Thank you everyone who reviewed!
Chapter Two: Peppermints and the Past
Myers eyed the body of Mr Stone with evident distaste. "Disgusting. Most unpleasant. Very much so." He circled the corpse, his head on one side, his black eyes darting here and there, taking in every detail. Then he shot a volley of penetrating glances around the room before he asked, "Have you found anything, Mr Holmes?"
"Only these," Holmes held out the sandals, and Myers pounced on them, turning them over interestedly between his fingers; finally he dropped them down on the floor and began to look over the room much as Mr Holmes had done. Here's one who has taken note of Mr Holmes' methods, I thought, watching him. Myers put me in mind of an excited bird as he fluttered from one corner of the room to the other, his head permanently on one side, and keeping up a stream of jerky, short comments to anyone who would listen. "Hum, the window? No. Not been forced. The door? Most likely. But how was the murder done? Violent murder. Eyes burst. Otherwise unharmed. Contorted features. Poison? No, poison would not cause those eyes...what do make of this, Mr Holmes?" He turned suddenly to Holmes, who had picked up the sandals and was looking at them thoughtfully.
Holmes placed the sandals on the top of the bookcase, and replied airily, "Oh, I have no theories yet. What do you make of it?"
"Nothing!" Myers cried, throwing up his hands in an expression of despair. "Ten minutes in this room, and already I'm baffled! Baffled, sir, baffled!"
"Is it just me, or is 'e baffled?" Rat whispered in my ear. I snuffed a laugh, and felt a bit better.
Watson said, "If we could find out what caused the frightful condition of this poor fellow's eyes, we might go a long way to solving the whole thing."
"Indeed. Myers, can you remove the body? I think Watson and I will be of greater use elsewhere."
"Oh, yes. Remove the body. Yes. Of course." Myers almost skipped to the doorway and fluted down the stairs: "Burrows! Bring them up."
He rubbed his hands together like a fly, and as we all went out the door and onto the stairs, he called, "I shall keep you informed if we find anything, Mr Holmes."
"Thank you, Myers," Holmes replied. We went out onto the street, past the policemen posted outside the door. I took in a deep breath of the cool air, ridding my lungs of the staleness inside the murdered man's rooms. This was the first time I had seen a murdered human before, and was disturbed to find I was more affected by it than I thought I would be. Wiggins was still pale, but Rat seemed merely thoughtful.
Mr Holmes waved a cab over, and said, "I suppose you want to come with us, Kit? What about you two?"
"We want t'come as well, Mr Holmes. If that's alight."
He smiled, but merely said, "It will be a tight fit, but we shall manage. I trust you have no objection, Watson?"
"Not in the least!" Watson replied heartily. We squeezed into the cab and managed to close the wooden doors. Holmes called something up to the driver through the trap-door in the roof, the cabbie flicked his horse, and with a swaying clatter we lurched off. It was the first time I had ridden inside a hansom cab, and I gazed goggle-eyed out the sides, enjoying the novelty of seeing familiar surroundings go by in unfamiliar manner. Wiggins asked, "Where we goin'?"
"To Mr Stone's church."
"Church? Were he a church-goin' sort, then?"
"Apart from his having numerous religious books in his possesion, I didn't see anything to suggest that Stone was a minister, Holmes." Watson remarked.
"In the flyleaf of The Body of Divinity, there was written, To Rev. J. Stone from his congregation at Varden Street, on the twentieth anniversary of his induction. So we are going to Varden Street." Holmes saw my questioning glance, and explained, "When a minister is inducted, he is assigned to a certain congregation to be their minister."
"Oh. I see."
The cab turned a corner and went down a small road leading to a quiet crossroads. Just past the crossroads, on the right hand street, was a row of houses, then a small church building. We piled out, and Holmes went straight to the church door, Watson pausing to instruct the cabbie to wait. The church was neatly built, with a pointed roof, and a notice with letters burnt into it on the front wall. At the top of the notice was, White Chapel. Minister: Rev. J Stone. Then, underneath in smaller letters: Meetings on Sabbath morning, 11am-12.30pm; evening, 7.00pm-8.30pm. Wednesday Prayer Meeting, 6.00pm-7.00pm. At the very bottom was: For whosover shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. Rom. 10 v13.
"How do you know that there will be anyone here?" asked Watson.
Holmes rapped on the door. "They clean the church before the services, and get everything prepared. It is now round about two. Allowing two hours for preparation, they must arrive here at approximately 2.30. If they are not here yet, then we must wait - ah!"
The door swung open on its hinges, and a man in rough clothes and a broom in one hand peered out. "Yeah, wha'dju want?"
"I would like to speak a deacon if he is here, or an elder of this church." Holmes replied.
"Well, Mr Green is in. I s'pose you could talk to 'im."
He opened the door wider and we went in. Past the outer door was a set of double, dark wooden doors; Mr Holmes pushed these open, and we followed him into the inside of the church. It was small, with plain whitewashed walls, a dark red carpet on the floor, and a high wooden ceiling with small panels of carving here and there. There were rows of plain wooden benches on either side with an aisle leading up to a large pulpit at the far end. There was a table in front of the pulpit, and at the table, dusting off some leather bound books was a man clad in a dark suit. There were a few other men brushing the floor, and one other man in a suit sitting in one of the pews. The first man looked up as Holmes came towards him, and shutting the book, advanced with out-stretched hand. "Good afternoon, sirs. And children." he added, smiling at Wiggins, Rat and me. He had a square, solid face and a fine head of snow-white hair. "I am Mr Edward Green," he explained, shaking hands. "I am a deacon of this church."
"Thank you, Mr Green. I am Mr Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr Watson. And these..." Holmes grinned suddenly. "These three are colleagues of mine. Wiggins, Rat and Kit."
Mr Green returned the smile and gave something to Wiggins out of his pocket. Wiggins exclaimed, "Thankee, sir!" and showed me and Rat three peppermints; we took ours, and sucked blissfully.
Serious now, Mr Holmes said, "Mr Green, I am here to ask you about the minister of this church, a Rev James Stone."
"Ask about what? James hasn't been in the West End, has he?"
"No...I am just interested in his past history. What did he do before he became this church's minister?"
I was slightly suprised that Mr Holmes asked him straight out, and not under some other pretext. I suppose he thinks a church-man can be trusted, and there's no need for excuses.
"Oh, James did a lot of things. He travelled a lot, you know, went all over the place. He spent some years in Africa, and I think he went to South America and the Pacific as well. And another place, as well, I can never remember what it's called. John!" he called over to the other man in the pew. He raised his head, and asked, "Yes?" He was a much younger man, with black hair and a Scottish accent.
"Where's that place that Mr Stone went to after Africa?"
"Madagascar. I mind he said it was near Africa, sort of like a next door neighbour."
"There, Madagascar, you have it. I don't think there's anything he did apart from his missionary work, nothing out-standing, anyway. I'm sorry, but I think that it all I can tell you."
"It is enough," Holmes said. "Thank you, and goodbye. You have been most helpful. Come, Watson, Kit."
Outside, and piling into the cab again, Watson asked Holmes, "What is it, Holmes?"
Mr Holmes was obviously thinking hard, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a bushy line. "That country..."
"Madagascar?"
"...if it is what I think it is, then we may have a valuable clue."
The cab rattled along, and as it neared Baker Street, Holmes, whose head had drooped forward in thought, now snapped upright. "Now, you three," he directed. "I want you to look out for anyone with brown skin. Any foreigners that you can find out about. Alert the other Irregulars, and tell them it's the usual rates: a shilling a day, and a guinea to the one who finds the man I'm looking for."
"What if we find a foreign man who isn't the one you're looking for?" I asked.
"Then you don't get the guinea." Holmes said simply.
"Oh."
"So make sure you find the right man."
"Oh."
"We're t'look fer a man wi' dark skin," Wiggins repeated. "Right, guv."
I felt a thrill of excitement, and thought, not a little dramatically, The game's afoot!