For a moment, the three of us stood there, paralyzed with how to confront
the situation. Holmes' fact took on an indignant, insulted look, as if
someone had just dealt a crushing blow to his ego.
"A ransom?" He said, half incredulously and half in disgust.
"To rush in angrily would be a fool's venture." Doctor Montand said, looking at him pointedly. Holmes made no reply and instead made his way to the Doctor's consulting room, the lady and I following him wordlessly. This kind of social interaction-the art of dealing with criminals- was one in which Holmes excelled.
The man seated in the room looked entirely out of place amid the opulent surroundings. He was a primeval looking man, immense and rough, as though he were an unfinished sculpture. He was a typical dockyard worker, with the grime the job accumulated and the bulk it required. He sat there for a moment as we entered, looking overly pleased with himself.
"Here now: Who are these fellows?" Holmes suddenly smiled at Olin's poorly masked panic.
"Damn it all, woman, you interrupt my studies for a common sailor?" He said irritatedly to Doctor Montand. "Throw the chap out if he bothers you; why come to me?"
"What in the name of-" Doctor Montand began, but instantly seemed to catch on to whatever in the name of heaven Holmes was doing, silencing herself before anymore words could escape her lips.
I however, as usual, was left in the dark.
"I won't be thrown out!" Holmes raised his chin slightly, looking disdainfully at the sailor.
"What possible use could I have for another one of my wife's boorish patients? And a particularly filthy one too. No, no, Watson, get him out of here, as you are entirely unable to deal with him yourself, madam." Holmes proclaimed, waving his hand dismissively. Doctor Montand raised an eyebrow but still said nothing.
"I'm no patient! I've a bit of information that might be of interest to you, sir." The man said, hungrily eying Holmes as he tossed a sovereign up and down in the air.
"Information? On what? How to weigh anchor? You've set my dear Abigail here- and forgive me for speaking so plainly, dearest-into a veritable fit of panic, coupled by shrieks and tears and the normal feminine rubbish by some story of how my son is gone or some such." At this Doctor Montand looked murderously at Holmes.
"But- your boy is gone." Olin said, scratching his head for a moment. Holmes took out his pocket watch, studying it idly.
"Of course he's gone! The boy's always wandering off somewhere or another! I fail to see what this has to do with you, sir."
"But he's missing, sir."
"Missing?" Holmes said, as if the word was foreign to him. "Oh, then I see my wife has gotten to you." He added, glancing suspiciously at Doctor Montand, who had by now folded her arms in front of her, sending Holmes to the depths of hell with her gazes.
"My dear wife is prone to panic and over dramatization. I fear her belief of my son being lost is merely a woman's over-active imagination. The boy will be back in time for supper, and you have still not adequately told me why you are in my house."
"But- Tableau said-" The man muttered to himself. Holmes shook his head with a small triumphant smile. Doctor Montand had been partially correct- This sailor was by no means intelligent.
"Where is this Tableau then? I've half a mind to take my irritation out on you rather than take the trouble of hunting whomever that fellow is down."
"Oh, no trouble at all sir." The sailor stammered, putting on his cap and backing out of the room. "I wouldn't have bothered you sir, honest, had I thought there wasn't some money in it for me. Last I saw Mr. Tableau he was at the train station." With this, Olin ran out of the house, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his effort. Holmes gave Doctor Montand a winning smile.
"I do apologize, Mrs. Holmes, but it could not be helped." He said in a tone that bespoke no amount of remorse but a good deal of mischievousness.
"Your sincerity is overwhelming." The lady replied coolly.
"May I ask, Holmes, exactly what the point of that display was?" I inquired.
"That sorry excuse for a seaman is not John's captor." Holmes said, in a bit of outrage, as if I should have known that crucial fact all along. "I knew that the moment I saw that ape-like forehead and those oversized hands. No, Mr. Tableau, whomever or wherever he is, has John. At the very least he is a clever sort: sending the obvious villain to do the work of the real one." He rattled away, more to himself than to us, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.
"I must confess, Mr. Holmes," Doctor Montand began, and I could see real anger permeating her features. "That I am not the slightest bit interested in the level of intelligence John's captor possesses, nor how he measures up in terms of the criminal profile."
"You wouldn't be, madam. You may be more interested in the fact that I have obtained all my information without the loss of a single shilling." Holmes retorted. Doctor Montand's features took on a true transformation when she was genuinely upset. Her hair seemed to glow a bit more crimson, her eyes became darker, more like an angry brushfire than a soft green, and every delicate feature made a sharp line in her face.
"Olin remarked that Mr. Tableau may be at the train station. If you continue to linger here, exchanging your obviously long-planned witty comments with me, I fear there will no longer be a son to get back, ransom or not." Her last words trembled, but she forced them out with an iron countenance. At these sobering words Holmes nodded and straightened up.
"Do you think the boy is all right?" I asked Holmes gently as we began our speedy walk to the Gravesend train station.
"If John is harmed, it is my fault in either instance."
"What do you mean, either instance?"
"Either I have underestimated his captor or overestimated my son."
"A ransom?" He said, half incredulously and half in disgust.
"To rush in angrily would be a fool's venture." Doctor Montand said, looking at him pointedly. Holmes made no reply and instead made his way to the Doctor's consulting room, the lady and I following him wordlessly. This kind of social interaction-the art of dealing with criminals- was one in which Holmes excelled.
The man seated in the room looked entirely out of place amid the opulent surroundings. He was a primeval looking man, immense and rough, as though he were an unfinished sculpture. He was a typical dockyard worker, with the grime the job accumulated and the bulk it required. He sat there for a moment as we entered, looking overly pleased with himself.
"Here now: Who are these fellows?" Holmes suddenly smiled at Olin's poorly masked panic.
"Damn it all, woman, you interrupt my studies for a common sailor?" He said irritatedly to Doctor Montand. "Throw the chap out if he bothers you; why come to me?"
"What in the name of-" Doctor Montand began, but instantly seemed to catch on to whatever in the name of heaven Holmes was doing, silencing herself before anymore words could escape her lips.
I however, as usual, was left in the dark.
"I won't be thrown out!" Holmes raised his chin slightly, looking disdainfully at the sailor.
"What possible use could I have for another one of my wife's boorish patients? And a particularly filthy one too. No, no, Watson, get him out of here, as you are entirely unable to deal with him yourself, madam." Holmes proclaimed, waving his hand dismissively. Doctor Montand raised an eyebrow but still said nothing.
"I'm no patient! I've a bit of information that might be of interest to you, sir." The man said, hungrily eying Holmes as he tossed a sovereign up and down in the air.
"Information? On what? How to weigh anchor? You've set my dear Abigail here- and forgive me for speaking so plainly, dearest-into a veritable fit of panic, coupled by shrieks and tears and the normal feminine rubbish by some story of how my son is gone or some such." At this Doctor Montand looked murderously at Holmes.
"But- your boy is gone." Olin said, scratching his head for a moment. Holmes took out his pocket watch, studying it idly.
"Of course he's gone! The boy's always wandering off somewhere or another! I fail to see what this has to do with you, sir."
"But he's missing, sir."
"Missing?" Holmes said, as if the word was foreign to him. "Oh, then I see my wife has gotten to you." He added, glancing suspiciously at Doctor Montand, who had by now folded her arms in front of her, sending Holmes to the depths of hell with her gazes.
"My dear wife is prone to panic and over dramatization. I fear her belief of my son being lost is merely a woman's over-active imagination. The boy will be back in time for supper, and you have still not adequately told me why you are in my house."
"But- Tableau said-" The man muttered to himself. Holmes shook his head with a small triumphant smile. Doctor Montand had been partially correct- This sailor was by no means intelligent.
"Where is this Tableau then? I've half a mind to take my irritation out on you rather than take the trouble of hunting whomever that fellow is down."
"Oh, no trouble at all sir." The sailor stammered, putting on his cap and backing out of the room. "I wouldn't have bothered you sir, honest, had I thought there wasn't some money in it for me. Last I saw Mr. Tableau he was at the train station." With this, Olin ran out of the house, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his effort. Holmes gave Doctor Montand a winning smile.
"I do apologize, Mrs. Holmes, but it could not be helped." He said in a tone that bespoke no amount of remorse but a good deal of mischievousness.
"Your sincerity is overwhelming." The lady replied coolly.
"May I ask, Holmes, exactly what the point of that display was?" I inquired.
"That sorry excuse for a seaman is not John's captor." Holmes said, in a bit of outrage, as if I should have known that crucial fact all along. "I knew that the moment I saw that ape-like forehead and those oversized hands. No, Mr. Tableau, whomever or wherever he is, has John. At the very least he is a clever sort: sending the obvious villain to do the work of the real one." He rattled away, more to himself than to us, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.
"I must confess, Mr. Holmes," Doctor Montand began, and I could see real anger permeating her features. "That I am not the slightest bit interested in the level of intelligence John's captor possesses, nor how he measures up in terms of the criminal profile."
"You wouldn't be, madam. You may be more interested in the fact that I have obtained all my information without the loss of a single shilling." Holmes retorted. Doctor Montand's features took on a true transformation when she was genuinely upset. Her hair seemed to glow a bit more crimson, her eyes became darker, more like an angry brushfire than a soft green, and every delicate feature made a sharp line in her face.
"Olin remarked that Mr. Tableau may be at the train station. If you continue to linger here, exchanging your obviously long-planned witty comments with me, I fear there will no longer be a son to get back, ransom or not." Her last words trembled, but she forced them out with an iron countenance. At these sobering words Holmes nodded and straightened up.
"Do you think the boy is all right?" I asked Holmes gently as we began our speedy walk to the Gravesend train station.
"If John is harmed, it is my fault in either instance."
"What do you mean, either instance?"
"Either I have underestimated his captor or overestimated my son."
