Bones in London

Bones was sitting upright now, his eyes shining. The amazingpossibilities of such an acquisition were visible to his romantic eye.

"You want to sell it, my poor old Sherlock?" he demanded, then, remembering the part he was called upon to play, shook his head. "No,no, old thing. Deeply sorry and all that sort of thing, but it can'tbe done. It's not my line of business at all – not," he added, "that Idon't know a jolly sight more about detectivising than a good many ofthese clever ones. But it's really not my game. What did you want forit?"

"Well," said the young man, hesitating, "I thought that three years'purchase would be a bargain for the man who bought it."

"Six thousand pounds," said Bones.

"Yes," agreed the other. "Of course, I won't ask you to buy the thingblindfolded. You can put the accounts in the hands of your lawyer oryour accountant, and you will find that what I have said is true – thatmy father took two thousand a year out of his business for years. It'spossible to make it four thousand. And as to running it, there arethree men who do all the work – or, rather, one, Hilton, who's in chargeof the office and gives the other fellows their instructions."

"But why sell it, my sad old improvidence?" said Bones. "Why chuckaway two thousand a year for six thousand cash?"

"Because I'm not well enough to carry it on," said young Mr. Siker, after a moment's hesitation. "And, besides, I can't be bothered. Itinterferes, with my other profession – I'm a musician."

"And a jolly good profession, too," said Bones, shaking hands with himacross the table. "I'll sleep on this. Give me your address and theaddress of your accountants, and I'll come over and see you in themorning."

Hamilton was at his desk the next morning at ten o'clock. Bones didnot arrive until eleven, and Bones was monstrously preoccupied. WhenHamilton saluted him with a cheery "Good morning," Bones returned agrave and non-committal nod. Hamilton went on with his work until hebecame conscious that somebody was staring at him, and, looking up, caught Bones in the act.

"What the devil are you looking at?" asked Hamilton.

"At your boots," was the surprising reply.

"My boots?" Hamilton pulled them back through the kneehole of the deskand looked at them. "What's the matter with the boots?"

"Mud-stains, old carelessness," said Bones tersely. "You've come from

Twickenham this morning."

"Of course I've come from Twickenham. That's where I live," said

Hamilton innocently. "I thought you knew that."

"I should have known it," said Bones, with great gravity, "even if Ihadn't known it, so to speak. You may have observed, my dear Hamilton, that the jolly old mud of London differs widely – that is to say, isremarkably different. For instance, the mud of Twickenham is differentfrom the mud of Balham. There's what you might call a subtledifference, dear junior partner, which an unimaginative old rascal likeyou wouldn't notice. Now, the mud of Peckham," said Bones, waving hisforefinger, "is distinguished by a certain darkness – "

"Wait a bit," said Hamilton. "Have you bought a mud business orsomething?"

"No," said Bones.

"And yet this conversation seems familiar to me," mused Hamilton.

"Proceed with your argument, good gossip."

"My argument," said Bones, "is that you have Twickenham mud on yourboots, therefore you come from Twickenham. It is evident that on yourway to the station you stopped to buy a newspaper, that something wason your mind, something made you very thoughtful – something on yourjolly old conscience, I'll bet!"

"How do you know that?" asked Hamilton.

"There's your Times on the table," said Bones triumphantly,"unopened."

"Quite true," said Hamilton; "I bought it just before I came into theoffice."

"H'm!" said Bones. "Well, I won't deceive you, dear old partner. I'vebought Siker's."

Hamilton put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

"Who's Siker's?"

"Siker's Detective Agency," began Bones, "is known from one end – "

"Oh, I see. Whew!" whistled Hamilton. "You were doing a bit ofdetecting!"

Bones smirked.

"Got it at once, my dear old person," he said. "You know mymethods – "

Hamilton's accusing eye met his, and Bones coughed.

"But what on earth do you expect to do with a detective agency, Bones?"asked Hamilton, strolling across and lighting a cigarette. "That's atype of business there isn't any big demand for. And how is it goingto affect you personally? You don't want your name associated withthat sort of thing."

Bones explained. It was a property he could "sit on." Bones hadalways been looking for such a business. The management was capable ofcarrying on, and all that Bones need do was to sit tight and draw adividend.

As to his name, he had found a cunning solution to that difficulty.

"I take it over, by arrangement with the lawyer in the name of 'Mr.Senob,' and I'll bet you won't guess, dear old Ham, how I got thatname!"

"It's 'Bones' spelt backwards," said Hamilton patiently. "You triedthat bit of camouflage on me years ago."

Bones sniffed disappointedly and went on.

For once he was logical, brief in his explanation, and convincing. YetHamilton was not altogether convinced. He was waiting for theinevitable "but," and presently it came.

"But of course I'm not going to leave it entirely alone, old Ham," said

Bones, shrugging his shoulders at the absurdity of such a suggestion.

"The business can be doubled if a man with a capable, up-to-date conception of modern crime – "

Hamilton made a hooting noise, derisive and insulting.

"Meaning you?" he said, at the conclusion of his lamentable exhibition.

"Meaning me, Ham, my fat old sceptic," said Bones gently. "I don'tthink, dear old officer, you quite realise just what I know aboutcriminal investigation."

"You silly ass," said Hamilton, "detective agencies don't criminallyinvestigate. That's done by the real police. Detective agencies aremerely employed by suspicious wives to follow their husbands."

"Exactly," said Bones, nodding. "And that is just where I come in.You see, I did a little bit of work last night – rather a pretty littlebit of work." He took a slip of paper from his pocket. "You dined atthe Criterion at half-past eight with a tall, fair lady – a jolly olddear she was too, old boy, and I congratulate you most heartily – namedVera."

Hamilton's face went red.

"You left the restaurant at ten past nine, and entered cab No. 667432.