Chapter Thirteen: The Investigation into Billy

After completing all the inspections, Holmes finally took out the telegram.

Billy and Watson crowded around Holmes to examine the message together.

The telegram was not cheap; they charged by the word, so it was quite brief.

Yet upon seeing this short message, Billy suddenly thought of the case of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Back then, Watson had sent his case notes to Holmes via telegram, which showed that Watson was already quite well-off at the time.

Billy felt immense envy; he wished to become wealthy too! The idea Holmes had mentioned earlier about writing popular science articles suddenly seemed quite feasible.

“Number One went to London to visit relatives with his wife a month ago, stayed for five days, then returned. Number Two went to London ten days ago to handle company affairs and has not yet returned.”

With just a moment’s thought, Billy knew exactly who Number One and Number Two were: Number One was Elder Gask, and Number Two was Middle Gask.

As expected, the middle brother was the prime suspect.

Billy noticed that Holmes showed no change in expression; he seemed to have anticipated this outcome as soon as he received the telegram. No wonder he wasn’t in a hurry to open it.

“Now we only need to find out where Mr. Middle Gask is in London and visit him to look for clues.” Holmes put away the telegram, rummaged through a cluttered pile nearby to find some paper and pen, quickly jotted down a note, then handed it to Billy. “Give this letter to Wiggins—you can ask Mrs. Hudson; she’ll know where to find him. Then come back and get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll have the results and can visit Mr. Middle Gask.”

Hearing this, Billy quickly asked, “Can I go investigate with Wiggins?”

Holmes flatly refused, “Dear Billy, Dr. Watson just prescribed early to bed and early to rise for you. How could I let you stay up late following Wiggins? Just deliver the letter and come back to sleep. I’ll keep an eye on you here.”

Billy glanced at Watson, who immediately looked stern. “Billy, for the sake of your health, you absolutely cannot stay up late this week.”

Billy had no choice but to reluctantly go find Wiggins.

The boy was around his age, just coming of age, and looked rather displeased when he saw Billy. Yet he said nothing more, took the letter, and left.

Billy vaguely heard Wiggins grumble as he walked away, “Why was he hired by Mr. Holmes as a detective’s assistant? I’ve been by Holmes’ side for years!”

Billy asked Mrs. Hudson and learned that Wiggins had been employed by Holmes for several years. Along with other children, he was the leader of this group Holmes jokingly called the Baker Street Irregulars. They had helped Holmes with many cases.

Besides paying them, Holmes ensured these children attended school to learn literacy. Most eventually went on to more stable careers, but Wiggins, admiring Holmes, stayed on.

Hearing this, Billy felt that apart from lacking a formal title, Wiggins was indeed doing the work of a detective’s assistant.

Back upstairs, seeing Holmes experimenting in the sitting room, Billy couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Holmes, why don’t you recruit Wiggins as a detective’s assistant?”

Without pausing his work or looking up, Holmes replied, “Wiggins has a wealth of experience in finding people but lacks many other qualities. He could be a good bloodhound but not a good detective. When he came of age, I recommended he pursue further education. With his abilities, he could easily be a police officer. Although he’s not skilled at solving cases, neither are most police, some even hindering investigations. At least Wiggins excels at locating people.”

Billy found Holmes’ answer somewhat expected. Given Holmes’ previous care for him, he wouldn’t just let Wiggins continue in an unstable line of work—Holmes himself never knew when a case would come.

Looking at the relatively fresh bullet holes on the wall, Billy was certain Holmes must have been quite bored at least a month ago.

“Go to sleep quickly. If not, Watson will say I’m a bad influence on the kids.”

It was then that Billy noticed a bed had appeared where he would sleep, complete with bedding.

No one knew where the folding bed came from. Though small and only fit for one person, it was better than sleeping on the floor.

After washing up, Billy lay down on the bed and quickly fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the subtle sounds of Holmes’ experiments.

Watson tiptoed to the bedside, gently touched Billy’s forehead, then carefully approached Holmes, who was still working, lowering his voice. “He’s asleep, luckily no fever. Sherlock, you knew he was just recovering but still had him running around all day!”

“You confirmed last night he was fine, and he’s eager to help. Look how happy he is today,” Holmes replied, still focused on his work. “Tell me what you found out today.”

“The same as Billy said. People near the docks all know the family. His parents did indeed pass away recently. Billy never encountered anyone teaching him strange knowledge—at least not from those people. His parents barely let him finish compulsory schooling before sending him to work at twelve!” Watson’s voice grew angry.

Though he knew child labor was common in London and across England—poor families needing income and factory owners seeking cheap labor—the sight of such a kind and strong child entering society so early still saddened him deeply.

“Not surprising. I just wanted to confirm.” Holmes’ hands kept moving. “Watson, I trust you won’t reveal Billy’s peculiarities. It’s not good for him. Just say he’s a skilled swimmer.”

Watson looked at the still-sleeping Billy and sighed, “Of course, I won’t say a word.”

“By the way,” Holmes finally looked up at Watson, “Billy wants to publish his popular science articles in The Detective’s Notes. Could you introduce him?”

“What?” Watson was puzzled. “Billy knows about that?”

Holmes raised his eyebrows. “Consider it an extension of his amazing fishing skills.”

“There can be extensions to that?” Watson was even more confused but nodded. “When he finishes writing, I’ll send a letter of introduction.”

Holmes nodded approvingly and returned to his work.

“You’ve completely taken him under your wing.”

“Who else but a smart and lucky boy? Honestly, if you weren’t moving away from Baker Street, Watson, you might have inherited my detective fame.”

Watson firmly declined, “I’ll remain just a chronicler. As you say, I’m a pure novelist, decorating mathematical formulas with useless embellishments and sometimes deleting important ones. I know I lack talent for detective work and can only assist you.”

“Even so, Watson, you’re still my friend.”

Watson rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think you just want someone to highlight your brilliance or be your muscle.”

“Of course not, dear Watson...”

“All right, Sherlock, I know you truly consider me a friend. Since we’re about to part, I might as well say what I’ve held back. I always thought you’d sneak up on me at night.”

“Watson, how could I do such an ungentlemanly thing?”

“Was breaking into a house together gentlemanly?” Watson laughed. “Sherlock, I’m glad you have a student as I leave. Hopefully, he’ll keep your bad habits in check.”

“In some ways, he might even be my teacher,” Holmes murmured softly.

“What?” Watson didn’t catch that.

“Enough, Watson, you should sleep. Billy’s idea is quite good. I’m sure Miss Morstan won’t refuse. You also need to prepare for the wedding.”

“Sherlock, you should sleep early after finishing your experiments,” Watson said finally.

After several failed chromatography attempts, Holmes grew somewhat restless.

It was midnight, and everyone else was fast asleep.

Holmes entered the sitting room where the folding bed lay; Billy was sound asleep.

Just barely an adult, Billy’s face still held a youthful innocence. His features hadn’t fully matured, not truly handsome but respectable among ordinary folk.

But Holmes thought the most beautiful feature was Billy’s blue eyes, which, when he smiled, shone like the brightest sky under radiant sunshine—free of any shadow.

Still a child at heart, Holmes sighed.

Turning to a corner, Holmes picked up his violin and began to play. The melodious music poured out, soothing his restless mind.

Hmm, a child it may be, but tomorrow he would squeeze every useful bit of experimental knowledge from that bright mind!