The Wayward Prince--A Daughter of Sherlock Holmes Mystery by Leonard Goldberg

Author:Leonard Goldberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Baker Street Irregulars

The following morning, just before noon, Miss Hudson briefly rapped on our door and allowed the Baker Street Irregulars to enter, which brought a smile to my father’s face, for they reminded him of his exciting days with the long-dead Sherlock Holmes. There was a most interesting history behind the Irregulars which few were aware of. The Great Detective had somehow gathered up a gang of street urchins whom he employed to aid his causes. They consisted originally of a dozen or so members, who could go anywhere, see everything, and overhear anyone without being noticed. When put to the task, they had a remarkable success record. For their efforts, each was paid a shilling a day, with a guinea to whoever found the most prized clue. Since Holmes’s death, most of the guttersnipes had become ill or drifted away, but their leader, Wiggins, remained and took in new recruits to replace those who had departed. At present, the entire group had dwindled down to three, which included Wiggins, Little Alfie, and Sarah The Gypsy.

“Got your message, I did, and came at my quickest,” Wiggins said in a deep Cockney accent. “That’ll be two shillings for the ride over, if you please, ma’am.”

Joanna handed him several coins and carefully inspected the trio, all of whom had on their best clothing, anticipating their assignment would be similar to the one given them some months ago.

“Your attire looks very good indeed,” said she. “But unfortunately it is not appropriate for the mission ahead.”

“We can change in a flash,” Wiggins responded. “Tell us what you have in mind, ma’am.”

“I require an individual to be followed.”

“Easily done.”

“From a pub in Whitechapel late at night.”

“And the name of the pub?”

“It is called The Rose and Lamb.”

Wiggins hesitated, giving the matter more consideration. In his mid-twenties, he was tall and thin, with hollow cheeks and dark eyes that continually danced around at his surroundings. “What hour are you speaking of?”

“After ten, in all likelihood.”

“That might present problems.”

“How so?”

“We will be dealing with deserted streets which have only unlighted lampposts, and the fog lately has been a real pea-souper.”

“Five pounds says it can be done.”

“Oh, I am certain it can,” Wiggins said at once. “But I will need the particulars, starting with his transportation. If he arrives and leaves by motor vehicle, I shall have to make arrangements to have my good friend Georgie borrow a taxi from the garage where he serves as a security guard.”

Joanna shook her head. “I do not believe he would use a motor vehicle, for it would draw too much attention from the people in the pub. He is supposedly a refugee from Belgium, who managed to escape before the Huns took over his country. Anyone other than the gentleman drifters, who always arrive by automobile or carriage, would arouse suspicion.”

“Good, good,” Wiggins approved. “If he is a local, he will walk; if a visitor, he will probably take the tube.”

Little Alfie stepped forward and nodded at the leader.

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