Unknown Read Online Free Page A

spur with
long rowels. This case is now a bequest. We must not fail."
    "Good show, Holmes! Matter of
honor and all that."
    "Then there's Barker to be
considered. From the message
which he left for me, it is obvious that he earned
the money Lindquist paid him. There can be no doubt
that he uncovered a connection between Baron Dowson
and the Golden Bird."
    "Else why would he have
secured employment at the Nonpareil Club?" I agreed, disposing
of the last remnants of my sandwich.
    Holmes paused to favor me with a
smile.
    "Excellent, my dear Watson. I
note an improvement in
your inferential thinking."
    Imbued with this praise, I went
one step further. "Since
Barker was investigating matters at the Nonpa reil,
no doubt that is where you plan to launch your own inquiry."
    "Exactly," replied
Holmes. "This point of embarcation suggests a trump card in our favor." Noting my look
of puzzlement, he hastened to explain; "It was in 1888
that our attention was directed to the atrocious conduct
of Colonel Upwood and the card scandal at the Nonpareil.
Surely you recall that the club was a haven for
card sharps and others of larcenous intent. Since it served
as a hideout for wanted men, there were en trances
and exits not recorded in the original designer's blueprints."
    My mind flew back to this
notorious case, one of the most
unusual in Holmes's career up to that point.
    "Of course. The secret
entrance from the warehouse behind the club through which Victor
Lynch, the forger, attempted to make his escape."
    "You are in rare form, ol'
fellow. Fortunately, you never
chose to make that case history available to the reading
public and the matter was not dealt with in de tail
by the journals of that period. My thought is that we
may be privy to information regarding the Nonpareil Club
that Baron Dowson, its present owner, is not."

3
    The
Battle at the Nonpareil Club
    19
    And so it was that we departed
shortly thereafter from
Baker Street, looking for all the world like a cou ple
of swagmen. Holmes had a bull's-eye lantern, an as sortment
of first-class burglar tools in a valise, and his walking stick that
concealed the vicious blade of Toledo steel, which he was capable of
handling with such dex terity.
The weight of my Smith-Webley was reassuring in
my overcoat pocket. My intimate friend had a dis taste
for firearms and I often contended that he had been
born several centuries too late as regards lethal weapons.
However, if called upon, he could be ex tremely
accurate with a revolver of small recoil, as evidenced by his
occasional indoor target practice with his ridiculous single-shot
Continental "salon" piece.
    The driver of the hansom we hailed
was surprised at the
address in Soho that Holmes gave him. And small wonder,
since this section seemed hardly appropriate for
two staid middle-aged men of respectable appearance. However, he
whistled to his horse and soon we were
approaching the Thames. Needless to say, Holmes had
not directed him to our eventual destination but a convenient
intersection some distance away.
    As we alighted from the
conveyance, the driver was still
concerned.
    "Would you be wishin' fer me
to wyte, gov?" he asked.
    "No need, good man,"
replied the great detective, pressing
a coin into the driver's hand. "My thanks for your
concern."
    Holmes's jaunty wave of farewell
had a confidence which I did not share. The night was dark and the
dank smell of the river added to the chill in the air . As the hansom
clattered away, Holmes led us into a narrow alley
and, taking me by the elbow, guided my steps over cobblestones
and around corners without pause. As I have
mentioned in other recountings of our adventures, his
knowledge of the geography of London was un canny,
especially so in those havens of the lawless.
    It took us about ten minutes,
traveling a devious route,
to arrive at a street that barely qualified for the name.
It was a scant two blocks in length and there was not
a light on it. Various ramshackle buildings studded