“I hope you didn’t get into any mischief with the Baker Street boys this morning,” said Mary.
“Hello to you too, sister dear,” said Diana. “I haven’t been to headquarters yet. I was getting ready to leave when Charlie showed up with a message.
“You didn’t say hello either.” Mary had not felt cross until right this moment, but Diana always had the power to put her back up.
“I have important things to tell you,” said Diana. “Do you want to hear them, or not?”
“Yes, all right, what is it? And come into the parlor, so Justine and Dr. Watson can hear them as well.” Mary assumed whatever Diana wanted to tell them had to do with either Alice or Mr. Holmes.
Diana clambered down the steps, then jumped over the final few to make a resounding thud that annoyed Mary—her boots always seemed louder than anyone else’s somehow. Once they were in the parlor, with Watson looking at them quizzically and Justine saying, “Hello Diana, I hope you had a good morning,” Diana said, “Sherlock Holmes is being kept drugged in the house where those alchemical blokes used to meet. You know, in Soho. Alice is there—she sent a message through the Baker Street boys.”
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” asked Mary.
“Charlie told me Wiggins told him, and some boy I don’t know told Wiggins that Alice told him herself. She promised him that Watson would give him cigarettes. Charlie’s around here somewhere—I think Mrs. Poole is giving him something to eat. That boy has an insatiable appetite.”
As one might say of Diana herself! “That scarcely sounds reliable,” said Mary, frowning. “Who was this boy? Can he be trusted to tell the truth? Although if he says he spoke with Alice…”
“It’s the first lead we’ve had,” said Watson. “We have to follow up.”
“Of course we shall follow up,” said Justine. “Mary, should we—”
“Go to the headquarters of the English branch of the Société des Alchimistes in Soho? Of course,” said Mary. “We have to find out if this story is true. I guess we’ll have to put off our trip to see Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard.” About which she was not entirely sorry. “Justine, if you and I went to reconnoiter—”
“I’m coming too,” said Diana.
“And I,” said Watson.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dr. Watson,” said Mary. “If Professor Moriarty or Colonel Moran are involved, would they not recognize you from the last time Mr. Holmes went up against them? If Justine and I—all right, and Diana, stop kicking at my ankle, you can’t reach it anyway through my petticoats—go, we will be able to reconnoiter without being recognized.”
“What shall I do?” asked Watson. “Should I go see Lestrade and ask for the assistance of the Metropolitan Police? But Lestrade would never believe me on the say-so of a random street urchin. We would need solid evidence that Holmes is being held captive in the Alchemical Society headquarters.”
“Then we shall get that evidence,” said Mary, with grim determination.
“In the meantime, you could come with me, gov’nor.” Charlie was poking his head—he still had a cap on, and smears of jam around his mouth—through the parlor door. “Wiggins is organizing a rescue. He’s sent out a signal—all the boys should be at HQ by this afternoon.”
Mary looked at the both of them with alarm. “Charlie, you are not to launch any sort of rescue attempt before Justine and I—and yes, Diana, I see you glowering at me—can return with enough evidence to convince Lestrade and enlist his help. Dr. Watson, please go with Charlie and try to prevent the Baker Street boys from doing anything foolish! We don’t know enough yet about how Alice and Mr. Holmes are being held or by whom. We need more information before we can take any action. Diana knows the way to the headquarters of the Baker Street boys, which I understand is in Soho? She, Justine, and I will meet you there at—” She looked at her watch. “Oh goodness, it’s almost lunchtime. I think we’d better get something to eat, or we’ll all fall over with hunger. Maybe Mrs. Poole can make some sandwiches, so we can take them with us? I don’t want to lose any time. One for you too, Charlie.”
“Thanks, but I’ll eat with the boys,” said Charlie. “They’ll have fish and chips ordered, with so many showing up. Not that I don’t like Mrs. Poole’s cooking—she gave me one of her jam tarts for elevenses—but it ain’t fish and chips. Come on, Dr. Watson. You can eat with us. Wiggins has already started planning for the raid, but you were a soldier—I bet you could teach us a thing or two!”
“Well, a doctor in the army, but yes, I was sometimes in the thick of the fight,” said Watson. “If you need my assistance, it is yours for the asking.”
“No raid!” said Mary. “Dr. Watson, I’m counting on you to be the figure of authority here. Wait for us to return with more information. Then we can decide on a course of action and contact Scotland Yard.”
“Of course, of course,” said Watson. “Moriarty is a dangerous man, Charlie. You are all brave, resourceful boys, and you have helped Holmes in many ways in the past. But this is a different situation. I would not want any of the Baker Street boys to get hurt.”
MARY: Of course it was Dr. Watson who got hurt, in the end.
CATHERINE: He always does get hurt, doesn’t he? Whether it’s shot, or stabbed, or bitten. Someone needs to teach him to run away from bullets and Beast Men, not toward them!
BEATRICE: You are not being fair to Dr. Watson. He is good, kind, and always loyal.
MARY: Oh, I know. I’m questioning his judgment, not his character. If he had listened to me, he would not have ended up in the infirmary!
DIANA: Because you always know what’s best.
MARY: Not always. Just most of the time.
It was early afternoon before Mary, Justine, and Diana reached Potter’s Lane in Soho and surveyed number 7, which seemed completely deserted.
“I don’t know,” said Mary. “It doesn’t seem as though anyone lives there at all. I mean, look at the condition it’s in.” The paint on the front door was peeling, and the bricks of the building were covered with soot. The door number had long ago fallen off—they could tell it was number 7 only because the buildings on either side were 5 and 9.
“No,” said Justine. “There is someone living there. Look, the windows have been washed. It appears dilapidated on the outside, but someone has been caring for the interior.”
“Oh, you’re right,” said Mary. “I wonder why I didn’t notice that?”
“Remember that I was once a maid,” said Justine. “It is not the sort of thing the lady of the house would notice. If you’ll forgive my saying so, Mary—you have never cleaned windows.”
“No, she’s better at bossing people around,” said Diana. “Aren’t we going to do anything?”
Mary sighed. If only they could have left Diana at home! She put her hand on her waist bag. It has served her well in Europe, and would be more convenient, she had decided, than carrying a purse. She could feel the shape of her revolver. It was reassuring.