Holmes drew up short. Across the street from 22 1 b Baker Street, on the front steps of another house, a raggedly dressed old man with a three-day growth of beard sat as if resting from a long walk.
"He's one of them," I said softly.
Holmes regarded me as though shocked by my revelation. "Watson, must you be so suspicious? Surely that poor unfortunate is catching his second wind. His presence is merest coincidence." I caught the amused gleam in his eye, though.
"I thought you didn't believe in coincidences," I said.
"Ye-es." He drew out the word, then turned and continued on toward our front door at a more leisurely pace. "Let us assume," he said, "that you are right. What shall we do with the devil? Run him off? Have him locked up by Lestrade?"
"That would surely tip our hand," I said. "Rather, let us try to misdirect him."
"You're learning, Watson, you're learning." We reached our house; he opened the door. "I trust you have a plan?"
"I was rather hoping you did," I admitted.
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "But I'm going to need your help…"
Two hours later, I stood in the drawing room shaking my head. The man before me – thick lips, stubbled chin, rat's nest of chestnut colored hair – bore not the slightest resemblance to my friend. His flare for the dramatic as well as a masterly skill for disguises would have borne him well in the theatre, I thought. I found the transformation remarkable.
"Are you sure this is wise?" I asked.
"Wise?" he said. "Decidedly not. But will it work? I profoundly hope so. Check the window, will you?"
I lifted the drape. "The beggar has gone."
"Oh, there are surely other watchers," he said. "They have turned to me as the logical one to whom Colonel Pendleton-Smythe would go for help." He studied his new features in a looking glass, adjusted one bushy eyebrow, then glanced over at me for approval.
"Your own brother wouldn't recognize you," I told him. "Excellent." He folded up his makeup kit, then I followed him to the back door. He slipped out quietly while I began to count.
When I reached a hundred, I went out the front door, turned purposefully, and headed for the bank. I had no real business there; however, it was as good a destination as any for my purpose – which was to serve as a decoy while Holmes observed those who observed me.
I saw nothing to arouse my suspicions as I checked on my accounts, and in due course I returned to our lodgings in exactly the same professional manner. When Holmes did not at once show himself, I knew his plan had been successful; he was now trailing a member of the Secret Mendicant Society.
I had a leisurely tea, then set off to find Inspector Lestrade. He was, as usual, hard at work at his desk. I handed him a note from Sherlock Holmes, which said:
Lestrade,
Come at once to 42 Kerin Street with a dozen of your men. There is a murderer to be had as well as evidence of blackmail and other nefarious deeds.
Sherlock Holmes
Lestrade's eyes widened as he read the note, and a second later he was on his way out the door shouting for assistance.
I accompanied him, and by the time we reached 42 Kerin Street – a crumbling old brick warehouse – he had fifteen men as an entourage. They would have kicked the door in, but a raggedly dressed man with bushy eyebrows reached out and opened it for them: it wasn't so much as latched. Without a glance at the disguised Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade and his men rushed in.
Holmes and I strolled at a more leisurely pace back toward a busier street where we might catch a cab home. He began removing his makeup and slowly the man I knew emerged.
"How did it go?" I asked.
"There were a few tense moments," he said, "but I handled things sufficiently well, I believe."
"Tell me everything," I said.
"For your journals, perhaps?"
"Exactly so."
"Very well. As you headed down the street looking quite purposeful, an elderly gentleman out for a mid-day stroll suddenly altered his course after you. He was well dressed, not a beggar by appearance or demeanor, so I took this to mean he was now watching us. I overtook him, grasped him firmly by the arm, and identified myself to him.
"At once he cried out for assistance. Two elderly men – these dressed for business, not begging – rushed toward me from the sides. I had seen them, but not suspected them of being involved because of their advanced age.
"We tussled for a moment, and then I knocked the beggar down, threw off one of my opponents, and seized the other by his collar. I might have done him some injury had he not shouted that I was under arrest."
Holmes smiled faintly at my surprise.
"Arrest!" I cried, unable to contain myself. "How was this possible?"
"It made me pause, too," Holmes went on. "He might have been bluffing, but I knew I lacked a few key pieces of the puzzle, and this one seemed to fit. I told him, 'Very well, Sir, if you will call off your men and explain yourselves to my satisfaction, I shall gladly accompany you to police headquarters."
"When he nodded, I released him. He straightened his coat as his two fellows collected themselves. Frowning at me, he seemed to be thinking ahead. He had to be sixty-five or seventy years old, I decided.
" 'I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Holmes,' he finally said. 'I believe we may have business to discuss. But not at the police station.'
" 'Exactly so,' I told him. 'Are you at liberty to speak for the whole Society, or must we report to your superiors?'
" 'Come with me.' He dismissed the other two with a nod, turned, and led me to a quiet building on Harley Street. I had been there once before on business with the Foreign Office, but I showed no sign of surprise; indeed, this piece of the puzzle seemed to fit admirably well.
"He took me upstairs to see a rear admiral whose name I agreed not to divulge, and there the whole truth of the Secret Mendicant Society became apparent to me."
I said, "They no longer work for Rome. They work for us." "Quite right, Watson," Holmes said. "This rear admiral took me into their confidence, since they have a file on me and know
I can be trusted. The organization of the Secret Mendicant Society was once quite remarkable, though it seems near its end. Their membership is small and, as far as I can tell, consists largely of septuagenarians or older. The times have changed so much that beggary is dying out; modern spies have much more efficient means of political espionage… for that is the current goal of the Secret Mendicant Society."
"But what about the murders!" I exclaimed. "Surely not even the Foreign Office would – "
"Not only would they, they did. Politics is becoming less and less a gentleman's game, my dear Watson. For the security of our great country, nothing is above the law for them – laws that must govern the common man, such as you or I – or even poor Pendleton-Smythe."
"So there is nothing you can do to help the colonel," I said bitterly.
"The admiral and I rapidly reached an arrangement," Holmes said, "when I explained what I had done with you and Lestrade. With Scotland Yard about to close in on the headquarters of the Amateur Mendicant Society, there was nothing he could do but agree with me that the Amateurs must be exposed. The publicity surrounding them will camouflage the activities of the real Secret Mendicant Society and allow Pendleton-Smythe the luxury of living out the rest of his days in peace. He, for one, never for an instant suspected the Secret Mendicant Society actually existed. That is his salvation."
"But what of the new Amateur Mendicant Society? Surely they did not agree to surrender so blithely!"
"Indeed, they offered no objection, since with the exception of our client, they are all dead." Holmes paused a second. "After I left Harley Street, I proceeded at once to the warehouse.There I found the proper building, knocked twice sharply, and pushed my way inside when the door opened a crack by a man dressed as a beggar.