—OOO—

Chapter 10.

'A Pool of Uncertainty'

The Police launch was steam-driven, with an officer manning a small wheel in the bows while a short funnel just behind him sent billows of thick oily smoke into the night sky: much of which immediately found its way back to the deck all round us as we stood on the crowded rocking vessel. The boat was by no means large, and our group took up all the available space; the deck being around seven feet wide and only about three feet above water-level, while the whole vessel was barely 25 feet long. 7 knots appeared to be its top speed; and that only with a following wind, which we didn't at the moment have. Ahead of the steersman crouched another police-officer, behind the heavy bulk of the search-light. This was electrically powered by a small dynamo and sent a piercing beam well ahead of the boat, lighting up the brown river-water and the multitude of boats, ships and wharves and jetties all along both banks. Of our quarry we only caught faint shadowy glimpses, and these failed altogether after a few minutes when it became obvious Colonel Moran's boat was far faster than Lestrade's official vessel.

"This won't do at all, Lestrade!" Holmes was frustrated with the prospect of losing his prey at this late stage. "He'll be in the Pool well ahead of us; and what hope can we have then?"*

"Can't go any faster, sir." Lestrade shook his head despondently in the darkness. "We have to dodge all these other craft lying in the Reach. No point in ramming a steamer!"

What he said was true enough. As we looked about us in the murk we could see craft of every possible description anchored all round. Everything from barges; of which there seemed to be an unholy multitude, to the high dark sides of ocean cargo-ships towering over us as we passed cautiously by. And this only worsened when we veered to our right, as the River bent slightly in its course, and came into the Lower Pool itself.

Bermondsey was on our left hand, with Wapping continuing along on our right. The River visibly widened here to allow for the many wharves where ships from all corners of the globe were moored in huge numbers; masts and funnels rising into the sky like a forest. At least such would be the case if we could only have seen them in the pitch dark night.

We passed Wapping Old Stairs on our right-hand side and were in the Pool proper, with ships, boats, barges, yachts, and unidentifiable craft of all sorts in their hundreds surrounding us; reaching along both banks as far as the eye could see.

Our eyes could see rather further than usual in fact because, in the far distance, the silhouette of the nearly completed Tower Bridge; with its two massive towers, was resplendently illuminated by scores of gas lamps as the workers pursued night-work in advance of its imminent opening some weeks away. Suddenly, as we all looked at this impressive sight, a tug with all steam up and a bow wave that would have done credit to a P & O liner shot across directly in front of us.* The shouts and execrations as it passed on our left side, almost scraping the London River Police paintwork, were violent detailed and democratic in their general coverage. If a Thames tugboat Captain knew nothing else, he knew how to swear!

"That's enough, sergeant!" Lestrade gave up the chase with an ill grace, speaking to the officer in charge of the vessel. "Tell your helmsman to stop here. We've lost the bugg—blighter, amongst all this clutter. He could be anywhere by now. Gods, what are all these boats doing at this time of night? It must be almost one-thirty in the morning!"

"London never sleeps, Inspector!" Holmes replied with an ironic note in his voice. "The hub of the Empire must go on, whatever else occurs!"

"That's as may be." Lestrade looked miserably around as he eased his round-topped bowler. "Where d'you suppose Moran is now?"

"Could be on one of these Liners or cargo-ships." Xena indicated the shadowy mass of shipping that seemed, from our low view-point, like a surrounding maze. "Or one of these sailing-barques; or maybe lying low beneath a tarpaulin on any of a thousand barges moored in the next half-mile! Anyway, we've lost him—again!"

"And that's something we have to stop doing!" Gabrielle gave us all a moody glance as she stood beside her friend, fair hair blowing in the chill early morning breeze. "We've let him slip through our fingers far too much lately!"

"Thank you, ma'am!" Lestrade's voice held a note of barely suppressed annoyance. "I am aware of that!"

"I have a suspicion he may have sneaked ashore." Holmes carefully examined both shores, as far as either could be seen through the darkness and ranked motionless hulls tied up everywhere. "I don't think he means to go down-river after all. He far prefers skulking in some shadowy corner, where he can still operate in secrecy!"

"So, what's the next step?" Haggard brought a disciplined outlook to bear on the problem, as he nonchalantly twirled the short wooden knobkerrie which he had managed to retain possession of through-out all the night's action.

"The next step is a conference at the Diogenes Club, I think." Holmes spoke quietly but firmly. "What is wanted is a serious debate about our aims and accomplishments to date. And anyway, Haggard, Inspector Lestrade appears to be examining that remarkable cudgel of yours with an eye as to whether or not it may be a proscribed weapon. Perhaps a rest and a cup of tea will do us all good; after what has been a somewhat energetic evening!

—OOO—

In the Diogenes Club an air of mouldering decay; the usual atmosphere of the place, enveloped us as we entered and were led upstairs to a private room where Mycroft sat in solitary splendour awaiting our arrival.

Mycroft himself was by no means a happy man! Having been summoned from a warm and comfortable bed, at an ungodly hour of the night, sweetness and light were not the sentiments most in evidence on his rotund but pale features.* We all settled ourselves round another long oak table, with tea and sandwiches placed before us, and began a survey of our past actions.

"We gotta get a real grip on this scumbag!" Xena's choice of words cut to the heart of the matter. "We've been letting him run the chase on his own terms. That's gotta stop right now!"

"This last fight was just stupid!" Gabrielle hunched forward, with her arms on the table. "He knew we'd show up at the 'Prospect', and was ready for us. We'll never catch him like this. We could be chasing him all over London for the next month without success. When's the Queen's appointment in the Northern city, by the way?"

"Manchester, the 21st May." Mycroft spoke shortly. "As this is now the 15th May, that gives us just six days leeway."

"I was looking at a map," Gabrielle frowned at Mycroft. "and as far as I could see this Manchester place is way inland. I mean 5 or 6 parasangs! What's all this talk I hear about ships being able to anchor there?"

"They built a canal, Gabrielle." Xena spoke softly, though with a slightly disparaging tone and a raise of her eyebrows.

"Would have'ta be a damn deep and long canal, Xena!" Gabrielle was unimpressed; in fact unbelieving of this fact.

"It is, darling!"

"It is, Miss Gabrielle." Mycroft too lent his authority to the discussion. "It actually opened to traffic in January of this year. The Queen's visit is purely of a ceremonial nature, you understand. The canal is 36 miles long; that would be about 12 of your parasangs, madam! Just over 25 feet deep and wide enough to take ocean-going cargo-steamers. A massive undertaking, and a scientific wonder of our age! There will be hundreds of thousands of people there to witness the Queen officially open the concern."

"Oh, well—in that case!" Gabrielle looked at her hands, after glancing at her friend who smiled back at her.

"There is another point of interest!" Mycroft's tone was stern and uncompromising as he addressed the two ladies. "I have had reports of some fellow—a tall man answering to the name of 'Ares'—being present at this night's activities in Wapping? Putting on one side the fact that the last thing we need in this affair is a supposed rampaging Greek God, I would be interested in your explanation for the presence of this secretive individual. Whom you both appear to know!"

"He's a friend—an old friend!" Xena took up the challenge of quelling Mycroft's anger. "He came with us from Greece—he's working undercover for us. Don't worry about him, he can be quite discreet—when he puts his mind to it!"

"Undercover?" Haggard's question echoed the interest of the other men at the table.

"In hiding." Gabrielle explained. "Trying to mix in with ordinary people without being found out."

"You mean like a detective, in plain clothes?" Lestrade nodded understandingly. "I have to tell you, though, a police officer from Greece has no authority in this country."

"Just so, just so!" Mycroft obviously felt it was time to address the important issues. "Sherlock, what are your views on the situation?"

My friend looked all round the table at each person in turn. Holmes had a penetrating eye and could hold the attention of an audience with little effort. Such was the case that night. I sat by Holmes's side; while Mycroft took the head of the table. Opposite sat Inspector Lestrade and Haggard; while on my right sat Gabrielle, with Xena opposite her. Markham, no doubt feeling a trifle out of his normal station, sat by Gabrielle's side: though he was making up for any slight embarrassment by tucking into the tea and beef sandwiches like a starving man.

"So far we have been chasing our fox." Holmes leaned forward, elbows on the oak table and chin resting on folded hands. "As Miss Xena said, we need a new direction. We have to stop chasing, and discover his hiding-place instead. There we can run him to ground and capture him."

"We tried that in Belsize Park." Gabrielle was unconvinced. "Look where that got us. A 'bang' heard across the whole of North London!"

"I admit our attempts so far have suffered from—ah, a lack of understanding as to the intellect of our quarry." Holmes nodded without rancour. "But I feel I—we—have the measure of our man now. In many ways he can be regarded as quite equal to his unmourned leader."

"That's saying a great deal." I felt impelled to interject, knowing the shocking effect Professor Moriarty's stratagems had accomplished on my friend's welfare.*

"Ah, Watson! Always sympathetic in a dangerous situation." Holmes looked at me with a light in his eye which, I admit, affected me deeply. "I fear I have missed the solid comfort of your presence over the last three years. It is a delight to be in your company again. But as to Moran—we need to establish at least one of two facts. First—where is his actual head-quarters here in London? Second—where does he intend to establish himself in the neighbourhood of Manchester in the coming days?"

"Are either of these achievable?" Haggard shook his head as he looked round the table. "On the first we have had less than good luck. In fact it's been a disaster so far! And how can we possibly discover one house in the Manchester area among thousands which may be rented or leased over the coming days for the Grand Ceremony?"

"We might have better luck by focussing not on the destination—but the means of transport to reach it!" Mycroft took a bite from a sandwich in an absent-minded manner as he contemplated the problem. "After all, we know how sprawling Manchester is—but there is only one truly practical route from London. The LNWR from Euston!"*

"What trains run daily to Manchester?" I put the question generally to those at the table. Haggard rose and crossed to a large glass-fronted bookcase against the wall which contained several thick red-bound books.

"Let's see!" He searched through the displayed works and selected one with this year's date, then returned to his seat and spread the opened volume of 'Bradshaw's Railway Guide' on the table.* After a minute's contemplation he looked up from his labours. "Here it is. According to 'Bradshaw' there are three services daily during the week; with four on Saturday, and only one on Sunday."

"We must not forget that the Company will be putting on many extra Specials to cope with those travelling to see the ceremony." Holmes mused on the dilemma. "And the time-tabled services will probably have been extended. We may be looking at anything from 6 to 16 services each day from now till the 21st."

"I could flood Euston with officers." Lestrade scratched his chin in thought. "I mean, it will only be one or two platforms to cover. Of course, it depends on the crowds, and the number of carriages of the trains! And he might well be in disguise."

"Moran is a tall man—but even tall men can hide!" Xena sneered as she thought about the measures needed. "I've found that if someone wants to accomplish their aim—I mean, really wants to!—then generally they succeed."

"Well, at least we have some fine minds to muster in defence against him." Mycroft sat back in his chair and sipped at his tea. "You, Mr Haggard, are an excellent big-game hunter and politician. Of Sherlock and Dr Watson nothing need be said! And you ladies appear to have settled into your, no doubt strange, surroundings with admirable aplomb!"

"Yeah, we're gettin' to know the lie of the land!" Xena smiled in that curiously disturbing way she had.

"And even Markham, here, is a blessing in disguise!" Mycroft smiled down the table at the slightly bruised, but now comfortable, man.

"Er—!" Markham had just pushed his plate aside and was searching in a pocket for something; an act which he gave up with a start.

"Oh, by all means gentlemen, smoke if you please!" Mycroft nodded in agreement. "Like Markham I find a post-prandial cigar the best help to digestion. Even at this time of night—or should that be morning? Ha—ha!"

Soon, with the ladies permission, we had all mostly taken out pipes or cigars and were puffing away happily; filling the air with aromatic scents. Far from disapproving the ladies sat back and watched our performance with great interest; almost as if they had not previously witnessed the act of smoking!

"Markham, how did you cope with the debacle at the 'Prospect'?" Mycroft addressed the ex-pugilist with surprising ease of manner; as if he knew him.

"Ah, sir, it weren't anything but a rowdy brawl." He shook his close-cropped head in disgust at the memory. "Not what you could call a professional meeting at all. No finesse, sir. No class. No bottom! It were like takin' candy from a child. The ladies did surprisin' well, mind yer. I ain't never seen some o' those moves before. And Miss Gabrielle here—she just went an' kicked 'Bermondsey' Henry through a glass winder, right into the River! Gawd, what a sight! He won't half be mad when he wakes up!"

"Ha! You seem to find action wherever you go, Markham." Mycroft smiled, with something of a knowing wink to his brother. "On the several occasions you have, er, given your assistance to me I have had no complaints. I think it a good thing you are part of the company in the present crisis."

At this, clearly well-meant, compliment I saw Markham blush for the one and only time in what would later turn out to be a long acquaintance. Obviously he had been in the employ of Mycroft before, perhaps on those secret Government matters that even Sherlock himself was often barred from knowing anything of. I saw Holmes looking at Markham with interest; as if seeing the shabby colourful character in a new light for the first time.

"Well, sir, it surely beats doing the shell game fer a livin'."* Markham sniggered as he spoke. "I almost thought o' tryin' that wiv Miss Gabrielle here, a couple o' days ago. But I changed me mind. Good job, too. I think she'd a' torn my 'ead orf!"

"I know that game." Gabrielle smiled widely; but with something of intent in her expression, all the same. "I would'a taken you for every penny you've ever earned, Markham. I grew up on the streets, too, y'know!"

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Mycroft rose ponderously from his chair. "it would appear the next rendezvous will be under Euston Arch;* shall we say at 3pm tomorrow afternoon? I shall be organising matters from the Foreign Office in Whitehall, with Sherlock in charge of the purely physical side of affairs. It will at least give you all some hours to rest. Till then."

—OOO—

A few minutes later we all stood on the rainy pavement of Pall Mall while a trio of vehicles, from the nearby cab-stand, rolled up at Sherlock's piercing whistle. It was now around two-thirty in the morning and the shadows were thick and impenetrable on the otherwise empty street-scene. It was almost like a work of Atkinson Grimshaw come to life, I found myself thinking, as we all waited in a huddled group.*

"Any cabman will take you to Euston tomorrow afternoon, Miss Xena." Sherlock reassured the ladies as we made our temporary goodbyes. "You will feel better after a few hours sleep—I know I shall! Don't worry about Moran trying to attack your residence with his thugs. I think he has far more important matters to occupy him now. Till tomorrow afternoon, then."

"We could use some shut-eye." Xena nodded in agreement. "I like knocking people's heads together—but it's a tiring game to play. What about you, Gabrielle?"

"Same here, Xena." The young fair-haired woman seemed almost happy as Xena gave her a hand into their cab. "I had a beautiful time tonight, darling. Can we do it again, sometime? Har—har!"

"Silly girl!" Xena closed the cab door, and Holmes and I watched as it disappeared into the gloom.

"I'll meet you all at Euston tomorrow, then." Haggard gave us a broad smile as he climbed into another cab. "Been quite a night! Feel like a character in one of me own novels. Goodnight!"

Holmes paused as I entered our own cab first; then clambered quickly in behind, out of the cold night air.

"221b Baker St. As fast as you like!" Sherlock called up to the driver, before settling back on the seat. "Well, Watson, what do you make of it all?"

"Holmes, those two women fascinate me. Especially Gabrielle!" I sat back and considered the evening behind us. "We go to a dangerous location; the women turn into Valkyrie's; we have a set-to with Moran and his thugs; and, after an awe-inspiring melee, absolutely nothing of worth is achieved! I don't know what to think of it all!"

"A somewhat pessimistic outlook, but only natural in the circumstances." Sherlock nodded in the darkness of the cab. "What do you make of the man 'Ares', then?"

"Damn silly name, if you ask me, Holmes!" I was not in a mood to be generous, feeling tired and curiously hungry; the Diogenes Club beef sandwiches having not fulfilled their purpose in my case. "Heavy-set blighter; barging in where he's not wanted; knocking people's heads together; for what reason, eh? You'd think the ladies would have more sense than to employ him!"

"There is something else about that man, Watson." Holmes's voice had taken on a quiet tone which always spoke of his deep attention to some aspect of the case before him. "He was at Belsize Park, also, you will recall—if only for a brief moment! It is not so much his presence at certain scenes, including tonight, but rather the manner of his leaving them that intrigues me."*

"I did not see—I don't think anyone saw—how he managed to leave Belsize, or the 'Prospect'. Slippery fellow, Holmes!" I grunted in disgust. "I still hardly know whether he is actually on our side or not!"

Some minutes passed, as we circumvented the dark streets. Our cab seeming to be almost the only reflection of humanity abroad at this time of night, as the horses clattered over the cold rainswept cobbles. Eventually my friend broke the comfortable silence; where, I must admit, I had nearly fallen asleep on the gently rocking seat.

"Yes, Watson." Holmes rested his chin on his folded hands as he reflected on the night's activities. "There is something about our Mr 'Ares' that almost makes my blood run cold! But let us get some rest, and tomorrow we shall be stronger for it. Come, Watson, here we are at Baker St. After you!"

—OOO—

Notes: —

1. The Pool. Running from Tower Bridge for approximately a mile downstream to Rotherhithe. The river here was, and is, lined with numerous wharves, jetties, and Stairs where ships berthed in huge numbers; particularly those too large to venture further up-river.

2. P&O. 'Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company'. Founded in 1837.

3. 'Sweetness and light'. An English idiom that indicates a person's friendliness and courtesy. See Matthew Arnold's 1869 essay 'Culture and Anarchy'.

4. After Holmes disappeared at the Reichenbach Falls in 1891, fighting Professor Moriarty, he was not heard from for three years; till he re-appeared in early 1894 in London. See 'The Empty House'.

5. LNWR. 'London and North Western Railway'. Its trains served Wales and the North-Western side of England. One of several privately owned railway companies established across Britain.

6. Euston Station. Owned and built by the above Company. Their major London terminus.

7. 'Bradshaw's Railway Guide'. This series of timetables was first published in 1841 by George Bradshaw. The eight page edition of 1841 had grown to 32 pages by 1845, and to 946 pages by 1898. It ceased publication in 1961. See Wiki.

8. Shell Game. This used three small containers, or cups, and a pea or other small item. The idea was to bet on which cup the pea was under, after the cups had been moved around. It was all down to sleight of hand and the customer never stood a chance of success when faced by a really good operator.

9. Euston Arch. The Railway station had an imposing Roman Classical portico-entrance of heavy majesty. A famous meeting-place for all Londoners, it was demolished in 1961.

10. Atkinson Grimshaw (1836-1893). He was an English painter known for his city night scenes and landscapes. Mostly showing a poetic use of Moonlight and dark shadows.

11. Manner of leaving. 'Nothing in his life - Became him like the leaving it.' Shakespeare. 'Macbeth', Act 1, Scene 4. Spoken about the Thane of Cawdor.

—OOO—

In Chapter 11 we visit Euston! Smoke, oil, dirt, crowds, dangerous steam engines, and corridor-less carriages!

—OOO—