SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS
Casebook No. 1: THE FALL OF THE AMAZING ZALINDAS
by Tracy Mack and Michael Citrin
Scholastic Paperbacks
ISBN: 9780545069397
Ages 9-12
272 pages
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CHAPTER FOUR
A MEETING AT 221B BAKER STREET
Though it was still morning, the skies had darkened and the fine mist had settled into a steady rain. The Irregulars left the carriage factory at a run with Billy barely managing to keep up. The streets exhaled a distinctly putrid smell of sewage and soot ribboned with horse manure.
As Wiggins turned onto Baker Street, he collided with a police officer and sent him flying facedown into the street. Wiggins stopped. “Sorry, sir. I —”
The officer lifted his face from the mud and glowered.
Before he could get back on his feet, Wiggins yelled, “I’ve clocked a plod, chase the sun!” Then he tore down Baker Street, a few paces behind the rest of the boys.
With a collective howl, they sped through the street, weaving in and out of people, carts, and buggies. The splattered officer gave chase, blowing a mud-clogged whistle. The Irregulars ran straight to 221B and, without ringing the bell, pushed open the front door and charged straight up the steps. In a heap, they tumbled through the door of the flat and into the sitting room.
Watson, startled by the ruckus, spilled a cup of tea onto his lap. “Ohhhh!” he yelped.
Across the room, Holmes sat calmly on his couch, smoking a clay pipe. His demeanor was so relaxed that he seemed to the boys to be in a slight trance. “I thought we agreed, Wiggins, that only you were to appear in my accommodations,” Holmes said, studying the group, water dripping down their faces. Then, turning his attention to Watson for a moment, “Are you all right, my friend? You must be; you’ve been sipping that tea for half the morning.”
Watson dabbed at his wet trousers with a cloth and muttered that he was fine.
Holmes returned his gaze to the Irregulars. “It appears from the sound of police department– issued boots coming up my steps that you boys are being pursued by the law. Please come in, Officer Grey.”
The mud-covered bobby entered the room, breathing heavily, his tall helmet tilted over his eyes. “Don’t worry . . . Mr. Holmes . . . I will run ’em all out of ’ere and straight to the workhouse, the little band of thieves.”
Mr. Holmes’s landlady, Mrs. Hudson, appeared from behind the officer and studied the boys in silent disapproval.
“Take those urchins out of here!” Watson yelled, climbing out of his chair and laying the wet cloth on the table in disgust.
“Gentlemen, please, these boys, though ragtag, are part of my organization. Officer Grey, you certainly are not accusing them of a crime, are you? It appears from your muddied uniform that you have had an unfortunate accident. Which of you boys has run into the officer? Speak up.”
Wiggins raised his hand.
“Of course, Wiggins, leading the pack as always.”
Wiggins blushed. A few of the other boys began to jeer.
“Enough, enough,” Holmes said. “Officer Grey, I am afraid that this whole incident is my fault. I summoned the boys, and they were responding to my call when the accident occurred. To remedy the trouble we have caused you, may I offer the services of my landlady, Mrs. Hudson? I am sure she would be happy to help clean your uniform. I imagine she may fix you an early lunch as well. Mrs. Hudson, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Mrs. Hudson gave Holmes a flustered look. “Mr. Holmes, really. Follow me, Officer.” She waved to Grey, who pushed his helmet back on his head, glanced at the boys disdainfully, and stomped out.
“Right. Now, all of you, ’tention.”
The Irregulars lined up, standing with hands at their sides and chins forward. Holmes walked down the line of boys, inspecting them.
“Still rat catching, Wiggins.”
“Only when business for you is slow, sir.”
“I thought I saw that ferret of yours moving around under your coat.
“And you, small one, mud larking can be dangerous, even when the tide is out. Be careful walking in the Thames.” Holmes pointed to the mud lines above Alfie’s ankles.
Alfie’s eyes went wide, then blinked uncontrollably as he blurted out, “Eeeeyyes.”
Holmes continued down the line of boys and stopped in front of Rohan. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, lad. Bengali?”
“East End,” Rohan replied.
“First generation then,” Holmes continued.
“Yes, sir. Me mum and dad was born in Calcutta — but they’re dead now,” Rohan answered with uncharacteristic verbosity. He didn’t know why, but something about Master made him want to talk.
Holmes nodded a silent acknowledgment and then looked at Elliot. “And you must be the tailor who keeps all these boys in their breeches.”
“How’d you know that?” Elliot asked.
“The calluses on the thumb and forefinger of your right hand and the squint lines at your eye creases are all characteristics of a tailor. There is also your colorful attire.” He nodded to Elliot’s fine coat and trousers, made from patched squares stitched together. “And, of course, someone has sewn all these moccasins, apparently from a single hide.” Holmes nodded matter-of-factly at the boys’ feet. Then he continued down the line. “So, Watson, what do you think of the troops?”
Watson raised his brow, twitched his mustache, and said with a pained expression, “With troops like these, we would have lost India long ago.”
“I don’t agree,” Holmes said smartly, turning back to the boys. He gave a sharp double clap of his hands. “Now to business. Today, your job, I am sure, will have more than some appeal to you all. You are to conduct a surveillance of a circus. You must use your eyes, but also your ears.”
Holmes picked up a newspaper off the couch. “ ‘Last night at approximately eight thirty . . the world-renowned tightrope team, the Amazing Zalindas, fell to their deaths while performing in the main tent of the Grand Barboza Circus. Though the incident is being investigated by the police, the three deaths are thought to be a tragic accident — one of the most horrific ever reported in the history of show business — caused by a faulty rope that snapped,’ ” Holmes read. “I believe there may be something more afoot.”
Holmes handed the paper to Wiggins and started pacing. “You are to survey the Grand Barboza, mix with the performers, and learn what they say about the unfortunate Zalindas. Observe and absorb. We do not have much time.”
Commotion erupted in the flat as the Irregulars spoke of their assignment.
“The circus is on the outskirts of St. John’s Wood. I have arranged transportation for you. Try to stay out of trouble and learn what you can. I will appear with Watson in due course. I do not want it known that you are my agents. Only Wiggins is to have contact with me on the grounds. Now, if I am not mistaken, I hear the cart pulling up beneath our window.”
The boys ran to the window to see.
“Your usual salary of a shilling per day each plus expenses still applies. Here is a day’s pay and some extra in advance for your expenses. Remember, this is work.” Holmes filled Wiggins’s palms with coins and waved him to disperse them among the Irregulars. “There is an extra guinea for the one who brings me the biggest lead.”
The boys cheered as they stampeded out of the apartment and down the stairs. In the vestibule, Alfie kissed a weary Mrs. Hudson on the cheek. “I’m goin’ to be a rich boy!” he shouted before following the others into the damp late morning air, where the tiniest wisp of sunlight beckoned like a promise.
Excerpted from SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE BAKER STREET IRREGULARS: Casebook No. 1: THE FALL OF THE AMAZING ZALINDAS © Copyright 2009 by Tracy Mack and Michael Citrin. Reprinted with permission by Scholastic Paperbacks. All rights reserved.
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