II
As I rounded the corner into an alley, the sight that greeted was one that I had not – in the slightest – expected to see. An elderly man – in his fifties, at the very least – was engaged in fisticuffs with a younger man, who I could easily identify as the burglar I desired to detain. This burglar was putting up quite a fight to escape his pursuer; however his attacker was not letting him slip away, countering the burglar's frenzied blows with surprising speed and power for one of his age.
Awestruck by the scene transpiring before me, I could not help but stand by and watch as these two combatants, of greatly opposing stages of life, battled each other over the matter of escape or capture. I'd even go so far as to say that it was greatly entertaining; 'twas such a brawl that I would even dare to put a wager on the old man to emerge victorious.
Quite suddenly, the older man dealt the final blow – a none-too-wild left haymaker to his opposition's head – which sent me reeling from the gambling mindset I had drifted into. The younger man crumpled, falling onto the brown paper-wrapped bag that he had stolen, spilling its contents across the cobbled way of the alley.
The trill of a police whistle startled me and I was almost tempted to run from the scene when I noticed the older man crouching to inspect the spilled contents of the package. Intrigued by this, I hesitated where I stood, and received a powerful crash-tackle from a very large police officer. Winded and slightly nauseous, I was jostled onto my stomach and my hands were shackled, and then I was hoisted roughly onto my feet, to see another policeman approach the older man.
"I don't think those shackles necessary, Constable," said an all-to-familiar voice.
I looked up to see the older man wipe lard out of his hair and peel off a fake nose, to reveal himself to be none other than the great Sherlock Holmes. The approaching officer froze, quickly assessing this new development, and turned toward the officer detaining me.
"Let him go," the officer said, and my shackles were unlocked and I was released. I walked over to my friend, whom had turned his attention back to his victim: the man had regained enough sense to attempt to crawl away from the scene.
"I do, however, believe your attentions should be turned toward this fellow," stated Holmes, planting his boot firmly upon the man's back to prohibit him movement. "I think he is the felon you desire. On counts of theft and manslaughter, no less."
The two officers quickly seized and shackled the criminal, and with him, by a nod of their heads, left Sherlock Holmes and I alone together in the alley.
"I see you've been missing our little expeditions of late, my good Doctor," Holmes said, grasping my hand in a firm but friendly handshake. "Always good to meet with my former colleague again."
"Indeed, it is nice to meet, Holmes," said I, extracting my hand from his crushing grip and examining my friend's features. "You've lost weight yet again. Keep this up and you'll be little more than a twig."
"Ah, the old comedy returning. How pleasant."
I shot my friend an unamused glance, and then averted my gaze towards the entrance of the alley. "Go on then. How could you tell I've been thinking about our adventures?"
Holmes flashed me a mischievous smile, and then began his deduction, "'Tis merely but two in the afternoon, a time that one such as yourself is usually so busy tending to your patients, thus this implies that you've left your practice early to take an extended excursion around the city before catching a cab to return home. Likewise, the fact that you chose this region of town as part of your route home, a region through which Baker Street runs, as well as your moderately dreamy disposition, all contribute to the undeniable truth that you had been reminiscing about our past adventures. And let us not forget your hesitation in deciding whether or not to pursue the burglar when he had assaulted the man and escaped from the scene. You see, you are most easily read, my dear fellow."
"Oh, how I've missed you, Holmes." We stood there in contented silence for a moment, which was then broken by Holmes, again, bending down to examine the package's spilled contents. Now that I was closer, I could easily make out the items that had caught my colleague attention: the ground around me was littered with nuts and bolts and screws, most unusual items to steal due to their relatively cheap price. But the question arose: why did the man so desperately need these commonplace items that he turned to burglary to acquire them? Simultaneously, more questions formed in my head: why was Sherlock Holmes dressed in the way that he was? Did he know about this man's crime prior to his committing it? Was Holmes in the know about a bigger plan than this petty crime that had just played out?
Surely, thought I, Sherlock Holmes would never involve himself and his unique services in a crime as ordinary and, I daresay, boring as this. There had to be some other motive behind the great detective's mysterious actions.
As if sensing my questions, Sherlock Holmes pocketed a handful of the metal parts and stood, striding off out of the alley. I jogged after him and when I had caught him, Holmes had struck a match to light his clay pipe, already deep in thought. I remained silent as my friend puffed in contemplative silence as we strolled along the street.
Several minutes passed in this fashion; I was burning with an insatiable curiosity at my friend's unusual appearance, while Holmes merely stared ahead of us and smoked. Eventually, with a cough from the smoke, Holmes stopped suddenly and I was left to wonder what cause my colleague's abrupt halt.
"I deduce you are uncertain about the occurrences this afternoon Watson, so I shall try to explain to you the intricacies of what you have observed, to reveal to you all of the facts that you have, of course, blatantly missed.
"Earlier this week, I had been informed about a string of seemingly unconnected robberies, all targeting simple convenience stores and thieving items of hardware such as small tools and mechanical parts. At first, of course, this did not hold my attention, and I almost dismissed the matter entirely. It wasn't until my informant told me of the opening of the new theatre that I realised the implications of these thefts."
"The new theatre?" I enquired.
"Aye. In the old Wright building. Apparently, for the last several months the new managers have been hiring allsorts as part of their fleet of acquirers for materials to build the stage and set. You'd be surprise to know, Watson, of the amount of machinery that is necessary in a theatre for their so-called 'special effects'."
"Fascinating," I drily remarked. As much as I was interested in the mechanics of modern theatres, I was more interested by Holmes' extraordinary tale.
Sensing my exasperation, Holmes continued with his recount, "I immediately collated all the data on these serial robberies and planned my intervention. From the official police information I obtained from my informant, it appeared that these robberies would only occur at any store once – the thieves never returned to the shop. And strangely, there seemed to be a pattern in these robberies: stores from the opposite side of town from the theatre were raided first, and each consecutive foray occurred at a store closer to the theatre. As the robberies progress, the risks the thieves take – especially regarding police capture – escalate, and it seems all the more wise for these shoplifters to have a shorter escape route. This simple yet cunning plan leaves the impression that these robberies are co-ordinated, by someone either working at or for the theatre."
At this, I interjected, "Surely, though, if you suspect the theatre is behind these raids, why haven't you alerted the police force about this crime?"
"I have. Or rather, my informant has. The official police acquired a search warrant for the theatre and demanded to see the paperwork for the stolen goods. As it transpired, the theatre operators were able to produce receipts and order accounts for the equipment, materials, and personnel. The official police could o nothing else to prove the theatre's connection to these crimes, and thus it has been unofficially left over to me to solve this case and stop these robberies."
"But how come I found you as you were today?" I queried.
"With an intellect such as mine, it is hardly unexpected that I was able to determine the next store to be robbed, and on which day it was to happen, so I disguised myself and waited. I was almost convinced that the burglar would not come, but then I saw what transpired in the street with the attack and I was certain that this was the moment I had been anticipated. I worried for the poor man who had been attacked, but then you appeared and bent to help him, so without delay I chased down the criminal I desired to capture. As you can see, my dear Watson, my days have been most eventful."
By the time Holmes had finished his explanation – and most unexpected by me – we arrived, at dusk, on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street. Holmes bade me in, but I refused, "I must return home."
"Doctor Watson," Holmes interjected before I could leave, "I may require your services with this conundrum. Would you mind coming around to see me at around three in the afternoon tomorrow?"
"I'll see what I can do," I replied, and turned and walked down the street to catch a cab home.
