Sherlock Holmes-The Army of Doctor Moreau (8 page)

“Shall we?” asked Holmes, strolling up to the door.

I took my revolver out of my pocket and we made to step inside.

I pushed past Holmes into the doorway, determined that, if one of us should be poking his nose into the unknown, there should be a loaded firearm nearby in order to stop it being, as it were, cut off.

I could hear the retreating footsteps of Klaus and Martin, though it was so dark inside I could see nothing. There was a thick, sweet smell of grain and the ground underfoot was slightly sticky as we stepped inside and closed the door behind us.

Slowly our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness; the faint light offered through the skylights above was enough for us to get an idea of our surroundings. The open space of the warehouse was filled with stacked crates and sacks, row after row of them. Holmes climbed up the closest stack and burrowed beneath the tarpaulin. I heard him draw out a pocket knife and tear at the sack underneath. After a moment he reappeared.

“As far as I can tell,” he explained, “it’s nothing more than grain.”

“Hardly criminal.”

He looked around. “Who knows how much of this is just window-dressing?” he said. “Perhaps Messrs Kenton and Waldemar do indeed deal in animal food, with Kane working under their innocuous cover.”

He jumped down and we made our way after Klaus and Martin.

Towards the rear of the warehouse, Holmes bid me to stop as he craned to listen. Just ahead of us there was a rattle of metal and the sound of something being dragged across the floor. We could hear rushing water, accompanied by the sound of Klaus and Martin struggling. Moving closer we saw them, lit by a lantern in Martin’s hand, descending through a hole in the ground.

“I hate this,” Martin moaned. “Why I can’t work for someone who conducts business where it’s dry and clean is beyond me. Have you seen the state of the walkway down there?” He looked up at Klaus. “What am I asking? You probably feel right at home.”

Klaus nudged the man with his toe. “Keep with the talk pretty boy, I’ll send you for a swim down there. Let you float to the river with the rest of the filth.”

Martin paused in his climb down to stare back up at the German. “I have a feeling the two of us aren’t going to work well together,” he said. “I just can’t imagine I won’t end up killing you before the week is out.”

“You make big promise,” said Klaus, mangling his English more than ever.

Martin disappeared and, with a low growl like an irritated dog’s, Klaus followed on after him.

“What charming fellows,” muttered Holmes. “I might advise Kane that he would achieve a great deal more if he could only keep his staff in line.”

“Seems to me he’s doing all right,” I said. “Though, on reflection, I would aspire to a lair located somewhere other than a sewer.”

“Perfect place if you can tolerate the smell,” Holmes replied. “A whole city could be hidden beneath our feet, with invisible access to all parts of the metropolis.”

“All well and good until you die of cholera.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Holmes moved over to the grating which Klaus had slid back into place behind him. “I suggest we give them a few more moments to get clear,” he said. “I am more than capable of following their trail after all. It wouldn’t do to bump into them.”

“Agreed.” I would happily never come face to face with either gentleman again.

Holmes walked over to the closest row of crates and flipped back the tarpaulin. Looking around, he spied a crow bar, fetched it and loosened the crate’s lid. He stepped back as the smell from inside assailed his nostrils.

“Some form of dried meat,” he said, replacing the lid, “packed in strips.”

“Animal food then. As claimed on the outside of the building.”

He nodded, reached into his pockets and withdrew a box of matches. “Shall we go?” he asked, squatting down to lift the drain cover.

I helped him to lift it as noiselessly as possible. Klaus and Martin should have been some way ahead of us by now but the noise would carry down there, and we didn’t want to announce our presence. We stood listening for a moment. Faintly we could hear the sound of talking, presumably the two thugs. It was clearly coming from some distance away. Holmes lit a match and dropped it through the hole. Briefly it illuminated a short ladder leading to a narrow walkway. “It would be wisest to use light sparingly,” he whispered. “To begin with, let us follow the evidence of our ears and be careful where we place our feet.”

“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?”

“No,” Klaus’ voice trembled. He had expected Martin to be on the receiving end of Kane’s irritation, not himself. “Just slow them down.”

“Slow them down?” Kane shook his head, its massive, shapeless
form casting a shadow across the wall. “I imagine a knife in the back would do that, yes.”

“What do you care, anyway?” Klaus asked, becoming even more defensive. “So what if I do kill some worthless navy trash?”

“You kill when I tell you to kill,” Kane replied. “Because you work for me. People who work for me do as they’re told.”

“All right,” Klaus said, holding up his hands. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Kane asked. “Do you understand completely?” He reached out and took Klaus’ hands, pinching them between the shiny black pincers of his leather mittens. “Because you like working for me, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes!” Klaus tried to pull his hands away but Kane held them firmly.

“Good,” Kane said. “Then I will not hurt your knife-throwing hand.” There was a cracking noise as Kane crushed the fingers of Klaus’ left hand. He barely seemed to move, as if all he needed to do was squeeze. Whatever the reason for those strange mittens, they concealed powerful hands.

I drew a breath, suppressing my distaste and fear. It was the tiniest noise, much too quiet to carry as far as the platform. Nonetheless, Kane turned towards us, inclining his head as if craning to listen. The light of the lantern fell behind Kane’s hooded head for a moment and I caught sight of its shape beneath the black netting. It was utterly deformed, elongated and protruding in all the wrong places. No wonder he chose to keep it hidden. Just a glimpse of it had been enough to send a shiver down my spine. If that hadn’t done so then his next words certainly would have done:

“We are being watched!” he said, twisting that deformed head again, this time in the other direction. I was reminded of a pigeon
inclining itself from one side to the other. He inhaled sharply before pointing directly towards us. “There!” he shouted. “Two of them!”

“Holmes,” I said, “run! I shall get us a head start.”