The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

silhouette for Freddie’s. He was in the room with you, remember?’

‘But I thought she had feelings for Freddie?’

‘Watson, think! A few days ago he announced his engagement to her sister. Passion is like an alternating current. Love in one direction, and when reversed, equally strong hatred.’

‘It sounds as though you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Doctor,’ said the surgeon.

A groan escaped me as the dull ache grew into something keener and more difficult to ignore. I felt a sharp prick and looked down to see the surgeon injecting something near the bandaged wound.

‘I am giving you a little more local anaesthetic, Doctor. Short term, however.’

‘Can you not give him something else for later? Something that will not dull his brain?’ asked Holmes.

‘You ask me again?’ Macready looked up and stared hard at Holmes. ‘Like a little cocaine, for instance? An injectible solution?’

‘Yes.’ Holmes said. ‘For later?’

The surgeon smiled at him. ‘May I have a look at your arm?’

‘Mine? Certainly not!’

The doctor looked down at me. ‘Dr Watson, I will leave this to you.’

I supposed Holmes’s habit was evident to the astute medical man. ‘Give me some now, but I’ll do without later,’ said I.

‘All right then.’

He filled another syringe, tied off my arm and injected the liquid into a vein. ‘This is a three per cent solution of cocaine. It will tide you past the local. But now you must be very careful. Cocaine makes some feel invincible.’

I was about to reply when a wave of warmth and good will swept over me. I suddenly knew that everything would be absolutely, perfectly, fantastically all right. I sat up eagerly.

Holmes gripped my shoulder. ‘We have work to do, Watson. On your feet.’

‘Work? It’s nearly midnight! This man needs rest,’ said Dr Macready.

I swung my legs off the table, eager to depart.

‘Careful!’ cried Dr Macready, stepping between us. ‘Slow down!’

With the doctor’s help, I gingerly set my feet on the floor.

Holmes was halfway out of the door and turned back impatiently. ‘Come on, Watson!’

‘Your observation powers fail you!’ I found myself shouting. ‘I’ll need my trousers first!’

CHAPTER 35

The Pawnshop

Just outside the doctor’s office, we looked about for a cab to convey us to Holmes’s next destination: Piotr Flan’s pawnshop, which was on the far outskirts of town. I must have been out for some time at Dr Macready’s for it was indeed midnight, and at that moment I was feeling no pain. Darkness engulfed the city and it had begun to rain in great pelting drops. No cabs were to be found.

When I noticed that we were standing somewhat near the police station, I suggested to Holmes that we be less visible. He turned into an alleyway and in five minutes, we were lost.

‘The map, Watson?’

I no longer had it with me. We would have to ask for help. The rain grew into a downpour, but luck was with us. Or in reality, luck had been following us. Upon exiting an alley near the Round Church, we came upon Polly. We had not seen her since Dillie’s murder. She was breathless, pale and – as we were – dripping wet.

‘Mr ’Olmes! Dr Watson! I been trying to flag you. I was outside the Cross and Anchor when you left with an arrow in Doctor Watson, and I tagged on back of that cab and waited for you outside the surgery. But you left so fast. I wants to help you, any way I can. For Miss Dillie. Please, can I help?’

‘Do you know the way to Piotr Flan’s pawnshop?’

‘Yes, I knows it. Follow me. It’s quite far.’

‘Can you make it, Watson?’

I nodded. I was feeling no pain.

‘Then you pawned items for Miss Wyndham?’ asked Holmes as we hurried through the streets.

‘No. I always waited outside. This way.’

We arrived at Piotr Flan’s pawnshop at one in the morning. Thanks to Macready’s cocaine, I felt nothing of my wound, but I knew this long walk would do me no good. Of course, the shop was closed and dark, but Holmes rang the bell repeatedly.

‘Holmes, we will have to wait until morning!’ I said, but he persisted.

‘Chances are he lives upstairs,’ said Holmes. ‘If not …’

Polly eyed the large padlock on the grating that had been placed in front of the door and front window of the shop. She removed a lockpick from her sleeve. ‘I could maybe unlock this,’ she said.

Holmes and I turned to her in surprise. I wondered briefly if everyone but me had mastered this skill. But before she could begin, a small light appeared in the back of the shop. A grizzled old man approached, peering at us owl-like from the interior, directing his lantern to shine on our faces. He had a strange corona of corkscrew hair that stuck out in all directions from an ill-fitting nightcap and an expression of what I imagined was permanent distrust on his lined visage.

He did not look inclined to open up. Polly put her lockpick away.

‘Vat you vant?’ he shouted, barely audible through the closed and locked door.

From his waistcoat, Holmes unclipped his gold watch, a high-quality timepiece which I had long admired, and held it up with what appeared to be a desperate and conciliatory smile.

Soon we faced Piotr Flan across a glass and mahogany counter filled with jewelled and gilded items. He had lit several lights and the small shop was now almost bright as daylight. His wife, in her nightdress and dressing gown, had come down to join him, apparently with the explicit purpose of keeping a sharp watch on Polly and me during the transaction. I felt a little like a rabbit in hawk territory. The woman was more than ready to pounce, and she carried a battered policeman’s truncheon in stark contrast with her flowered nightclothes.

‘All right then, you had better make this vorth my vile,’ said the man, with an accent I could not identify.

Flan spread out a large velvet cloth and tapped it, inviting Holmes to lay out