"Suffice it to say, we terrorized several old women into giving us pennies and were promptly arrested for our trouble. The next day, after being ransomed home by disbelieving parents, we were summonsed to the Dean's office and informed that our activities had disgraced the school. In short, our presence was no longer desired. The news was devastating to us and our families.
"That's where things should have ended. We should have quietly bought our way into other schools, or vanished into military life, or simply retired to family businesses – there were many choices available. However, that night, as we gathered one last time in the Slaughtered Lamb, Dr Attenborough joined us. He was not consoling or apologetic. Rather, he was ebullient.
"He asked what we had learned as beggars – and we hadn't learned a thing, really – but as he led us through the lesson (for that's what it was to him), we could see that we had gone to the wrong section of the city, spoken to the wrong people, done all the wrong things. Beggars have their place in our society, as you know, and we had stepped outside their domain. That's where we had gone wrong.
"As he had done in his lecture hall, he inspired us that night with his speech. He persuaded us that we should go out again and this time he went with us.
"Dressed once more as beggars, we ventured into the sordid, dark places near the docks, where such as we had never dared go at night. Using the Roman system as a model, he showed us what we had done wrong – and how we could do it right.
"We listened at the right windows. We lurked outside sailors' taverns and heard their coarse, drunken gossip. And suddenly we began to understand how the Secret Mendicant Society had worked so admirably well. Wine loosens men's tongues, and much could be gleaned from attentive listening. For who pays attention to shabby beggars, even among the dregs of our society?
"There were a dozen ship's captains who we could have turned in for smuggling, a handful of murders we could have solved, stolen cargoes that could have been recovered with just a word in the right ear at Scotland Yard.
"We did none of that. It was petty. But we were young and foolish, and Dr Attenborough did nothing but encourage us in our foolishness. Oh, he was a masterful speaker. He could convince you night was day and white was black, if he wanted to. And suddenly he wanted very much to have us working for him. We would be a new Secret Mendicant Society – or, as we chaps liked to call it, an Amateur Mendicant Society. Dabbling, yes, that was a gentleman's way. It was a game to us. As long as we pretended it was a schoolyard lark, it wasn't really a dirty deal.
"I regret to say I took full part in the Amateur Mendicant Society's spying over the following six months. I learned the truth from dishonest men, turned the information over to Dr Attenborough, and he pursued matters from there. What, exactly, he did with the information I can only guess – extortion, blackmail, possibly even worse. However, I do know that suddenly he had a lot of money, and he paid us handsomely for our work. He bought an abandoned warehouse and had a posh gentleman's club outfitted in the basement – though, of course, there were no servants, nobody who could break our secret circle. Later he leased the warehouse out for furniture storage.
"I was not the first to break the circle. Dickie Clarke was. He told me one evening that he had enlisted in the army. His father had used his influence to get him a commission, and he was off to India. 'I'm through with soiling my hands with this nonsense,' he told me. 'I've had enough. Come with me, Oliver. It's not too late' I was shocked, and I refused – to my lasting shame.
"When Attenborough found out, he had an absolute fit he threw things, screamed obscenities, smashed a whole set of dishes against the wall. Then and there I realized I had made a mistake. I had made a pact with a madman. I had to escape.
"The next day I too enlisted. I've been away for nineteen years – I never came back, not even on leave, for fear of what Dr Attenborough might do if he found out. He was that violent.
"I had stayed in touch with Dickie Clarke all through his campaigns and my own, and when he wrote from London to tell me Attenborough was dead, I thought it would be safe to return home. I planned to write my memoirs, you see.
"Only two weeks ago Dickie died. Murdered – I'm sure of it! And then I noticed people, strangers dressed as beggars, loitering near my house, watching me, noting my movements as I had once noted the movements of others. To escape, I simply walked out of my home one day, took a series of cabs until I was certain I hadn't been followed, and haven't been back since."
Sherlock Holmes nodded slowly when Pendleton-Smythe finished. "A most interesting story," he said. "But why would the Amateur Mendicant Society want you dead? Are you certain there isn't something more?"
He raised his head, back stiff. "Sir, I assure you, I have told you everything. As for why – isn't that obvious? Because I know too much. They killed old Dickie, and now they're going to kill me!"
"What of the four others from Eton? What happened to them?"
"The others?" He blinked. "I – I really don't know. I haven't heard from or spoken to any of them in years. I hope they had the good sense to get out and not come back. Heavens above, I certainly wish I hadn't!"
"Quite so," said Holmes. He rose. "Stay here, Colonel. I think you will be safe in Mrs Coram's care for the time being. I must look into a few matters, and then we will talk again."
"So you will take my case?" he asked eagerly.
"Most decidedly." Holmes inclined his head. "I'm certain I'll
be able to help. One last thing. What was the address of the warehouse Attenborough owned?" "Forty-two Kerin Street," he said.
As we headed back toward Baker Street, Holmes seemed in a particularly good mood, smiling and whistling bits of a violin concerto I'd heard him playing earlier that week.
"Well, what is it?" I finally demanded.
"Don't you see, Watson?" he said. "There can only be one answer. We have run into a classic case of two identical organizations colliding. It's nothing short of a trade war between rival groups of beggar-spies."
"You mean there's a real Secret Mendicant Society still at large?"
"The very thing!"
"How is it possible? How could they have survived all these years with nobody knowing about them?"
"Some people can keep secrets," he said.
"It's fantastic!"
"Grant me this conjecture. Imagine, if you will, that the real Secret Mendicant Society has just become aware of its rival, the Amateur Mendicant Society. They have thrived in the shadows for centuries. They have a network of informants in place. It's not hard to see how the two would come face to face eventually, as the Amateur Society expanded into the Secret Society's established territory. Of course, the Secret Mendicant Society could not possibly allow a rival to poach on their grounds. What could they possibly do but strike out in retaliation?"
"Attenborough and Clarke and the others…"
"Exactly! They have systematically eliminated the amateurs. I would imagine they are now in occupation of the secret club under the old furniture warehouse, where Attenborough's records would have been stored. And those records would have led them, inexorably, to the two Amateurs who got away – Dickie, who they killed at once, and our client, who they have not yet managed to assassinate."
"Ingenious," I said.
"But now Colonel Pendleton-Smythe is in more danger than he believes. He is the last link to the old Amateur Mendicant Society, so it should be a simple matter to – "