lad said proudly, "But of course many only know the gentleman's role. It's great fun, but there's usually only but two or three a year, if that. Dancing is grand for when you don't know what to say to someone but you want to see what they're like."
He chattered on, much like any young person would look forward to a ball. He didn't seem to mind that the location, released at the last minute for secrecy's sake, would be like other times, probably be a barn in the suburbs or else an abandoned wing in a factory.
"Not everyone wears fancy dress, though many do, so they can run away better if need be. Me, I wanted to be able to wear the entire set, including the dance shoes. But I understand now, Doctor. I wouldn't put you out after all the trouble you've taken over me. You had those policemen working under you like it was nothing!"
He rapped on the side and the dog cart came to a halt in front of a modest but comfortable-looking home. "My landlady will take me in hand, don't you worry, Doctor," he said as I helped him down, wincing at every step.
A stout lady came to the door and began exclaiming over my patient's bandages. "I'll be in to look at him in two days. He's not to go to work until I clear him," I told her.
"I give you my word, Doctor," said his version of Mrs. Hudson.
Thus reassured about my patient, I could go home to my very own Mrs. Hudson.