The Final Page of Baker Street Read Online Free Page B

Chandler?”
    â€œHow curious you should ask. For while the policeman was performing his gallant duties, I found the boy outside still manning his position at the window. Even after the licentiousness had evolved into a simple police matter - the rounding up and arresting of the two culprits - those procedures seemed to fascinate him as well.”
    â€œGo on,” I said, fascinated and repelled at the same time.
    â€œI introduced myself to the lad, explaining that I was in the employ of his mother. At first he was quite incorrigible. He even denied his self-gratification; I imagine that he always will. But when he tried to bolt, I grabbed his arm. He kept trying to shake me off, but at last I managed to flag a hansom; and after a short, silent journey to Auckland Road, I was able to reunite the discomfited boy with his mother. I refused any remuneration, of course, and I explained to Mrs. Chandler in only the most general of terms what had happened. Actually, I told her that her son had been engaged in some school-wide pranks; and that while they were generally harmless, I nonetheless suggested that she consign young Raymond’s free time to some more useful activity - perhaps in a trade or job of some sort.”
    â€œWell done, Holmes,” I applauded. “At least, you spared a distressed mother the anguish of learning how low her disreputable son had fallen. Another case completed. I’m sure Mr. Bannister at the College will hear of your success as well.”
    Only after I had registered this approval did I feel at ease enough to mop my perspiring brow with my serviette, sample a final biscuit, and make ready to depart. It was time I left for Queen Anne Street and my wife.
    Sensing my intention, Holmes made a request. “Before you leave, do be a good fellow and be so kind as to ring that bell.” As he spoke, he pointed to the unfamiliar piece of crystal sitting next to the teapot.
    â€œWaterford!” I exclaimed, observing more closely the iridescent sparkles that flashed from the gracefully cut facets. “That’s not like you, Holmes.”
    â€œA gift from Mrs. Chandler,” he explained, “she’d brought it from Ireland. But here at Baker Street it’s become a newly instituted requirement - as you are about to see.”
    With a mischievous smile, he again pointed to the bell.
    I arched a sceptical eyebrow, but lifted the dainty instrument and tipped it back and forth. No sooner did the charming little ring dance through the air than I heard the tattoo of rapid footfalls ascending the seventeen steps to Holmes’ sitting room. Whose? I wondered; they were much too quick to belong to Mrs. Hudson.
    The mystery of their ownership was immediately solved by the appearance at the door of a young man of medium height dressed in burgundy livery. He stood at attention looking very serious, his shining hazel eyes, however, unable to conceal his anticipation. With his thick dark hair combed straight back from his broad brow, he had a handsome, angular face marred only by a slightly misshapen nose that afforded him a kind of toughness.
    â€œDr. Watson,” Holmes said formally, “may I present to you Mrs. Hudson’s newest page. For the small sum she pays him, he comes up from Dulwich by train on his free afternoons and spends much of the weekend with us here at Baker Street.”
    My mouth dropped open. It was Peeping Tom himself, now obviously an attendant to our long-suffering landlady. Holmes had suggested that the boy’s mother should secure him a trade or a job, yet it was obvious that Holmes himself was the one responsible for getting the young rogue this position.
    â€œStudent number 5724,” Holmes said. “Master R.T. Chandler.”
    I was about to nod in his direction when the boy had the cheek to announce: “As I’ve already told you, Mr. Holmes, I prefer the American way of saying names - just ‘Raymond.’” He