Unknown Read Online Free Page B

it,
most of them with an abandoned appearance.
    I well knew from stories of
Holmes, as well as adven tures
which I had shared with him, that but a block away
the parallel street was garishly lit and much- trafficked,
for it was a center of the slumming area of Soho.
It was replete with gaming establishments, so- called
"private clubs" of ill repute that served as
after- hour-drinking
spots, and even some "houses" in which the
world's oldest profession was practiced. I must in truth
admit that certain young gentlemen who fancied being
called "gay blades" found it exciting to view life in
the raw in such establishments. When some eventu ally
paid the piper via narcotic addiction, staggering gambling
debts, or venereal disease, it was too late. Reason
or words of caution seldom impressed, for the hot
blood of youth-promotes an intoxication of personal immunity.
    My philosophical wanderings were
brought to an end when
Holmes came to a cautious halt at the entrance to a
shabby building, which bore the barely decipherable sign:
austro-eurasian imports. Flattening himself against
the warehouse, he indicated for me to do the same
and we remained frozen for better than a minute, while
Holmes's keen ears were tuned for revealing sounds
and his eyes darted to our right and left, study ing
intently the buildings facing us. Save for traffic noise
that filtered from the adjacent street, the Stygian darkness revealed
nothing. Occasionally a faint limpid ray
of moonlight winked at us, only to be extinguished by
the heavy clouds overhead. Eventually, my friend seemed
satisfied, for gesturing to me to preserve silence, he
tested the warehouse door alongside which we had been
standing. The knob turned stubbornly under his hand
emitting a squeaking sound which seemed to please
him. Holmes had his valise open in a trice and worked
on the lock with a narrow curved instrument. There
was a faint luminosity from the sky now and I recognized
the device as one of those developed by Slim Gilligan,
who had figured in other cases, some of which I
had recorded. If Holmes gave a grunt of satisfaction, it
was barely audible. Extracting the device from the keyhole, he
secured a can of thin lubricating oil, which he
squirted into the lock and then applied to the hinges of
the door as well. He leaned close to my ear.
    "Luck favors the bold,
Watson. This door has not been
opened in a considerable time, strengthening our theory that this
entrance to the Nonpareil Club is not known."
    With another searching glance up
and down the street,
Holmes inserted his burglar tool and soon there was
a click followed by a squeak. Holmes replaced his equipment
in his satchel and then opened the door with no
more than a faint protest from its newly oiled hinges. We
were inside.
    Cobwebs brushed against my face,
further proof that this modern-day monk's hole was untrafficked. I
could hear my own breathing and the soft sound of Holmes's valise
being opened. Then there was a circle of light from
the bull's-eye lamp. The illumination revealed a small
room, obviously office space for the main ware house,
which was on our left. A flight of wooden stairs at
the rear of the room led upward. Holmes swept his light
over the stairs, imprinting their distance and the height
and number of the treads upon his photographic brain.
Then the light flicked out again and my friend's face
was close to mine.
    "The stairs lead up two
flights, ol' fellow. They terminate in a room about the size of
a large closet that is immediately
adjacent to the private card room of the old
club. Through certain sources today, I learned that the area now
serves as Dawson's private office. But in the
old days, this was where unwary dupes were lured into
high-stakes games and Colonel Upwood observed their cards through a
peephole. If said peephole is still operative,
we may owe Upwood a vote of thanks. Though
I have reason to believe that the partition be tween
Dowson's office and what we might term the 'viewing
room'