Dare Quest - Sherlock Holmes Read online

  They took the bag between them and walked to a nearby house to make the delivery.

  They had just left the house when they saw a boy unlike any other they had seen before. He was carrying a big, heavy sack over his right shoulder. His face and skin were black with dirt, his clothes were torn and filthy and he wore no shoes. His face showed he was cold, hungry, tired and desperate, in one word: misery.

  “What’s happened to you?” Anthony asked.

  The boy looked at Anthony with sorrowful eyes. This was the first time anyone had cared for him. Before he could answer a cruel man hit him with a cane from behind.

  “Move on, you!” the man said.

  “What are you doing?” Edward said in horror.

  “Mind your own business!” the man growled. “This is my boy. I bought him. Now shove off or you’ll get a taste of this!” he said and held the cane up threateningly.

  The brothers were shocked.

  “How can he buy a boy?” Anthony asked.

  Edward shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know. Let’s go back and get our bread. We can ask the tradesman.”

  When the tradesman heard their story he shook his head.

  “I told you there was no such thing as a free meal. Here are your buns. Let that be a lesson to the two of you. Honest work will get you an honest reward, going after a free meal will have you end up in misery. Mark my words!”

  They ate their buns hungrily and yet they felt unhappy.

  “That poor boy,” Anthony said finally.

  Edward nodded. “We should do something about that.”

  “What about our quest?”

  “I think it can wait a bit,” Edward said. “Let’s see if we can find that man again who’s stealing children.”

  “Stealing?” Anthony asked.

  “Of course. Offering free bread and then asking us to go with him was just a trick. The tradesman is right. There are no free meals in life. If that man offers us free bread and wants us to come along and then we see a boy who has been bought, that means he wanted to do the same with us.”

  Now Anthony understood. He was grateful that his big brother had stopped him from taking the bread and he felt very angry with the man for being so mean.

  “Look!” he said suddenly and pointed with his hand. “There he is!”

  The smarmy man, that deceiver and stealer of children was walking down the street with a contented look on his face. Behind him three boys and two girls were walking happily. One of them was eating a piece of bread. They were all dreaming of the wonderful life that was waiting for them in the big country house of that kind-hearted gentleman who would be giving them free food, nice clothes and a warm bed to sleep in.

  3

  Lady Cecilia Mottershead was the sister of the late Sir Cecil. The actions of the police did not inspire her with confidence. She had been very fond of her eccentric brother and wanted to revenge his murder, though she did not know how.

  When her good friend Lady Hamilton heard of the terrible events she drew close and whispered “My dearest, poor Cecilia, there’s only one thing to do. You must consult with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Cecilia said, “ but is he to be trusted?”

  Lady Hamilton sighed and said “I too, once took recourse to his services in a, eh, most delicate matter. If there’s anyone in the world who can help you, it is he.”

  When Lady Cecilia took a seat in Sherlock Holmes sitting room she felt apprehensive.

  “Please,” Holmes said, “just tell me everything.”

  He sat in an armchair and closed his eyes while he listened intently. When she had finished he looked at her.

  “Did your brother have any visitors recently?”

  “Visitors?” She shook her heard.

  “Did anyone at all visit his home, or maybe I should say enter his home, no matter who?”

  She shook her head again. “He would have told me. We had no secrets from each other. Someone came to sweep the chimney a fortnight ago, but that’s all.”

  “A chimneysweep?” Holmes said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, but hardly relevant,” Lady Cecilia said.

  Holmes looked up suddenly and smiled briskly. “Leave the matter with me, Lady Cecilia.”

  He jumped up from his seat and opened the door for her. “Please,” he said.

  Lady Cecilia stood up slowly feeling a little confused.

  “You’re taking the case then?” she asked.

  Holmes gave her a brief smile.

  “Certainly. Now if you please...” he said with a slight bow and held a hand out towards the door. He was already thinking about the case when he remembered that Dr. Watson wasn’t there to help his client out with a few reassuring words.

  “He gave her another brief smile and said “You shall hear from me, Lady Cecilia.”

  After she had left him Holmes lit his pipe and spent some time sending whirls of smoke in the air while thinking matters over until a familiar sound of footsteps coming up the stairs announced a welcome visitor.

  When the person on the stairs had reached the door and was about to knock, Holmes called out “Come in, Watson.”

  The door opened and Dr. Watson came in.

  “How the deuce did you know it was me?” he said.

  Holmes gave him a disapproving look.

  “Haven’t you learnt anything here?” he asked.

  Dr. Watson was taken aback by the rude question. He took a deep breath, thought carefully and said “You were expecting me back soon, the sound of my footsteps is familiar to you and Mrs. Hudson didn’t announce me so it had to be someone you knew.”

  Holmes clapped his hands slowly.

  “Quite right, old chap. I may yet make a detective out of you one day.”

  They sat down together and Holmes related what had happened.

  Dr. Watson listened carefully, then shook his head.

  “There seems to be little to work on. A chance burglary with the burglar surprised. He murders the man who surprises him. I can see no clues leading us to the murderer.”

  Once again Holmes shook his head disapprovingly.

  “Quite the contrary, my dear Watson. It’s all clear to me. There are only a few details missing,” the great detective said.

  Dr. Watson looked at him in surprise.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Mrs. Hudson came in. “There is a, eh, person to see you, Mr. Holmes,” she said.

  Moments later a dirty, ragged boy entered the room.

  Holmes gazed at him with interest. A visit from one of the ‘Baker Street’ boys usually meant useful information.

  The boy informed him of two unusual boys who had refused to go with the man offering bread, but who had decided to follow him in secret a short while later.

  “Unusual?” Holmes said. “In what way?”

  “Well, sir, Mr. Holmes,” the boy said, “their clothes are clean and tidy but nothing like anything what anyone wears here, if you get my meaning.”

  Holmes frowned.

  “You mean they’re wearing foreign clothes?” Dr. Watson asked.

  The boy shook his head. “No, sir. It’s nothing like anything you’ve seen before.”

  There was nothing else to report and Sherlock Holmes gave the boy a shilling. The boy was delighted at the unusually large sum and grinned happily.

  “Find out where those boys are going, who they are following and anything else that strikes you,” Holmes said to the boy.

  4

  Shade from a small copse of tall trees helped to further obscure a building already half-hidden behind tall bushes and the dense foliage of trees. The building stood on the bank of a river, not far from the village church, and yet the peace and tranquillity, the seeming bliss could not altogether hide the fact that beneath the shade of the trees and hidden within the building lay a darker reality which lay in painful contrast.

  The poor, hungry children from London happily followed the man who had lure
d them. When they approached the building we just mentioned the children’s happiness grew into a delighted ecstasy. Here then was the paradise promised to them! The man never seemed to look back and so Edward and Anthony became bolder in following him. From a distance the worn character of his suit and top hat was not visible and he did look rather well-dressed. From time to time the man, this latter day Rat Catcher of Hamelin, glanced at the children following him. Anthony and Edward watched from behind some bushes as this small group of people reached the house. The man knocked and the door opened to admit them.

  “What shall we do now?” Anthony asked when the door closed.

  Edward thought for a moment.

  “Let’s get closer. Maybe we can look through the windows.”

  They approached the house cautiously. Fortunately the bushes went almost up to the walls of the building. From the last bush they dashed across the lawn to a corner of the house.

  “There we go,” Edward grinned and whispered, “no one’s seen us.”

  Behind a half drawn curtain stood the evil man. And behind him stood the poor children from London, their hands now tied behind their backs. They were confused, they didn’t understand.

  The man watched Anthony and Edward dash across the lawn. He was no fool. He had dealt with children far too long to be tricked by any of them. On their way from London he had observed the two boys regularly as they tried to follow him without being seen.

  “There ain’t no fooling Tom Pilkington,” he muttered with a brief smarmy smile.

  And so Tom Pilkington, for this was the name of the rat catcher, that evil villain and enemy of children, turned away from the window.

  Outside, the two boys carefully crept up to the nearest window. They slowly raised their heads until they could look inside. What they saw appalled them.

  “Look!” Anthony whispered. “Their hands are tied.”

  Edward nodded. He remembered poor little Bob and what the friendly tradesman had told them.

  “We’ve got to save them,” he said. “If we don’t…”

  Heavy hands came down on their shoulders and grabbed their arms tightly. The boys struggled, but in vain.

  “Got you!” Tom Pilkington beamed. “Thought you were clever, eh? Thought you could follow me from London and be smarter than me, eh?”

  He wagged a big finger in front of them.

  “You didn’t want my bread but you came with me anyway,” he said and laughed. “Take them in,” he said to the men holding Edward and Anthony.

  In spite of their best efforts Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were unable to find out any more about the murder of Sir Cecil. They had interviewed everyone at Sir Cecil’s home, yet apart from the vague reference to a ‘well-dressed’ man there was nothing else they could discover. This put Holmes in a bad mood. His active mind needed information to work on. One day went by thus, and another. On the third day the boy he had sent to follow Anthony and Edward came back to report.

  “And you’re sure they were caught and taken into the house?” Holmes asked.

  The boy nodded.

  “Ha!” Holmes said loudly and tossed another shilling to the boy.

  Mrs. Hudson, who had been by the door, didn’t understand why Holmes should be so happy about two boys getting caught by criminals, yet she was happy that Holmes was in a good mood again.

  “Mrs. Hudson!” Holmes called. “Send for Dr. Watson immediately. Get me my coat and my hat!”

  Not long after the great detective and his friend Dr. Watson were sitting together in a railway carriage.

  “This is a most serious matter, Holmes,” Dr. Watson said. He felt for his revolver. It was concealed under his coat and he only took it along on a few unusual and exceptional cases. Crime was always a serious matter, but stealing children was one of the most despicable crimes Watson could think of.

  From the railway station they took a coach to the house that concealed so much evil.

  Dr. Watson knocked and a servant opened the door.

  “Yes?” she said.

  Holmes gave her his card.

  “Please announce us,” he said.

  The woman scowled at the card.

  “Please come in, sir,” she said. “Wait here.”

  She went to the master of the house, Mr. Jeremiah Hyde.

  He looked at Holmes’ card.

  With a frown and a scowl he went to see the unwelcome visitor. He entered the room where Holmes and Watson were waiting and greeted them with the briefest of smiles.

  “Good day, gentlemen!” Mr. Hyde said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  Holmes noted Mr. Hyde’s discomfort and flashed a smile before he said “We were passing through this charming little village of yours when we saw your house and wondered if you would be so kind as to give us some directions and information.”

  Holmes walked across the room to the very same window Edward and Anthony had looked through. While he did so, he noted every little indent in the carpet, every little thread or other clue that was invisible to other people, but which stood out like a gleaming gold nugget to the eyes of the great detective.

  The sound of voices came from an adjoining room.

  “Take the village church,” Holmes went on, “I believe it’s late thirteenth century, isn’t it?”

  He turned back to look at a visibly irritated Hyde.

  “I suggest you enquire at the church,” Hyde said feeling vexed. He didn’t believe a word Holmes was saying and wanted to get rid of him as fast as possible.

  The voices in the other room were getting louder.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Hyde said.

  Suddenly there was a loud crash of falling furniture in the other room and a man yelled at the top of his voice “Help! Murderers, child snatchers, murderers! Help!”

  Holmes and Watson dashed to the door.

  “Stop!” Mr. Hyde shouted.

  Holmes ignored him and opened the door while Dr. Watson drew his revolver.

  A well-dressed gentleman, about sixty years old, was struggling against two much younger men who had grabbed him by the collar.

  Holmes and Watson rushed into the room closely followed by Mr. Hyde.

  “Leave my house immediately!” Hyde shouted.

  Dr. Watson pointed his revolver at the men by the window.

  “Step back,” he said with a commanding voice.

  The revolver was the deciding argument. The men stepped back and the elderly gentleman walked over to Holmes and Watson while Hyde and the other men looked on in silent fury.

  “And who are you, sir?” Holmes asked the gentleman who was shaking with anger and desperation.

  “My name,” he said gratefully, “is Archibald Waverly. I am from the Society for the Abolition of Slavery.”

  “Slavery has been illegal for a long time,” Dr. Watson said.

  “Ha!” Mr. Waverly said. “Illegal, yes, but eradicated no! I’ve been on the trail of a gang of the most wicked and nefarious criminals who will stop at nothing, not even at stealing and enslaving children.”

  Mr. Waverly went red in the face as he looked at Mr. Hyde.

  “And these men you see here, sir, are at the very heart of the conspiracy, of this horrible crime,” Mr. Waverly shouted.

  “How dare you insult me so!” Mr. Hyde shouted back. “This is my house and I will not be so vilely accused!” he said furiously and advanced threateningly towards Waverly.

  “I believe Mr. Waverly was just leaving,” Holmes said. “Come on, Watson.”

  Sherlock Holmes took Mr. Waverly by the arm and pulled him towards the front door. Dr. Watson was still holding his revolver.

  “Very well,” Mr. Hyde said seething with anger. “And make sure you don’t come back!”

  5

  Edward, Anthony and some other children had their hands and feet bound by some rough men. When everything was ready Mr. Hyde came to inspect them. He gave a satisfied nod. The front door was opened and a heavy coach d
rew up.

  “All right, then,” Mr. Hyde said. “Take them.”

  Several children began to cry.

  “They’re too noisy,” a man said.

  “So gag them,” Hyde replied.

  The men took some old cloths and stuffed them into the children’s mouths before tying another cloth round their heads that held each gag in place.

  The children were terrified and their eyes bulged wide open in fear. They tried to scream but all that could be heard through the gags were muffled sounds.

  “That’s better.” Hyde said. “Now off with you!”

  The men carried the children out and loaded them onto the coach. When they had finished they closed the flap. The coach now looked like any other coach in the country that was used to transport farm produce or other things.

  After several days of agonizing journey the coach reached its destination – a colliery.

  A colliery is a coal mine. Work in a coal mine was hard, very hard. Miners didn’t see the light of the sun for weeks or even months at a time. The air was full of coal dust that slowly filled the workers’ lungs so that many of them died early. It was a dangerous job. Gas and collapsing tunnels often killed the miners.

  The owners of a colliery often only cared about earning more money from the coal they sold. The miners were only a troublesome necessity and paying them a wage to do this hard, dangerous work was something the owners of a colliery didn’t like to do. Every penny they paid to a miner meant a penny less to pay for their own luxurious lifestyle, their opulent mansion, extravagant parties and expensive clothes. While most mine owners had no choice but to pay their miners a wage, even if it was very little, some of the more unscrupulous mine owners forced children to work in their mines.

  Children were not paid any money.

  If they died no one asked about them.

  They were easy and cheap to come by.

  They were forced down into the dark, dangerous tunnels. There they either had simple tools to hew out the coal or they were forced to push and pull the heavy carts laden with coal. The tunnels were so low even children couldn’t stand. They spent all day crawling through the darkness. Only some of them were given a candle to work with, many others had to work in total darkness.

  It was Hell on Earth.