Guy Adams - Sherlock Holmes - The Army of Doctor Moreau

“Very careful,” I agreed, disgusted at the thought of traversing the sewer network in the dark. The pair of us descended.

I was about to draw the cover back into place when Holmes stopped me. “The sound of you dragging that will travel some way down here,” he said. “We’ll risk leaving it.”

I nodded, then realised he couldn’t see me, not that it mattered. I could tell he had already begun to move along the walkway.

Moving as carefully and quietly as I could, I followed Holmes. The sound of voices continued ahead of us. I couldn’t make out the words but the tone clearly marked the speakers as Klaus and Martin.

We walked for some time and I tried to imagine where our route was taking us above ground. My knowledge of the city south of the river was not good and, while I could tell that we must be some way beyond the docks of Rotherhithe by now, I could say no more. No doubt Holmes could have recited the street and house number but, naturally, he was still sticking to his childish silence.

After a while, other voices joined those of Klaus and Martin. Clearly we were approaching the hub of Kane’s hideout.

Light began to filter towards us, though a curve in the tunnel kept its source hidden. Holmes held out his arm and we advanced the last few feet with extra caution. The last thing we wanted to do was suddenly reveal ourselves in a flood of light.

There was a general bout of raucous welcome as Klaus and Martin were greeted by their comrades. I tried to count how many people were gathered there by discerning their different voices, and decided there were seven or eight—hardly a large gang but more than enough to see us hopelessly outnumbered if our presence was spotted.

Holmes slipped his head around the bend in the tunnel then pressed his lips close to my ear. “We should have a few more feet of darkness to conceal us,” he said. “Tread carefully and keep that gun of yours handy.”

I hardly needed encouraging on either point.

We turned the corner and moved one careful foot at a time, Holmes keeping his eye on where the light fell, judging how close we could get and still remain in shadow were they to look towards us.

The open space was a veritable cathedral of old brick, a central atrium with alcoves around its towering walls. A series of jetties served a central platform. This platform was laid out with tables and chairs, packing crates, other assorted furniture, and provisions —enough for a working camp. The lights were provided by gas lamps strung in diagonal rows across the whole structure. I knew that such impressive sights lay beneath London—feats of engineering both modern and as ancient as the Roman occupation of the city—but I had never imagined they could have been turned to such a purpose.

A pair of narrow gondolas was moored alongside a jetty by way of transport. No doubt the gang could travel the entire length and breadth of the city without ever having to come up into the fresh air.

My rough guess had been accurate—there were five other gang members with Klaus and Martin, bringing the total up to seven.

“Where’s Kane?” Martin asked, dropping into a chair on the central platform.

One of the others, older than the rest, sporting a genuine version of the white hair and beard I was affecting, took a nostril full of snuff and replied, in a nasal tone of voice, “Out on one of the boats, ain’t he?”

“Gone fishing!” another shouted.

“Even he wouldn’t eat what comes out of that water,” a third added. “Most of it’s been eaten once already!”

There was a roar of laughter at that.

Klaus took a seat across the room from Martin. “There is someone who is asking questions,” he said. “We made chase but Martin does not like to run.”

“Crumples his strides, don’t it?” said another in a thick Geordie accent.

“Wears out his expensive shoe leather!” the lavatorial wit from earlier added.

“Couldn’t see the point,” Martin insisted. “They weren’t important, probably just after work.”

“Who wants work?” asked a deep voice. Another gondola appeared from an opposite tunnel. The man inside it had to stoop so as not to lose his hat on the low ceiling. Once out in the open he gained his full height. There was a great deal of it—the man was a veritable giant. His face was covered with a long black net hanging from the brim of his hat that made him look like a beekeeper. He wore a large black overcoat and his large hands were hidden inside shining leather mittens. As he approached the central platform, the effect was that of an overwhelming shadow looming across the water.

“Pair of blokes drinking in the Bucket of Lies, Boss,” answered Martin. “Asking a load of questions about the floaters.”

“Floaters?”

“The bodies, Boss, wanting to know all about it.”

Kane, for there could be little doubt that’s who it was, reached the jetty where the other vessels were moored and stepped up out of the gondola. He tied it up and walked towards the rest of them, his heavy footsteps echoing around the chamber.

“Police?” he asked.

“No,” Klaus replied, no doubt wanting to make it clear to his employer that he had also been present. “You can tell when it is the policemen dressed up.”

“They’re like cheap music hall,” the Geordie said. “All false moustaches and braces.”

There was another bout of laughter at that, with the Geordie prancing around like a cheap theatre act.

“If you could restrain yourself for once, Campbell,” Kane said, “we might get to the truth sooner.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Campbell replied. “Never can resist a laugh.”

“Well, try,” his employer insisted. That huge, veiled head turned towards Martin. “Tell me.”

Martin shifted in his seat, the arrogance and bravado he had displayed earlier now gone. “Klaus and I were having a drink when this pair of blokes came in and started talking …”

“Describe them.”

“One had a shaven head, all inks and scars, you know. An oceangoing feller so he said, and he looked the part. His mate was the spit of Jackson here.” He pointed at the older man, who was scratching away at his long beard.

“They said they came from the Spirit of Mayfair ,” said Klaus.

Kane turned towards the German. “And did you believe them?”

Klaus hesitated for a moment, wanting to give a truthful answer. “Yes,” he said, “I believed them.”

Kane nodded, and turned back to Martin.

“So they were asking about the bodies?”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed. “You know, wanting to know all the grisly details. The shaved one seemed to think it must have been an animal what done it.”

“He said that?” asked Kane. “Not gangs?”

“We know no gang would have done it, Boss,” said the old man.

“We know that, Jackson, but I am interested as to whether they did.”

“Well, that’s what they said,” confirmed Martin. “Though they sounded as thick as this water to be honest.”

“I would trust you to perform many tasks,” said Kane, “but not to judge the intelligence of others. Why did you say they were looking for work?”

“They mentioned your name,” Klaus said.

“Only after someone else did,” insisted Martin. “The old bloke who was doing all the talking, he said it first.”

Kane looked to Klaus. “Did he?”

Klaus shrugged. “I do not remember. But I thought we should question them about it …”

“We followed them for a bit,” Martin interrupted. “But they knew their way around and gave us the slip.”

“They knew you were following?”

“He tried to put one of his knives in them, so they weren’t in much doubt.”

Kane walked over to Klaus, towering over the man. “You tried to kill them?”