Holmes warmed admirably as we waited for Lestrade. He dressed again and prepared to go out, despite my protests. We were waiting for an hour and the beat of his heart and the strength of his voice allayed some of my fears. Once again, he was fortunate indeed to have survived his self-inflicted experiments.

"That will be Lestrade," said Holmes, looking out of the window.
I saw nothing, but was too much in anticipation of events to enquire after what must have been, for Holmes, another piece of cunning deduction.

Lestrade arrived with two Constables and snowflakes clinging to his hat.

"I trust there is news, gentlemen?" he asked as he came in, leaving his men downstairs.

"Indeed, Lestrade," said Holmes.

"Are you quite well, Mr Holmes?" asked Lestrade.

Holmes was still quite white, even compared to his usual pale complexion.

"Indeed. We are to go to Bermondsey at once. I am confident we shall be able to track down our sailor."
"I have a four-wheeler outside," said Lestrade. "But I do not understand, Mr Holmes."
"All will become plain," said Holmes. "But we must hurry."

There was enough room in the four wheeler for four, and one of the officers climbed up beside the driver. It took us to Shad Thames on the South Bank, which, even as afternoon gave way to evening was a hive of activity. We walked towards the quayside and along the river, past beggars, entertainers, drunkards, sellers and grubbers, almost knocking into people at all sides. Many made way for us as soon as they saw we were accompanied by policemen.

"Where are we going, Holmes?" I asked.
"I shall know when I see it," said Holmes.

We walked for about half a mile along the river front, and the light faded as we did so. It was slow progress; Holmes look intently at almost every person and structure we passed, and stopped often to take refreshment from his flask. Traders and beggars alike in the fading light and cold weather retreated from the streets about us. The streets were almost empty as we approached the esplanade by the Bermondsey wall on the West side of St. Saviour's Dock. Here were warehouses filled with the stuffs imported by the great ships of the pool of London. Mills and factories extended along all the approaches to the dock, and squeezed between, below, above and about were the crammed rookeries of the people that worked them. The smells of fine spices and malted grain mixed with those of There were no gas lights here, and the tall buildings along with the rapid onset of night made navigation difficult. Lestrade' men had lanterns and held them aloft. It became eerily quiet.

On the edge of the quay where the Dock met the river, a lone figure sat looking down at the water. We approached, Holmes and I, and my friend bade Lestrade and his men to wait.

"Wiggins?" asked Holmes.

I was surprised. Not only had I not expected to find Wiggins here, but I had no idea how Holmes could have recognised him from such a distance in the dark.

Wiggins stood up in a start, and was so surprised that Holmes grabbed him by the arm to prevent his falling into the dock. Wiggins recoiled from him.

"Mr Holmes!" he cried.

"It is all right, Wiggins."

Wiggins did not speak, but breathed rapidly as Holmes beckoned him away from the edge.

"What are you doing here, Wiggins?" I asked. "Have you found the sailor?"

Wiggins did not answer, but looked toward the other side of the dock. Holmes followed his gaze. On the other side we could just make out the light of glowing orbs descending the quay into the river.

"Good Lord!" I said. I was surprised, relieved, and much confused. "How long have you known about this?" I asked.

Again, Wiggins did not respond.

"For some time, Watson." Holmes voice cracked. "This is the reason why the Irregulars have not reported any news of the sailor."
"I am not sure I follow you, Holmes."
"They are protecting him."
I looked at Wiggins, and felt anger towards him. He was still a child, but a savvy one, and I could not comprehend why he would want to defend a criminal that had taken one of his own. When he had met us at Baker Street and been despatched on his latest mission, he gave no sign that he might have known anything about the matter. Perhaps even then he was aware of the situation? If so, he was a talented actor. I suspected the worst.

"Why would you try to protect a murderer from us, Wiggins? From the police? Are Mr Holmes' rates not equal to those of this man?"

The boy's eyes met mine with a rage I have seen only in war.

"I'll not say, Dr Watson, Sir! I'll not give him up! If it sees me to my grave I won't!" his eyes filled with tears and he clenched his fists.

"Why not, Wiggins?" asked Holmes, much more sympathetically than I.

"I won't say, Mr Holmes!" he sobbed.

"Wiggins, we now know where he is, and exactly the circumstances of the death of those children. We shall have him Wiggins, whatever happens. But you would do me the greatest service if you can explain to me why you have been hindering my efforts, and why you are protecting a man who has killed one of your own."

"All my own, Sir. All."
"I do not follow."
"They was all Irregulars, Sir! They was all working for you in some form or another, at some time.

Holmes face fell. It was true that we did not always know the names or even the faces of some of the boys who did the important legwork of some of Holmes' operations.

Wiggins' anger grew. "It's all right for you! In your grand house. We was all grateful to you, Mr Holmes, and you were good to us. But your work ain't regular and some of us have no lodgings or food in our bellies the rest of the time. Boys, they'll rob each other, and push each other down to be the one who gets the guinea. And some of them'll be straight down the gin-shop with it too. We've to get by. It's all right for me. I can read and write, Mr Holmes; scripture and everything. And I can turn wood as my father taught me before he died. But some of them, sir, they can't count nor anything. We have to get by. And I keep an eye on them, Sir, like I said."
"I understand," said Holmes.
I was moved by the boy's speech, and I could see that Holmes was also.

"They goes into the river as they wants to. Nobody makes them go!"
"What are they doing?" I asked.

"They are mudlarking on a grand scale, Watson. With those orbs as helmets they can go to the river bed even at high tide, even to points never normally revealed by the tide at all. There are much richer pickings to be had in the river than at the edge."

I was horrified. Mularking was a dangerous, filthy job anyway, but this was extreme.

"They find bits of ships and all sorts in their, Mr Holmes. And they get a pretty penny for it. The boatswain is always sure that you get paid for what you find."
I still was not sure of the full story. But I felt that we might be running out of time for the rest of the boys.

"Lestrade!" I shouted. "We must hurry to the East side!"