Had I really done so remarkably badly on this case? The question plagued me on the train ride back to Wall Lake that afternoon. Holmes had been unreasonable, of that I was certain, but to what extent was he right? And if I had been more patient, would he have allowed me to stay by his side?
I did my best to put it out of my mind, but I was in a dark mood indeed when the train pulled into the station, and was surprised to see the clouds had turned even darker and it had begun once more to snow in earnest. I hoped Holmes would not be snowed in at Sac City, but part of me thought it would serve him right. I sighed heavily and began slogging through the old and new snow toward the inn. Once there, I stoked the fire and paced restlessly for a time, feeling as though I should do something but lacking the focus to do it. Dinnertime came and went, and I began to feel as though I would go mad if I did not leave my little room. I pulled on my overcoat and decided to take a walk, despite the darkness and foul weather. I had barely walked ten steps when a male voice called out to me from the other side of the street.
"Doctor Watson!"
I turned and squinted. "Lawler?" I called back, for his wiry figure and unique voice made me suspect it was the eccentric inventor.
"It's me all right," he said, trotting across the street. "But what brings you out in this weather?"
I shrugged.
"Holmes send you out in this?" he asked.
"No, I sent myself out in it," I said with a rueful smile.
Lawler raised an eyebrow. "Anywhere in particular you're headed?"
I shook my head.
"How about the tavern?"
"Sounds as good as anywhere," I replied.
He clapped me on the back. "First pint's on me!"
I laughed. "Well, I don't intend to go past one, but that's very kind of you."
"Nonsense," Lawler waved me off as we turned our feet in the direction of the public house. "You look like you need it."
Though I did not say so, I rather thought I did. As Holmes would so often point out to me, I am not good at keeping my emotions from showing in my face.
"Watson," said Lawler, breaking me out of my reverie. "What's Holmes up to this evening?"
I shook my head. "I am afraid I'm not at liberty to say." I did not attempt to keep the dejection from my tone.
"That bad, eh?" said Lawler.
I shrugged.
"Then I'm buying your first two."
The public house—or tavern, as the locals called it—was a squat wooden building which went by the colourful name of The Cornhusk Saloon. By the time we reached the place, I was too chilled to do more than put one foot in front of the other. The warmth and noise of the tavern was a welcome relief from the chill and howling wind outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind us. The air was heavy with the smells of whiskey, beer, and sweat, and a haze of cigarette smoke seemed to dim and diffuse the light of the gas lamps placed periodically on the walls. The head of a taxidermy deer adorned the wall over the bar at the front, where a bald man stood cleaning a glass. Lawler led me to a stool in front of him.
"Evening, Wilcox. Two pints of beer on me," Lawler said to the barman.
"Cash on the barrelhead," said Wilcox, wagging a finger. "No charity off me tonight."
"Come off it, I've got the money," said Lawler. He slapped a quarter on the counter.
The barman smiled and filled two glasses. "Surprised a crazy coot like you got somebody to drink with." His grin was clearly visible, despite his large, dark moustache.
"'Coot' my ass," replied Lawler. "You're nigh on three years older than me."
Wilcox laughed and shoved the mugs in our direction."So who the hell are yeh?" he asked me, not unkindly.
"Doctor Watson," I said, holding out my hand to shake.
"Dean Wilcox," he replied, shaking my hand. "You're one of those detective fellows, aren't you?"
"I am indeed," I replied, taking a swig of the beer. It was not as bad as I expected.
"How goes it?" he asked. "'Cause from the talk I've heard, it's been tougher than sticking a wet noodle up a wild cat's ass."
I gave an involuntary snort. "A colourful, and surprisingly accurate description."
"Ain't it though?" replied Wilcox with a grin.
"I'm here to keep my mind off it, to be honest," I replied.
Wilcox nodded knowingly. "This is the place to do it. Plenty more where that came from," he added, gesturing to my glass.
The tavern was quite busy, with most seats filled and voices talking over one another to be heard. It was not a large space, but large enough for the little town, it seemed.
"Is it always this busy?" I asked.
Lawler shrugged. "Not during harvest or planting, that's for sure. But it's too cold today to do much of anything, and a number of folks are still snowed into town. The railways are cleared much more quickly than dirt roads, especially when the stuff keeps coming down."
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see that the stool next to me was now occupied by none other than Jack Kelly, the oldest of William Kelly's children.
"Young Mr. Kelly!" said I. "Lawler here was just telling me that some country dwellers were marooned in town due to the weather."
"Yes, sir," the lad replied. "Me and my dad are stuck here till morning, at least."
"You don't seem all that upset about it," I said with a chuckle.
The boy grinned. "Not at all. It means I get to come to the tavern. 'Course, Dad only lets me get one drink, but that's all right."
"Bet yer boots it's all right, lad," said Mr. Kelly with a snort.
Lawler chuckled. "You don't need any more than that," said Lawler. "At your age, a drink or two can make you more comfortable, but more than that, you'll make a fool of yourself." He cast a sideways glance at Kelly. "If only your father listened to his own advice."
"Now then," said Kelly in a warning tone, "what's that supposed to mean?"
Lawler laughed. "Just that some evenings, it's a good thing your horse knows the way home."
"Shut your gob," he returned without malice, waved a hand, and turned to me. "Good to see you again, Doctor. And Jack, don't forget what Frank and Will asked you to tell the Doctor if you saw him."
"Oh, right," replied Jack, who had clearly forgotten.
Kelly nodded. "Keep him out of trouble, Lawler; I need to have a quick word with McGloin."
"Sure thing," replied Lawler.
Jack turned to me. "My brothers would love it if you'd drop by sometime so they can talk your ear off and show you some things they've collected. Mostly jars of rocks, I think, but probably also that little brown caterpillar they rescued. And Will is still in awe that a single adult in the world didn't shout at him for sneaking away from school."
I chuckled. "Well, it wasn't my place to do so, and it's my least favourite part of minding children. I shall certainly come by if I find I have a chance, but Holmes keeps me fairly busy."
"Thanks," replied Jack. "But what brings you here to the tavern?"
I took a moment to determine the phrasing of my answer. "Holmes and I have experienced a considerable setback."
Jack cringed. "You're at the tavern to keep away from it all for a bit, I reckon. Your friend's got a bit of a temper, has he?"
"Something like that," I replied. Better for the lad to believe that than to tell him a truth I still found too shocking for words: that after all this time, he still did not trust me.
"He'll come round," said Jack. "Just you wait. Even the worst of things look brighter in the morning." His face darkened, and he added more softly, "Hugh told me that once. I've never forgotten it and he's never been wrong."
Lawler spoke. "He had a wise head on his shoulders, that Deputy Hieman did."
"Anyway," said Jack. "That's enough of sad talk. I'll bet you've had some interesting times, working with Mr. Holmes. Anything that would make a good story?"
I grinned. "There are plenty I could spin into an interesting story; the trick is remembering the details well enough to only tell one at once."
Jack laughed.
"Come now," said Lawler. "There's bound to be at least one you recall well enough."
If two people wanted to hear a story, I supposed I must oblige them. Before Holmes and I left for America, I had been drafting a tale which was later published under the title "The Speckled Band," and decided to tell that one. Now, I do not mean to flaunt any little talent of mine when I say that I have a knack for storytelling, even more so aloud than on paper. Even so, I was surprised to see that as I recounted the tale to Jack and Lawler, others seated nearby ceased their own conversations to listen. By the time I was recounting how Holmes and I lay in wait in Miss Stoner's room, I had the attention of a third of those in the tavern. Their eyes widened when the snake entered the darkened bedroom and jaws dropped when I described the horrible scream Roylott made as he died in the next room. When the story was finished, I received a round of applause and two beers.
"That's some story!" said Wilcox, the barman. "I heard you were a soldier, in the Brit's Afghan campaign. Have you any stories from there?"
"Few with happy endings," I replied, taking a gulp of beer.
"Come now," said a man in glasses, whom I recognised as Johanson, a farmer I met at the inn and saw again on the train. "There must be one."
I shook my head. "No, I'm sure somebody else has a better war story than I do."
"Ah, well. Old Pattison's got one you should hear." Johanson looked around. "Is Pattison here?" he asked the fellow next to him, who shrugged. "Anybody seen Old Pattison tonight?" he repeated more loudly.
"He's in the outhouse," called a gruff voice from a few tables away. "But I've got a better story than he does." The man who had spoken made his way to the bar, and I gave him my seat, taking my drinks to a table nearby. It took me a moment, but I recognised him as Bingman, the hard-of-hearing landlord of the late Silas Albright.
"Right," he said. "I'm sure you've all heard this one before, but I can't remember telling half of you, so it doesn't count."
A few laughs arose from the men nearby, and conversations which had begun after I told my tale gradually ceased once more.
"I was nigh on forty-three when the war started, so I had to enlist four times before they let me in. But as soon as they did, they put me under this young idiot of a lieutenant, who liked to go about with his nose in the air, acting like his shit don't stink. Well, me and another fella of like mind got together one night..." Bingman went on to recall a half dozen pranks pulled on his condescending superior, culminating in the man losing his title to one of Bingman's comrades. The account was far-fetched, but I was a sheet or two to the wind too far to mind and laughed along with the others.
My watch told me it was time I left, and I said so, but several of those sitting nearby stopped me.
"You had your break; let's hear about another case," said Pattison, the postmaster, who had rejoined the group partway through Bingman's story.
I looked to Lawler, who nodded emphatically along with young Jack. It took very little to keep me from trading the uproarious energy of the tavern for silence and my grim thoughts, so I racked my brain for another story, one lighter than the Helen Stoner case. I settled on one Holmes and I had only just completed two weeks prior to leaving England, so the details were still fairly fresh in my mind. It is not a case I intend to write or publish, due to its highly unsatisfactory conclusion, but there were a few anecdotes worth telling. And tell them I did.
"Our client insisted that we come and go through the back garden," I explained, "which would have been easy enough, had the gate been unlocked at the appointed hour and a clearly angry bulldog not been roaming the yard."
"Did you go in anyhow?" asked Jack.
"I didn't, but Holmes did," I replied. "Then I was the one who had to sew the idiot's shin back together!"
There were a number of gasps and chuckles, and I realised I held the attention of over half of the patrons of the tavern.
I then told of Holmes' decision to tail someone who seemed incontrovertibly related to the case. Unfortunately, instead of catching him meeting with supposed political contacts, Holmes discovered, in a rather awkward manner, that he had a mistress in Sussex.
At that, there was gasping and roars of laughter all round, and Wilcox declared I'd earned a beer on the house.
Near the culmination of the case, I found myself sprinting down the street, attempting to stick near Holmes as he dashed through an alley, scaled a four-story building, and chased his quarry across several rooftops.
"I have no idea how that fellow got himself up there," I said. "He was...a very heavy man."
"A what man?" asked Bingman, cupping a hand to his ear.
"Built like a brick shithouse," Lawler supplied loudly.
"Something like that," I chuckled. "Anyway, this large fellow got himself onto the roof of that building and took off running. He made it across half a dozen buildings before Holmes caught up to him and tackled him. He clapped handcuffs on the fellow's wrists and looked quite proud of himself for a moment, before he realised there was no way to get back down."
"What'd you do then?" asked Jack.
"I had to call the fire brigade to find a tall enough ladder," I replied with a grin. I laughed along with my audience as I recalled Holmes' expression as he sat on that rooftop with all the people on the street stopping to stare up at him.
When the chuckles and questions died down, but before anyone could offer me another beer (I would already regret having five in an evening and did not want to risk making it six) I told them that it was well past time for me to leave.
"Aw, come on, Dr. Watson," said Jack.
"Quit your whining, son," said Kelly. "We're leaving too. Church is at eight tomorrow."
"I know," replied Jack. He turned to me. "Good seeing you again, and thanks for the stories."
"You are very welcome," I replied with a grin.
A handful of other gentlemen thanked me for coming or even shook my hand as I made my way to the door and out onto the street. I was a tad unsteady, and Lawler kindly opted to ensure I reached the inn without falling upon my face in the snow.
"That was a pleasant break from this case," I told Lawler.
"I rather thought it would be," he replied with a smile. I bid him good night and retreated to the warmth of the inn.
It sometimes seemed rare, while involved in Holmes' line of work, to come across such kind-hearted people. If nothing else, this evening served as a reminder that they were still there. There was a smile on my face as I made my way down the hall to my room. I fell asleep almost before I fell into bed.