4 Going Underground

Chapter 4 Going Underground When I entered his rooms that night, I found Holmes in lively conversation with two men. One of them I recognized as the police detective Peter Jones. The other was a tall, thin, sad-faced man in a dignified hat and coat. "Ha! Our party is complete," cried Holmes, buttoning up his cape and taking his heavy hunting stick from the rack. "Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones of Scotland Yard. May I introduce Mr. Merryweather, who is joining us on tonight's adventure."

"It should be quite a chase," said Jones. "I just hope it won't be a chase of the wild goose variety," muttered Merryweather sourly. "Have more confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the policeman. "He has his own methods, which are, I'm sure he won't mind me saying, a little unusual, but he has the makings of a great detective in him. Once or twice he's been even more correct in his deductions than the official police." "If you say so," said Merryweather. "Still, I'm sorry to miss my card game. It's the first Saturday in twenty-seven years that I've missed it."

"I think you'll find the game we'll be playing tonight far more exciting than any you've experienced at the card table, Merryweather," said Holmes. Jones nodded. "The fellow we're hoping to snag is none other than John Clay, the infamous murderer, thief, and forger. He may be young, but he's at the top of his profession with a brain as cunning as his fingers. I'd rather have my handcuffs on him than any criminal in London. I've been on his trail for years, and though I've seen signs of him at every turn, I've never yet set eyes on the man himself." "I hope to have the pleasure of introducing the two of you tonight," said Holmes. "Now, it's past ten and time we got started. We have two hansom cabs waiting outside. If you two take the first, Watson and I will follow in the second.

As Holmes and I rattled through the labyrinth of gas-lit streets, he told me about our companions. "Merryweather is the director of a bank and has a personal interest in this matter. Jones is a little slow, but as brave as a bulldog and as steadfast as a lobster once he gets his claws into someone." At length we reached the same crowded street we had found ourselves on that morning. "Here we are," said Holmes, "and they're waiting for us."

After we paid the drivers of our cabs, Mr. Merryweather led us down a narrow passage between the newspaper shop and the bank, and then through a side door. The short corridor beyond ended in a massive iron gate. Merryweather took out a heavy key and opened the gate, then led us down a flight of spiral stone steps. At the bottom was another sturdy gate, which required another key to open. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern before leading us along a dark underground passage. After opening a third door, he showed us into a huge cellar, which was filled with piles of crates

and massive boxes. Holmes took the lantern from Merryweather and gazed about him. Looking up at the ceiling, he remarked: "The roof looks sturdy and thick. You are not very vulnerable from above." "Nor from below," said Merryweather, striking his stick upon the stone floor. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he heard the hollow sound. "Dear me," he said, "I had no idea there was anything under there." "Merryweather!" barked Holmes. "You have just endangered the entire mission. Now kindly take a seat on one of those boxes over there and don't do or say anything else."