"Nah..." Wiggins got that look on his face that always made me get mad. I stuck my tongue out at him. Tobey, seeing this, and recognizing the danger signs, said, "Come on, Kit, let Wiggins 'ave 'is mystery. Anyway, its a good job, an' good money in it. I done it before, 'cause this bloke said as 'ow 'e wanted boys that would find things for 'im, an' - "
"Oh, yes. All the others know, but it just saves comments from others who don't know me. And it isn't exactly like I stick out a mile, shrieking "feminism" aloud to the skies." I cocked a eyebrow at him."It saves time."
"It is foolish of me, I suppose, Watson. But for the daughter of the Napoleon of crime to be reduced to picking pockets...its degrading. Degrading for her, and even more so because she does not know it to be degrading.
I sat down, pulled my too-large jacket closer around me, and selected a magazine. Turning the pages until I found the story, I read: It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes was distinguished...
Shireling wrote:As a wild off the wall idea, have you ever thought about writing about Kit as an adult as a sort of successor to Holmes?
ShadowTwit wrote:"What?" Li squinted. Wiggins and Rat followed the directionm of my pointing finger. At the bottom floor window stood a man, grizzle-bearded with a nose broken and bent to one side.
"I can't see 'im." Li wailed. "Does 'e match up with the picture?"
Wiggins brought out the picture Holmes had given us, and we all consulted it, before Wiggins proclaimed definately, "Yep, its 'im alright."
ShadowTwit wrote:"'e's comin' out!" Rat warned. We all shrank into unobtrusiveness. Li brought a marble out of his pocket and began rolling it about on the pavement. It stuck in a rut in the paving slab, and Wiggins retreived it as the man - Matthews - came out.
ShadowTwit wrote:"Matthews is a little fish." Holmes said, blotting the telegram. "But he swims around a big one, and I do not know who that big one is. What I do know about him, is that he is dangerous and that I have been unable to trace him using my normal methods. Probally he is right under my nose, and so obviously there that I cannot see him. So, I follow Matthews in the hope that he will lead me to the one behind him. I am glad to see, Kit, that you have not been subjected to scavenging amongst the refuse and offal of the city."
ShadowTwit wrote:"Probally best not to ask. Watson, would you mind taking this down to Billy? Ask him to send it off immediatly. As soon as we get an answer to that, then we can move against Matthews, and by tomorrow evening, he should be behind bars."
After we had finished, we all trooped out, and went our seperate ways. I wondered how the case with Matthews would turn out. I hoped Dr Watson would write it up and publish it, then I could have the full details of it.
The next day, it was very cold and drippy, with a driving rain that found its uncomfortable way into every nook and crany that there was. No matter how hard I huddled up under my railings, the wind stabbed its cruel, icy fingers through my jacket and into my body. The rain was light and stinging, and very wet. I frowned out at the world from under my jacket, which I had thrown over my head in a vain bid for protection. The rain turned eveything grey and fuzzy, and there was a clammy mist that obscured and distorted all features of the street.
I shuffled further into the hollow in the wall, and jumped as something wet and freezing cold pressed against my leg. I looked down and saw a tiny ginger and white kitten, its fur sleeked down its sides by the rain, and drops of water dripping off its whiskers. It mewed pitifully, and tried to get under my knee. I ruffled its fur up into points, and said, "Hey, cat. You caught out in the rain too?" I lifted it into my lap, and rubbed it with my sleeve, trying to dry it. Normally, cats simply afforded target practice, but there was something undeniably pathetic about this kitten that made me take pity on a fellow creature in the same position as I was in. After a bit, it stopped shivering, and sat in my lap, gazing out at the rain splashing and making puddles on the pavement, sending up tiny darts of water each time a drop hit the water. It was comforting, feeling its warmth against me, slight though it was, and I stroked it, smoothing its still damp fur.
He held out the letter and two pennies. I recieved them, and gently dumping the kitten off my lap, started off at a run. Letford Road was half a mile away, and in the district that was classed as so respectable, it was almost posh. All the houses were alike: red tiled and white walled, with an air of primness and detatchment from the coarser, baser things of life. As I passed Bet's pawnbroker shop, a shape swirled up out of the fog, and turned into Rat, running out of a side alley. "Hey, Kit!" he yelled.
The knocker was shaped like a Roman dolphin, and when I knocked, the dolphin banged its fat nose on an even fatter scallop shell, making the raindrops glisten and catch the watery sunlight with an irredescant flash. It looked so colourful, that I repeated it again and again until an indignant housemaid came to the door, and demanded to know what I thought I was doing.
I grinned at her, and said, "I've got a letter to deliver in person to your master."
"Oh, have you now? And who do you think you are, master bigwig, that the master'll be willing to allow you inside?"
"Rest assured." I told her with authority. "He'll see me."
"We are proud!" she exclaimed, but nevertheless, she went into the house, and after a moment, came back, saying, "The master'll see you. I don't know why he'll see you, but he will."
"I am sure it was because he could not bear to think of such an honest and innocent person as me left outside all alone on the doorstep in the rain." I said sweetly.
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