"What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character for
infallibility."

"He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting him down
from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you
consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day, it
is no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It
is much used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor
Toby is not to blame."

"We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."

"Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently
what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that
there were two different trails running in opposite directions.
We took the wrong one. It only remains to follow the other."

There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place
where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle
and finally dashed off in a fresh direction.

"We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place
where the creasote-barrel came from," I observed.

"I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the
pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are
on the true scent now."

It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont
Place and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran
right down to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden
wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this, and there stood
whining, looking out on the dark current beyond.

"We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boat
here." Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the
water and on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each
in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.

Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a
wooden placard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai
Smith" was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath,
"Boats to hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above
the door informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement
which was confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty.
Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, and his face assumed an
ominous expression.

"This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than I
expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I
fear, been preconcerted management here."

He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a
little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a
stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.

"You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back,
you young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like
that, he'll let us hear of it."

"Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What a rosy-
cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would
like?"

The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," said he.

"Nothing you would like better?"

"I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after some
thought.

"Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!"

"Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most
too much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at
a time."

"Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry
for that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."

"He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell,
I am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about
a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well."

"I wanted to hire his steam launch."

"Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone.
That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her
than would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been
away in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job
has taken him as far as Gravesend, and then if there was much
doin' there he might ha' stayed over. But what good is a steam
launch without coals?"

"He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."

"He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard
him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags.
Besides, I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face
and outlandish talk. What did he want always knockin' about here
for?"

"A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise.

"Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once
for my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and,
what's more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in
the launch. I tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my
mind about it."

"But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders,
"You are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you
possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the
night? I don't quite understand how you can be so sure."

"His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and
foggy. He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show
a leg, matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man
woke up Jim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so
much as a word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on
the stones."

"And was this wooden-legged man alone?"

"Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have
heard good reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?"

"The Aurora, sir."

"Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very
broad in the beam?"

"No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river.
She's been fresh painted, black with two red streaks."

"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am
going down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora
I shall let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you
say?"

"No, sir. Black with a white band."

"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-
morning, Mrs. Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry,
Watson. We shall take it and cross the river.

"The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as we sat
in the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that
their information can be of the slightest importance to you. If
you do, they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you
listen to them under protest, as it were, you are very likely to
get what you want."

"Our course now seems pretty clear," said I.

"What would you do, then?"

"I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of
the Aurora."

"My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have
touched at any wharf on either side of the stream between here
and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of
landing-places for miles. It would take you days and days to
exhaust them, if you set about it alone."

"Employ the police, then."

"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment.
He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything
which would injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for
working it out myself, now that we have gone so far."

"Could we advertise, then, asking for information from
wharfingers?"

"Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at
their heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is,
they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they
are perfectly safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will
be of use to us there, for his view of the case is sure to push
itself into the daily press, and the runaways will think that
every one is off on the wrong scent."

"What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we landed near Millbank
Penitentiary.

"Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an
hour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-
night again. Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep
Toby, for he may be of use to us yet."

We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes
despatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked,
as we resumed our journey.

"I am sure I don't know."

"You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police
force whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"

"Well," said I, laughing.

"This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they
fail, I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That
wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect
that he and his gang will be with us before we have finished our
breakfast."

It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of
a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night.
I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I
had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion
on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract
intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto
went, I had heard little good of him, and could feel no intense
antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a
different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to
Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was
ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it
it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would
be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a
thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I
had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up
wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast
laid and Homes pouring out the coffee.

"Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an open
newspaper. "The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have
fixed it up between them. But you have had enough of the case.
Better have your ham and eggs first."

I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was
headed "Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."

"About twelve o'clock last night," said the Standard, "Mr.
Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was
found dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul
play. As far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were
found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of
Indian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his
father has been carried off. The discovery was first made by Mr.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular
piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member
of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood
Police Station, and was on the ground within half an hour of the
first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at once
directed towards the detection of the criminals, with the
gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already
been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an
Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named
McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were well
acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical
knowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabled him
to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have entered
by the door or by the window, but must have made their way across
the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room
which communicated with that in which the body was found. This
fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively
that it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic
action of the officers of the law shows the great advantage of
the presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful
mind. We cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those
who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized, and so
brought into closer and more effective touch with the cases which
it is their duty to investigate."

"Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup.
"What do you think of it?"

"I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being
arrested for the crime."

"So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should
happen to have another of his attacks of energy."

At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could
hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of
expostulation and dismay.

"By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they
are really after us."

"No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial
force,--the Baker Street irregulars."

As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the
stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and
ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline
among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly
drew up in line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of
their number, taller and older than the others, stood forward
with an air of lounging superiority which was very funny in such
a disreputable little scarecrow.

"Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp.
Three bob and a tanner for tickets."

"Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In future
they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have
the house invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that
you should all hear the instructions. I want to find the
whereabouts of a steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai
Smith, black with two red streaks, funnel black with a white
band. She is down the river somewhere. I want one boy to be at
Mordecai Smith's landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if the
boat comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do
both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Is
that all clear?"

"Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins.

"The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the
boat. Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!" He handed them
a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw
them a moment later streaming down the street.

"If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes,
as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. "They can go
everywhere, see everything, overhear every one. I expect to hear
before evening that they have spotted her. In the mean while, we
can do nothing but await results. We cannot pick up the broken
trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith."

"Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,
Holmes?"

"No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never
remember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me
completely. I am going to smoke and to think over this queer
business to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man
had an easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men
are not so common, but the other man must, I should think, be
absolutely unique."

"That other man again!"

"I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. But
you must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the
data. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked
feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned
darts. What do you make of all this?"

"A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians who were
the associates of Jonathan Small."

"Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strange
weapons I was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character
of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the
inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none could
have left such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and
thin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well
separated from the others, because the thong is commonly passed
between. These little darts, too, could only be shot in one way.
They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find our
savage?"

"South American," I hazarded.

He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the
shelf. "This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now
being published. It may be looked upon as the very latest
authority. What have we here? 'Andaman Islands, situated 340
miles to the north of Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum!
What's all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair,
convict-barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods--Ah, here we are.
'The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim the
distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though
some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger
Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average
height is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults
may be found who are very much smaller than this. They are a
fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming
most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been
gained.' Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen to this. 'They
are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small,
fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands,
however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are
they that all the efforts of the British official have failed to
win them over in any degree. They have always been a terror to
shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed
clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These
massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.' Nice,
amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own
unaided devices this affair might have taken an even more ghastly
turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a
good deal not to have employed him."

"But how came he to have so singular a companion?"

"Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had
already determined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is
not so very wonderful that this islander should be with him. No
doubt we shall know all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you
look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I
can put you to sleep."

He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself
out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own,
no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have
a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the
rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully
away upon a soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-
land, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.