It seemed that Lestrade had decided to humour us, and led us back to Scotland Yard via the police entrance. Here men sat engaged in the drudgery of police work; the filing of reports, polishing of boots and brasses, and the turning away of the many who came by daily and tried to enlist in the force. This was a constant source of annoyance as most did not meet the stringent physical and academic requirements, and importantly, this was not the office to apply to.
We walked through the dimly lit corridors of the building, which, since it consisted of several buildings that had been joined together at various points in its history, was a warren of twisting tunnels and stairwells. It took about five minutes to reach the, no familiar, pathology office, situated at the Northumberland Avenue end. This was a busy, noisy area. Not only was it frequented by the unfortunates that lay enshrined here, but because it required ready access to the road and admittance for incoming carriages, it was sited next to the stables, a hive of activity.
"They are all still here, and since nobody has claimed them, they await either claim or removal by the parish," said Lestrade. We waited at the desk.
"For a paupers' funeral?" I asked.
"Indeed. They will receive a proper Christian burial, Doctor."
This
saddened me and I looked at my friend, whose face seemed to have
fallen even further. Such an end was not fitting for an innocent
child. They would probably be buried all together, in an unmarked
grave at the end of a churchyard, with no-one to mourn them but the
Reverend and his family. Perhaps even a trip on the Necropolis
Railway. However, this was much preferred to the alternative, which
was for them to end up the subjects of medical research. Indeed I am
aware that such experimentation is necessary, but nonetheless
distasteful.
The clerk of the laboratory arrived; a clean leather apron covered his morning suit.
"Inspector Lestrade, may I help you?" he asked, cheerfully.
It never ceases to amaze me that so many of those who work so closely with disease and death remain so very jovial. I did remember having seen this fellow here at work before, but I did not know him.
"Patterson, we are here to see the three children brought in from the river," said Lestrade, hushed.
Patterson's face immediately changed to one of great solemnity. "Ah, yes, terrible. The Thames Triplets, we were calling them, Sir. Until this morning, that is."
"This morning?" asked Holmes, sharply.
"Didn't you know?" Patterson asked, addressing Lestrade. "They brought another one in this morning."
Holmes sighed, almost aggressively. "May we see the latest case first?"
"He has not been examined by the surgeon yet, Sir."
"My friend here is an accomplished detective, and Dr Watson is an experienced surgeon. No evidence of any kind shall be harmed, and they may examine him on my authority."
I smiled at Lestrade; I did not recall a time when he had paid either of us so direct a compliment.
Patterson made a note in his log book and swing up a section of the desk, allowing us through into the corridor beyond.
In the first rooms, bodies that had been dealt with were stacked, wrapped in labelled sheets, five high. I always felt a sense of dread walking this corridor. It was very cold, constructed without windows or fires to keep the temperature low. Although in the company of my friend I had had cause to visit the scenes of some of the most unspeakable crimes, it was only here that one felt a sense of scale of the cruelty that existed in our great city. For here lay the battered, the abused, the murdered, collected daily from about the town. Bodies were kept for a maximum of ten days, and so the hundred or so here were just the most recent victims. The slabs held grim parcels of all shapes and sizes; men, women and children; even infants. The cruel master slain by his servant; the labourer shot by his master; the babes left forgotten in the gin-shops. Most sickening of all was the knowledge that few of the perpetrators would ever be brought to justice. And so my resolve to follow Holmes through whatever he should find in this latest case was strengthened.
In the last room two orderlies were preparing our victim for examination by the police surgeon. The child, a boy of about seven, was laid, still dressed in sodden, muddy clothes, on a table. Lestrade nodded to the men, who left us.
"Watson?"
said Holmes.
I nodded and took a closer look at the boy.
"He looks to be about seven years old." I looked at his face which showed sunken, dark eyes. "He may indeed be older; he is quite undernourished. It is difficult to say how long he has been dead; his body is almost frozen. I am afraid I can say little more without conducting a more thorough examination."
Holmes nodded to me and himself approached the body. He moved around it, closing in and moving out, pausing to stare hard at very small details, then stepping back to view from a distance.
"His fingernails are caked underneath with river mud. He has been working or living close to the river."
Lestrade nodded; this seemed to make the greatest of sense to him.
"His
clothes were not made for him. They are very small for him in some
places and much too large in others. They have been patched many
times; some recently and some long ago, all with the same material. He is a pauper who is nonetheless looked after by someone skilled
with a needle and thread."
"A woman?" I asked.
"No. A sailor."
"How
could you possibly know that?" asked Lestrade.
"The patches
are sewn roughly with thick twine; the sort used by seamen in the
repair of sails. The stitches are long and overlap, though they are
held very well and would keep out the wind. The work of a sailor."
"Conjecture," said Lestrade, unconvinced.
"Deduction," said Holmes.
At that moment a well-dressed gentleman entered the room. He hung his hat and coat in the corner and greeted us warmly.
"Patterson told me that I would have your company!" he said excitedly. "Dr Josiah Byrnes, Police Surgeon," he said, extending his hand. We made our introductions. He was a young man, and Lestrade informed us that he was a recent appointment; a graduate from King's College.
I expected some form of hostility that so often greeted us when in a situation such as this; in my experience police surgeons and pathologists are usually less than willing to have the involvement of any other in their work, let alone Mr Sherlock Holmes.
"Was it
yourself who examined the other three children?" asked
Holmes.
"Yes, all three. Most sad," said Byrnes. "I found
nothing of evidential value, other than to say that they drowned. Perhaps you would like to examine them yourselves?" he looked at
both Holmes and I.
"Perhaps we should regard the most recent case first?" said Holmes.
"Certainly! I was about to do the post-mortem now, you are welcome to join me."
Holmes smiled. Here was a man with whom he could commune; he cared more about the facts and the evidence than about his personal position.