4.
Inspector Morse leaned on the brick wall by the corner with his eyes fixed on the building across the street. He have with him four constable armed with the baton and knuckle duster. The later was approved for use by the Inspector given the task they were to face. The Inspector was armed with a Webley which was more of personal hand me down piece from his father, a Colonel in the old army who served then in the darker continent.
“Inspector, do you think….”
“Don’t think so much, Lewis old chap. We will wait ….”True to those words, Inspector Morse saw the signal that appeared on the upper level window. The hand waving the red kerchief was the agreed signal.
“Move in now!” Inspector Morse called out. His men in their blue uniforms raised the batons and charged across the street with another two more group form the sides. All in then were twelve constable and three officers including the Inspector.
Inside the three level building, there were shuts of warnings and soon chaos prevailed there when the occupants were alerted to the raid by the authorities. The occupants there numbered to over ten guards and some others in the back rooms. The guards were the one who rushed to grab the weapon there lined by the wall. The choice of weapons was limited to the machetes, axes and the huge fish hooks mounted on the long pole.
“Secure the doors!” One of the occupants took command of the guards but he was too late to the task. The double door panels were kicked in before it could be latched. The blue uniformed boys had the entry then and they went to action. The guards went into action to protect their establishment and soon the batons were deflecting the deadly weapons. The Inspector had his pistol then waving at the armed guards but they still came onto him. He was tempted to shoot but he held back. He used his pistol like a club and swung at the one approaching him. He was backed up by the boys in blue.
Unknown to the ones downstairs, on the upper level the scene was chaotic with the guests and the staff there dispensing the barrels of contraband into the river behind. It would have been done if not for the intervention of one man.
“I am telling you that ain’t the best approach to those precious opium.” The man who intervened stood there with his legs braced for an attack of sorts. He was dressed in the Chinese design tunic and loose pants like a coolie complete with the pig tailed swab of hair. He held in his hand a staff the length of his arm.
“I done my deduction that the door will be trampled down in another five minutes and we can all sit down patiently for it.” The assembled men there dressed with half of them dressed up similarly to the defiant figure and the other half were all gentlemen with their hats held close to their chest. It would have worked but the appearance of the lady disrupted the discussion.
“Kill the bloke!” It was not the preferred words of a lady dressed in the Chinese long gown with the high slit on the left side that reached to near the hip bone. The lady’s gown held the sewn design of the dragon descending from the clouds and it held a fierce look. The lady held a mean streak on her and she was the mistress there.
The ones with the Chinese dressing were real stocks of the Far East. The Chinese stoolies held their position for they were not sure of the next move. They were laborer and carrying twice their load was their strength but the brawn does not include fighting.
“Move or you will be pay for it.” The lady screeched out. It was then two of the Chinese stoolies charged at the defiant man. The later held the staff with both his hands and then at the last moment, he thrust it at the stoolie on the left. The staff struck at the throat and then he did a close swing to hit the other stoolie at the side of the head. The two stoolies went down.
“Must I do the task myself? The lady launched into the attack. She jumped up high and then gave a side right kick at the defiant man. The kick was blocked by the staff held high but the lady lashed out with the left kick with the knee aimed at the right shoulder. The knee made contact and threw the defiant man to the rear. She landed on her feet and spanned another right kick at the man. The kick would had hit the man in the head had he not raised his arms to block it. The man rolled to the side with the kick and then straighten up to face the lady..
“Old man Fu have my respect. Tell me which of his concubines was of your mother.”
The lady hissed a reply which could be not said out then and now. The defiant man held the staff like before.
“I guess you ain’t the same as the others. I …”
“You do not mention my …sisters to me.” The lady rushed in with her hands leveled out for a series of hand chops but the staff held by the man was deflecting those blows until an opening was seen and taken with the staff hit on the belly of the lady. The lady keeled over in pain but the man was without scruples for the other sex. He had his right leg up and into her face. The lady fell backwards into the stoolies standing behind her.
“I am good at Bartitsu…. And some street fighting too.” It was then the door got broken through. The boys in blue stormed in and renewed the fight.
The defiant man looked at the mass tangle of bodies and could not sight the one he wanted to see. He was to rush in to the attack when shot rang out. It was the Inspector who had fired the shot into the ceiling.
“Stop the fight! Anyone move, and I will shoot.” Inspector Morse threatened with the pistol. He then looked at the defiant man.
“Sherlock Holmes I presume.” Inspector Morse stared at the man still wearing his pig tailed hair. Sherlock removed the hair piece and smiled.
“Elementary, my dear…. Inspector. I do believe you took more than a minute to come in. I did loosen the hinges but I guessed you have erred.”
“Shag you….. The Inspector muttered to himself.
An hour later, Sherlock was in the hansom driven through the streets back to his comfortable abode. He had his trusted driver on the task. Jerome have been giving him rides for some time then but the seating inside was far too spacious for him alone. He began to miss the good doctor. It was not easy to forget some one that was with you for some years then. He was not only a companion but a healer to his addiction.
“I can’t help it.” Sherlock mumbled to himself. He knew he was giving himself an excuse. He was a brave man, always have been. Since young, he was always fighting to be brave. He had Mycroft to compete with but soon after he found more challenges in the others he met. He challenged his friends, his mentors, and then he sought the dangerous ones. He felt that the last were more challenging for they were the unknown to him. He started off with the common criminals and then the masterminds. He finally found his peer with Moriarty.
“Another Doctor to the list.” Sherlock muttered to himself once more.
Sherlock had a respect for doctors; they create miracle almost every day. They saved lives which at times seems lost. He had liked Watson who first came to on the spare lodgings at his place. He had an opening when the last one moved out after three years. He was Mycroft Holmes; three years was a long time to stay with any brother.
Watson was like a brother to him.
That was how he considered the man who smoke and eat on the same table with him for years then. Sherlock heard the hansom stopped. He looked out and saw it was not his home but the Office of Inter-Services Research Bureau or for us in the inner circle it’s called Special Operations Executives
“Darned!” Sherlock knocked on the ceiling of the hansom.
“Sir, it ain’t my fault. They got me cornered and then led here with the pistol at my ribs.”
Trust the SOE to play it fair like gentlemen. That was on Sherlock’s lips. He reached for the handle but it was opened from outside. The figure stepped in was dressed in the fine cut suit from the best tailors and he brought in a bottle of liquor and some limes.
“Martini, I presume.” Sherlock commented. “Three measures of…”
“Gordon, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken and then add the slice of lime. It’s one of my best drinks too.” The head of SOE passed the pre-mixed bottle of liquor.
“Drink it down, Holmes. Then read this. It’s from Watson.”
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