BTW, for anyone wondering, this takes place roughly 1904. If you're ever curious of the timeline, you can find a list of all my stories in chronological order on my profile. I update it every few months.

"Can I help you?"

Holmes stepped to the counter, deciding not to comment on the desk clerk's extreme apathy. This case came with a time limit. "Is Mr. Paul Thatcher still here?"

Muted surprise tried to lift one eyebrow. "And you are?"

Pleased that Mr. Thatcher had not yet gone home. The clerk should have chosen a different wording if he did not wish to reveal Mr. Thatcher's presence, but Holmes could not say that either. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Mr. Thatcher left his calling card with one of my Irregulars."

The clerk hummed something Holmes did not bother deciphering. "Room three. He has not yet checked out, but he may not answer."

A nod acknowledged the warning, but Holmes strode down the hall anyway. Young Max would still be dealing with the repercussions of the attempted kidnapping, and his parents no doubt had their own reactions to process. He could not blame them for avoiding distractions.

Not that he wanted them to ignore his knock. Mr. Thatcher's testimony could provide a key part of this puzzle. Knuckles rapped on a wooden door rather thinner than Holmes himself would have preferred.

"Who goes?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied through the door. "You gave your calling card to Tim, Arthur, and George yesterday."

There was a pause, then two sets of whispers—one obviously female—conferred before Mr. Thatcher unfastened three different locks and cracked the door. "Did you catch him already?"

"No," he said shortly, "but I do have more information. May I come in? The entire motel does not need to hear this."

One door clicked shut to his left just before two others slammed around the corner. Amusement tried to escape as Mr. Thatcher opened his door.

"You are correct," he replied, waving Holmes inside. "My apologies. We are a bit…on edge since yesterday."

"Completely understandable. How is Max?"

"Still refusing to come out." Mrs. Thatcher moved to sit on the bed next to a small, blanket shrouded lump, letting her husband and Holmes have the armchairs. "He doesn't want to leave the bed, but he panics if either one of us tries to leave the room."

The mound quivered at her words, then shifted to let the boy curl next to his mum. One eye peered at Holmes.

"Hello, Max." That brought a clearer flicker of surprise. Max had not expected Holmes to know him. He might be able to use that. "Tim told me how brave you were yesterday."

"Not brave."

Nearly a murmur, Holmes barely heard the reply, but shock flashed across his parents' expressions. Max must have been refusing to speak as well.

"What makes you believe that?"

A flinch knocked a pillow off the bed, and he curled tighter even as a cautious scan included the door. "Scared."

Holmes did not answer for a moment, piecing together the partial sentence. He should have let Watson come.

"You think you were not brave because you were scared?" Max shrugged. "Because you were and are scared?" That received a nod, and Holmes killed his smile. Max would not understand the silent reply as the Irregulars would. "That is what bravery means, Max. Do you think the other boys were unafraid when they followed your screams?"

"Big boys. Fought 'im off. Not scared."

"Inaccurate." Max frowned at the short correction. "All three of those boys were terrified, but they attacked anyway. Bravery is not the absence of fear. It is acting despite it."

"Mr. Holmes is correct." Wide eyes abruptly focused on his father. "It's alright to be scared, son. Goodness knows I was, too, but he won't grab you again just because you leave the room or let us leave. The coward is probably hiding, trying to avoid being found after you escaped yesterday."

"He is," Holmes confirmed, "which is why I am here. I would like to hear your account, Mr. Thatcher, as well as Max's if he will tell me. Tim found signs of an elaborate kidnapping ring based on the north end of the street. Your story might prevent any other children from disappearing."

"No." Max edged almost behind his mum. "No, he'll get me."

Holmes shook his head. "He cannot reach you, Max. You might accurately say that man is just as afraid of you now as you were of him." The coverlet twitched to expose wary disbelief. "I am serious. That man wants nothing more than to stay hidden, but he knows you could easily lead the police to his door. You are braver than he is. You fought from the moment he grabbed you, while he ran as soon as he found himself outnumbered. I imagine he probably waited for you to get a few feet from your father before he emerged from the alley?"

"Grabbed me from behind," he agreed. "Hand over my mouth til I bit him. Thought I'd never get free."

"We were window shopping that antique shop south of the hotel," Mr. Thatcher supplied. "Max trailed slightly behind looking at a toy, and I turned around just in time to see that creep dragging him into the next alley. They moved so quickly that only the other boys' delay let me catch up."

Holmes pulled a journal from his pocket. "Describe the man. What was he wearing?"

"Dark clothes, like a sailor. He had dark hair and eyes but lighter skin. A permanent sneer. Short but stocky. Several scars on his face from previous fights."

"You mentioned two missing teeth," Mrs. Thatcher broke in. "Top right front and bottom left canine."

"Yes, and his right arm had a long, jagged scar, as if something had eaten, not cut, the skin. I'm pretty sure I broke his nose, and he was definitely limping by the time he ran."

Holmes rapidly noted that. "Max, do you have anything to add?"

The boy thought for a moment. "Big hands. Boots. Likes the alleys. He didn't stop at all til they hit him."

"Did he wear any jewelry?"

Another pause. "Ring on his thumb."

"And a stud in his ear," Mr. Thatcher added. "That's what made me think of a sailor."

Another moment jotted that down. "Would you be willing to testify should this go to trial?"

"I will," Mr. Thatcher said firmly. "Not Max."

"Understood." He slipped the journal into a pocket. "You have been very helpful. Anything else?" Silence answered him. "Then I will leave you to your day. If you have need of me or the Irregulars, a note left at 221 Baker Street will reach its intended recipient."

Mr. Thatcher stood to see him to the door, but Mrs. Thatcher's quiet voice followed them across the room.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. It eases my mind to know that someone is trying to catch him. The Yard said we did not have enough evidence for them to do anything."

"Did you speak to an inspector?"

"Constable, I believe," Mr. Thatcher answered. "We did not make it past the door."

Only one constable would do that. "His superior will hear of it," he promised. "This is not the first time he denied a statement."

"Thank you."

A nod served as both acknowledgement and farewell, and he hailed a cab the moment he reached the street. Agar would be at his practice this time of day.

Which would also be busy. A full waiting room greeted Holmes' entrance. The harried maid merely waved Holmes to a seat.

"The doctor will be with you as soon as he can."

"I am not a patient."

That caught her attention. Tired eyes looked away from a prescription to focus on him—and provide evident recognition. Margaret—or Marge, as she preferred—had proven herself discreet, but he could not say the same for the ten or more patients scattered around the small room. Better to ask in person.

"I bring a message for Doctor Agar," he answered the silent query. "It will not take long, but I can deliver it only to him."

She nodded, checking her list. "He should finish with this patient shortly."

He preferred that over waiting in line, and with every chair taken, he moved to stand in the corner. A croupy infant wailed near the door. That man had met the wrong side of some piece of machinery. Her only reason for coming was to proposition the doctor. The door opened before he could decide to call her on it.

"Take it easy on that foot, Grimwell, and I'll see you back here in a week. Who is next?"

"I am."

"Mr. Holmes." The simple greeting mixed with amusement, hitting the air a full second before Agar saw him. "I did not take you for one to seek out medical attention."

Holmes firmly smothered the smile trying to escape. Agar knew him too well. "I need to speak with you," he agreed. "Can we use your back room?"

Gentle ribbing immediately changed to understanding. "Of course. Take a break, Marge. I'll be back in five minutes."

He led the way to a lesser-used room at the back of the practice. Holmes barely waited for the door to close behind them. "What do you know about an orphanage on Montague?"

Surprise lifted both eyebrows. "An orphanage? Who would put an orphanage there?"

"Someone trying to hide." He quickly described what Tim had found, finishing with, "Are you available tonight? We are meeting on the northwest corner of Russell Square at sunset."

"I will clear my schedule," he promised. "Do I need to bring another physician?"

Holmes shook his head. "Watson will be there, as will the oldest of the Irregulars."

"You are letting children take part in a raid?!"

Holmes made no answer. Agar knew better than that.

As evidenced by the reflexive astonishment rapidly flipping to relief. The next words hit the air nearly a sigh. "Of course you aren't. That was a foolish question. I suppose they will wait nearby until the criminals have been dealt with?"

"And watch for the children," Holmes agreed. "Some will probably run the moment the police enter. The Irregulars will ensure they do not leave the manor grounds."

"Do we know how many young ones are there?"

"About twenty." Holmes barely prevented his own expression from betraying the same distaste Agar displayed. "Tim reported adults continuously in and out, and the children never stopped screaming. He also said no one he heard is older than about ten."

"Those—" A shake of his head cut the insult short. "I need to get back to work," he noted with a glance at his watch. "Do you need anything from me before tonight?"

He did not, and Agar voiced a farewell on his way to retrieve the next patient. Holmes left the back way. He had one more stop before he could make use of the nearest bolthole to don today's disguise.

Hope you're enjoying the story. Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter :)