Grey morning brought with it doubts. On reviewing my conversation with Reed in the cold light of day, I felt certain that my revived spirits had more to do with the effects of the brandy than any vague offer that my new acquaintance had made. My doubts increased when I failed to see Reed anywhere on board the ship. I searched all the decks, dining rooms and bars, but to no avail. I even enquired of the purser for his cabin number, but was told there was no one of that name on board the Orontes. I was dumbfounded. Thinking back to the previous evening, I began to see the occasion as possessing a dreamlike quality. Maybe I had imagined it. The whole episode had an element of wish fulfilment about it: I had been given a kind sympathetic ear, friendship and the offer of employment. Perhaps I was going mad.
By early evening we were sailing up the Thames and I was packing my scant possessions in readiness to disembark. The pendulum of my spirits had swung back into the dark zone and I felt thoroughly depressed. Disconsolately, I joined the throng of passengers on deck to view some of the familiar landmarks of London, all silhouettes now, merging into the darkening sky.
“Ah, there you are. Been looking for you,” said a voice at my side. I turned, and to my surprise I saw Reed’s smiling face. He was dressed in an expensive black coat with an astrakhan collar and was wearing an opera hat.
“And I’ve been looking for you.” My response was automatic and unreasonably indignant.
Reed ignored my rudeness. “Looks like we’ve both been playing hide-and-seek, then. Well, journey’s end in lovers’ meeting, eh? Now, you’re to leave the boat with me. My friend Scoular will be waiting, and then the three of us can repair to my club for a pork chop or two and discuss the future. What do you say?”
His charm and easy manner quickly dispelled my anger frustration and despair within seconds. I grinned. “I should be delighted to go along with your plans.”
“Good man.”
Out across the city, the melancholy chimes of Big Ben could be heard signalling the hour as though in welcome to the weary travellers about to set foot once more on their native soil.
Accompanied by a raucous cheer from the crowd waiting on the dockside, the gangplanks were lowered. People waved and cried, babies and infants were held aloft, and the air seemed to crackle with the heightened excitement of anticipated reunion. As I gazed down on those eager, smiling faces, I felt a pang of jealousy. There were no hugs, kisses or firm handshakes waiting for me. There was no one waiting to greet and welcome me back home.
“Stick close, old boy,” said Reed, grabbing my sleeve. “There’ll be an almighty rush once they lift the barriers.”
He was right. The crush of passengers desperate to escape the confines of the ship surged forward, squeezing down the narrow lanes of the gangways. It was like being caught up with a fierce river current and being swept away against one’s will. Reed and I were carried along, tossed and buffeted like driftwood.
“I rate myself a lover of my fellow man,” whispered my companion in my ear as we were jostled nearer the gangway, “but I ain’t so sure I like them this close.”
Within five minutes, somewhat breathless and dishevelled, we found ourselves standing on the dockside.
“Well, here we are, Walker. The old country. Breathe in that damp, tainted air. Grand, eh?”
I smiled. Reed seemed to find amusement and enjoyment in most things. Nothing seemed to ruffle his even temperament or throw a cloud across his sanguine outlook on life. I found myself liking and admiring my new acquaintance more and more. I did take in a lungful of air. Tainted as it was with myriad vapours and smells, so different from the dry, dusty air of Afghanistan, it tasted good to me.
We stood for some time on the dockside as passengers scurried past us and porters conveyed large trunks to waiting conveyances. It was dark now, and the area was illuminated by a series of gas lamps that bathed us in a soft yellow glow. Neither of us felt the need to talk: we were just taking time to acknowledge our new reality. After weeks bobbing on the waters in an artificial, enclosed environment, we were now back in England, our home. Back where we belonged. And I felt in my heart that, whatever unknown problems I now had to face, I would much prefer to face them here than anywhere else.
As the crowd dissipated, a tall, imposing figure emerged from the gloom and stood for a moment under one of the gas lamps, watching us. He was well over six feet in height, a height that was exaggerated by the top hat he was wearing. Reed observed him and raised his hand in greeting. This prompted the stranger to approach us. He moved like a cat, with soft sinewy movements, his feet making no sound on the damp paving stones. As he drew closer, I saw that he was a black man, with a remarkably handsome face. He stopped some little distance from where we were standing and touched the brim of his hat with his silver-topped cane, acknowledging Reed’s greeting.
Reed beamed. “Scoular, my old friend, how good to see you.” He stepped forward, grabbed the man’s hand and gave it a vigourous shake. There was no obvious response: no reciprocal smile or warm words. The fellow’s expression hardly altered. He looked beyond Reed at me, his eyes registering some interest at my presence. Reed noticed this, and his whole body stiffened awkwardly. He threw a nervous smile in my direction.
“Excuse me, Walker, for a moment, while I have some private words with my old chum.”
I nodded, feeling rather like a child left outside the headmaster’s study while one of the masters and the head decide on what punishment to administer.
The two men moved some distance away, whereupon Reed spoke rapidly in an animated fashion. I could not hear what he was saying, but it was clear that he was telling the impassive stranger all about me. From time to time, both men glanced in my direction as though I were some item at an auction which was under discussion by two potential bidders. Obviously Reed had overestimated the welcome and help I would receive from his friends, and he was having to persuade the icy Scoular of my worth. I felt very uncomfortable and was tempted to leave, to walk away. What stopped me was the knowledge that I had nowhere to walk away to. In essence, I was trapped.
When Reed had finished his recital, he waited nervously for Scoular to respond. The gentleman stood impassively for some time, and then he asked a few questions. In the growing quiet, I heard the dark, silky tone of his voice on the night air.
And then suddenly, Scoular moved with the speed of a leopard and before I knew it, he was by my side, his gloved hand extended and a broad grin on that dark, handsome face of his. “Doctor Walker, I am so pleased to meet you. I am Lincoln Scoular.”
Dumbly I took his hand and shook it. Like a gas mantle being turned down, the smile faded quickly.
“I have a carriage waiting. We shall repair to Reed’s club for drink and refreshment, and to provide you with a night’s accommodation. Over our meal we shall discuss your future. I trust that these arrangements are in accordance with your wishes?”
I nodded. “Indeed,” I said, unsure whether they were or not. I knew that in reality I had no other option. Once again, it was a decision that was to change my life for ever.
“Where is he now?” Professor Moriarty handed his two visitors a glass of brandy each before seating himself behind his large desk.
“At my club, snoring his head off no doubt,” grinned Reed, cradling the brandy glass in both hands. “We made sure he had plenty to eat and drink.”