The Secret Notebooks of Sherlock Holmes by June Thomson Read Free Book Online Page B

our net, I walked on as if I had witnessed nothing, at the same time producing my pocket handkerchief and blowing my nose with a flourish. As I did so, I glanced rapidly about me, searching for Whitey Johnson among the passers-by. He was standing against the wall of a nearby public house, where the customers going in and out of the door would shield him from sight, his crutch under his left arm and his expression so mild and innocent that not even a hardened cynic would suspect him of loitering there with criminal intent.
    ‘Bartlett, too, seemed no more suspicious than any ordinary man in a hurry about his business. Walking rapidly away, he brushed past Johnson as if accidentally. It was in that brief moment of contact that the cloth containing the rings, which was now gathered up into a bundle small enough to be hidden in the hand, was passed to Johnson in one swift, covert movement which a professional magician would not have been ashamed of. The next instant, Johnson had begun to limp hurriedly away in the opposite direction to Bartlett, who passed on down the street, mingling with the shoppers thronging the pavement.
    ‘My target was Johnson and, accompanied by the plain-clothes sergeant, I made haste to catch up with him, for it was obvious he had to distance himself from the scene of the robbery as quickly as possible. But he had one important task still to complete and that was to conceal the stolen rings so that, should he be stopped and searched, nothing would be found on him.’
    At this point in his narrative, Holmes paused and regarded me with a quizzical smile.
    ‘Now, Watson,’ said he, ‘where do you suppose the rings were hidden?’
    ‘Certainly not in his pockets,’ I replied. ‘Those would be the first places the police would search.’
    ‘Well reasoned, my dear fellow! But if not in his pockets, then where exactly?’
    ‘Somewhere on his person?’ I hazarded, hoping for a further clue.
    ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Holmes replied in an infuriatingly casual manner.
    ‘In his boots then?’ I suggested, realising I was clutching at straws.
    ‘Oh, come now, Watson!’ he chided. ‘Surely you are capable of making a leap of the imagination? I have given you all the information you need to reach the right conclusion. No? Then allow me to give you a little assistance. What was Johnson carrying?’
    ‘Carrying?’ I repeated, even more mystified, for Holmes had made no reference to anything Johnson might have had in his hand, such as a bag or some other receptacle.
    Holmes’ eyes were sparkling with mischief. It was evident that he was hugely amused not only by my obtuseness but the opportunity it gave him to tease me.
    ‘Under his arm?’ he suggested, smiling broadly.
    Light suddenly dawned.
    ‘Oh, the crutch!’ I exclaimed.
    ‘Well done, Watson!’ he cried. ‘And what was the crutch made of?’
    ‘Aluminium, was it not?’
    ‘Exactly so! A light-weight metal which is capable of being moulded into different shapes; in this particular instance, a hollow shaft with a cap on top of it which was concealed under the head of the crutch where it fitted into the owner’s armpit. After he had discarded the velvet wrapping, all Johnson had to do was to release this cap and drop the rings one by one downthe shaft of the crutch. Once that was done, he clipped the cap back into place and no one was the wiser. An ingenious hiding-place, was it not? If he was stopped and searched, who would think of looking inside such a piece of orthopaedic equipment? And was it not ironic that this same appliance which had been his lifetime’s support, so to speak, should in more ways than one literally bring about his eventual downfall, as Lestrade pointed out? When one hears stories such as this, one cannot help thinking that Fate is not only inexorable but has its own rather bizarre sense of humour as well.’
    ‘So you found the rings after Johnson was arrested?’
    ‘Indeed we did. Johnson put up no