Chapter 25 Chapter 23 Fleet Street Adventure

In fact, I did not see Miss Rocklin again until Tuesday, October 13th, and during that anxious period I received not a single word from Holmes.According to Lestrade, the people at Scotland Yard were very discouraged.Rumors of jewish massacres and deranged doctors were so rampant throughout the region that the best they could do was keep the peace.Unable to pinpoint the Ripper's identity, they endured slander from all quarters, but as if that wasn't enough, they now face an additional burden: on Friday, November 9, most of the police force will be deployed to guard His Majesty the Lord Mayor's magnificent annual parade.

As can be imagined, with the burden of the Whitechapel mystery and Holmes' disturbing absence, I had to devote my daytime hours to working out my psychological turmoil without wandering too far from Berg Street. place, lest the situation suddenly deteriorate.I can't read novels, the atmosphere in the club doesn't interest me, everything is boring.On that sleepless Tuesday night, I attempted to violate my friend's ban by documenting a case I filed under "The Adventures of the Third Candle"; I had just decided that a glass of red wine would do me more good than harm when I heard The doorbell rang eagerly downstairs.

I knew Mrs. Hudson had gone to bed early, so I hurried down the stairs fully dressed—and I was fully dressed because I hadn't meant to go to bed yet.When I drew the bolt back, I was surprised to find that it was Miss Rocklyn and Stephen Dunloway. "Dr. Watson, please forgive us for interrupting us so late," Deng Lewei said, "but Miss Rocklin is determined to strike while the iron is hot." "You are very welcome. In any case, I was looking forward to Miss Rocklin's visit." Once upstairs, I opened the wine and got out two extra glasses.Dunloway sat in a wicker chair, and Miss Rocklin stood proudly in front of the fire, as if an orator about to make a proclamation.After I sat down too, she put the glass on the mantel and pulled a small object from her underwear.

"Doctor, this is a gift for you." She grinned cheerfully, and at the same time threw a small piece of metal across the air. After I caught it, I opened my palm and looked at the thing. a key. "Okay," I said, laughing out loud. "I joined. What can this key open?" "Leslie Tavistock's office." "Dear Miss Rocklin!" "I'm interested in seeing if this Dunloway has any use for anything other than following good people," she said cheerfully, sitting on the arm of the sofa, "but I know that taking any step without Mr. It will make you worry, and your worry is justified, so as soon as we got the key, we ran here and handed it to you."

"Mr. Deng Lewei, would you like to elaborate on how this thing fell into your grasp?" The young man cleared his throat. "Well, Ms. Mengke did you a favor by showing up at my door last Thursday and explaining to me that she believed that since I was a reporter, and journalists are sociable by nature and always scrambling to learn about the latest developments, she couldn't imagine I don't have any acquaintances at the London Chronicle. Miss Rocklin's guess is not entirely correct, but it can be said to be correct, because I have a friend at the "Star", he and another person named Harding Very close, and the man was an employee of the London Chronicle."

"I see. Then?" "The young lady's idea - and I'd say it's a very clever one, if I may - was to force Harding to make a copy of a Tavistock key. Actually, we don't have to coerce him at all. .” "Tavistock is a complete rascal," put in Miss Rocklyn, "and you can see that from the way he is after Mr. Holmes." Deng Lewei quickly restrained a gentle smile that was about to burst out, and then continued: "As Miss Rocklin said, in the "London Chronicle", there is no one as popular as Leslie Tavistock People are disgusting. After a few days of work, I met up with Harding for a beer in the company of our mutual friends, and then came up with the idea of ​​spoofing the most unpopular man in the press, which earned me a mountain of compliments .”

"Prank," I repeated once, and saw a blissful simplicity of heart in their plan. "What kind of prank are you up to?" "Oh, I daresay we'll do something good with paint, and there's always a dead rat to consider," said Miss Rocklin, with a sort of cheerful coolness, "not far from Dunloway's East End place, There's a horse butcher. And of course, once we're in the office—" "This little joke may take more time than we thought." I concluded. "All his papers are on the side. It would be a pity not to go through them, doctor?"

"Wait. We don't know the working hours of Tavistock, or more precisely, the opening hours of the building itself." "Harding has been very eager to provide all the information," Dunloway explained. "He seems to have investigated an incident, but when Tavistock got wind of it, he stole his report. He copied Tavistock. Ke's office key, and the duplicate key was delivered to me a day later. It's impossible to get into that building unnoticed during the week because, as you must know, the newspaper office is open at all times. Saturday night is the only time it's clear, Because they don’t publish on Sundays. Harding said they would spread out to the pubs around that area, or go home to their families.”

"What security measures are in place while the building is closed?" "Because our mission is so noble, Harding is prepared to lend us his key to the outer door. As for security measures, the office does not feel the need to employ night guards. No doubt there will be some officers on duty nearby. , but that's easy to do." "Racking his office like this will make us look immoral," I warned. "Perhaps so, but for good reason, and injustice is well known. Mr. Holmes has a right to know who made those libelous rumours, and though he seems to accept my assertion of innocence, I would very much like to have it confirmed."

"It's very worrying to think about what Tavistock would do if we got caught." "I know, doctor," said Miss Rocklin sympathetically, "but if you go and re-read those two articles that don't even deserve to be wrapped in dead fish, you'll immediately take heart." I can say without being humble and without fear of contradicting myself that I have never been the type to avoid danger when it came to the interests of my fellow men. "Saturday," I mused, "gives us three full days to perfect our plans." "And who knows if Mr. Holmes will be back by then!" cried Miss Rocklin. "But if we still can't even see his shadow, at least we can try to clear up a little black spot in this goddamn mess."

"Miss Rocklin, Mr. Dunloway," I said, rising from my chair, "I want to toast you. This glass is for Sherlock Holmes, and I wish him good health." Caught in such a mind-numbing sense of uncertainty, the mere thought of having a mission to undertake can't help but lift my spirits.Later that night, when I finally blew out the bedside candles, I began to wonder if inaction was so torturous to a mind as radiant as my friend's, that a syringe and a A bottle of 7 percent solution seemed to be the only way to survive. Our program has grown rapidly.Miss Rocklin kindly went around the building selling handkerchiefs until a policeman came and warned her to leave.Then she followed him quietly, noticing that his patrol route would lead him directly through the doorway.A fledgling burglar has reason to be anxious about this, but for someone with a set of keys, it's hardly worrying.What's more, the kind Harding informed us that Tavistock's offices do not face directly on the street, so lights can be safely lit there, since in the darkness of the surrounding buildings, those lights will never attract attention of. We had some discussion at first as to who would try to carry out the mission, but Miss Rockleen refused to be left behind, and we felt that Dunloway's presence was equally necessary, so I faced the situation and broke into the Lesley Tower In Verstock's office, it is best for the brave trio to work together.We met on Fridays, worked out a set of emergency stories, and booked eleven o'clock the next evening, when our nocturnal adventures would begin. At a quarter past ten that Saturday night, I walked south as far as Oxford Street, and hailed a cab, and as the air was so much cleaner, the last wisps of mist clung to the windows like a child's. Playful as a toy ribbon, it lures passers-by who can't see their faces into the darker night.We approached Strand Street by the Haymarket, and I got out of the cab ten minutes before the appointed time.I turned down a side street, went down the steps of a small bar, and greeted Miss Rocklin and Mr Dunloway, who occupied a small corner table.As far as I can see, the oil lamp that lit that table was never cleaned. "Ladies and gentlemen," announced Stephen Dunloway, a smile on his mustache as we raised our glasses, "to Alister Harding, a vindictive and Energetic, enthusiastic people." "Miss Rocklean, did you bring that bag?" I asked. She kicked a small burlap bag with the tip of her boot. "In that case, let's go. Miss Rocklin, we will meet you in ten minutes." Leaving Miss Rocklin seated at the table in the gleam of light, Dunloway and I strode past the last stately building on Strand Street, past the Temple Bar where once stood a great stone arch , and thus into Fleet Street, the raucous heart of the British press.The place was quiet at this late hour on a Saturday, and the general movement of passers-by seemed to be leaving rather than entering. Dunloway approached the front door of 174 Fleet Street, announced in hard black letters that it was the home of the London Chronicle, and inserted Mr. Harding's key in the lock.Seconds later we were in the vestibule, and Dunloway pulled a blackout lantern out of his baggy coat. "I don't see any sign of anyone here." He said cautiously with a silent mouth. "We'll be sure of that when we get upstairs." With painstakingly silent steps, we advanced up the stairs to the second floor, where we saw no light but our own lantern light.I knew where to go, and after passing the public space, we went straight to the second office, which was only secured by a single lock.I drew the key from my pocket, and opened the door. Deng Lewei fully opened the eyelet of the blackout lantern, and immediately the room was filled with light.There were papers all over the desk, and file folders on the shelves, and some open for reference.We began to rummage through the scattered papers and books, carefully maintaining their order so as not to reveal the true purpose of our night visit.For several minutes we read every sheet of paper we could get our hands on, when Dunloway whistled low to get my attention. "Hello! There's something here." I put aside the messy scribbles on the page I took, and turned to look at the piece of paper that Deng Lewei took, which read: Then, at the bottom of the page was scrawled: "For God's sake, Dr. Watson, I never thought he was making more rubbish like this." "I admit I was terrified, but this one is uglier than all the rest put together." "But look, this page can't have been written by Tavistock. The handwriting is different." I heard the outer door creaking from downstairs. "What kind of documents are those?" I asked. "Here is the beginning of an article, and here is a letter, signed by Tavistock, which has not yet been sent. These documents are written in the same handwriting as most of the files on the desk. The note concerning Mr. Holmes must have come from that rough source." Miss Rocklin came in and closed the door behind her. "So what now?" "This note seems to have been written from the source of all this trouble," I said. She looked over from behind me. "A man's handwriting. Mr. Holmes will read something in it." "I'll give him this note, but let no one know that anything is missing here." I thought about it, copying the loathsome passage into my notebook. "Is there an envelope in there?" asked Miss Rocklin.We dug one out of a basket stuffed with crumpled paper.She quickly emerged from under the table, her face flushed with pride. "The date is Saturday the 20th. The paper fits the envelope, addressed to Leslie Tavistock, The London Chronicle. It's the same typeface! We can take the envelope, because no one will remember it whereabouts." We found more documents, but no new intelligence.The same man wrote three other letters to Tavistock, once arranging a meeting, and twice delivering new news about Holmes, but the news has already had disastrous consequences, so we have learned nothing new. Information.In the end, as the hour approached one o'clock in the morning, I advised everyone to leave. Dunloway and I looked around the room for the last time to make sure we had left no identifiable trace when Miss Rocklin picked up the burlap sack she had placed against the wall and, with a courtly air, tossed the bag away. The contents of the bag were placed on the table, and with a final nod of her head, she threw the bag into the trash can. We found our way downstairs.As I held the doorknob in my hand and pushed towards the world outside, I was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps.I signaled my companions to back off.But I myself was almost out of breath, silently praying to hear the same footsteps leave, only to be dismayed when someone tried the doorknob and cautiously pushed it open. At this moment, Stephen Dunloway opened the shade of the lantern and jumped to the door, holding up his hand as if to open it, when a policeman with a gray beard entered the room with a baton in his hand. "Oh, I say, Mr. Inspector, you really frightened me," cried Dunloway. The burly man put his baton back in his belt and eyed us suspiciously. "Can you tell me, what are you three doing here? There's never anyone in this building at a time like this on a Saturday." "Indeed, my dear sir. But I confess you have given us a great fright." "No doubt," he replied curtly, "you have a set of keys, don't you?" "Indeed. I must say, sir, that if you were always checking locked doors when you were on patrol, I would have admired you for being so conscientious about your policing." "I tied the locked door, most of us do. But the rope snapped." "Oh! You are very careful in your work. What is the name of this police officer...?" "Brillley." "Okay, so Officer Briarley, my colleague and I would like complete privacy in order to interview this young lady." "Why do you want to do this?" "She claims to have had invaluable advice on the Ripper murders." Miss Rocklin nodded shyly, half of her body was hidden behind my shoulder. "Then why do we have to meet in a newspaper building where no one is there in the middle of the night?" "Officer, this is very dangerous information," she whispered. "Well, miss, if you have information about the Ripper murders, you must tell me how you came to know." "Please, sir," she said tremblingly, "they'll come after me, I know it." "Who will come after you?" "His friends. They'll murder me in my sleep." "Well, my dear," said the officer in a calm tone, "if you are in any danger, we will protect you." "You don't know them! If I talk too much nonsense with the people of Scotland Yard, it will kill me." "Nevertheless, I must insist on this." "Well," said Miss Rocklin, in the agony of agony, "I know who the murderer is." "Which one is it, then?" the patient police officer demanded. "Prince Albert Victor." I did my best to look at Miss Rocklin like a very disappointed and very annoyed reporter.However, this is difficult to do. Sergeant Briarley sighed heavily. "Is it really him? I'll break the shocking news to my superiors. For now, you three, you'd better go about your business. I strongly recommend that you take your business home and do it for a moment. Don't delay." We walked back down Strand Street in silence for three blocks without speaking until we were completely free of Officer Briarley behind us, and Stephen Dunloway laughed reassuringly. "Albert, Prince Victor?" "I'm sure he'll be delighted to know, his name just popped up," commented Miss Rocklin. "Miss Rocklean, you are incomparably wonderful. Well, Dr. Watson, I do hope this envelope will be of some use to Mr. Holmes." "You can rest assured, I will let you know the follow-up news." "In any case, the evening has been very satisfying. Miss Rocklin, I wish I had the honor of inviting you to ride back to the East End with me in a cab." "I promise you. Oh, Dr. Watson, I really hope we can help Mr. Holmes." "Anyway, we've done Alister Harding a favor," Dunloway announced cheerfully, "and I'll give him the key back in the morning. I have no doubt that when he hears the news he'll be all London." The happiest man."