smallhobbit

Being sub-editor on the Marylebone Monthly Illustrated keeps me busy most of the time.  We do not have the pressure experienced by our sister daily papers, but there are a steady stream of items which cross my desk: news reports which have happened within our locality; forthcoming events in our fair city which may be of interest to our readers; the Ferret’s rather more lurid additions to our classified announcements.

It also provides a useful source of information for Mr Holmes, being a catalogue of entries which have not been deemed of sufficient interest to merit the attention of the denizens of Fleet Street.  It was one such entry that had currently caught my attention – the opening of a sweetshop in one of our back streets.  Of itself that would have been of little interest – there were any number of such small shops dotted around our capital which were found in equally out of the way places, but this was the third shop which had been opened in as many months, following that of a greengrocer and an ironmonger.

Most small shops in our neighbourhood have been open for many years, being passed down from father to son, or sold by the widow as a going concern where the children were daughters who had married into other trades.  So this seemed sufficiently unusual for me to inform Mr Holmes in case it was of interest to him.

He read through the article and said, “Yes, I think it would be worth checking out this sweetshop.  I don’t suppose you fancy accompanying me?”

I had no particular objection, but neither could I see how this could be easily accomplished.  Whilst Mouselet and the Ferret can travel safely in a coat pocket, and the Ocelot is able to walk in similar fashion to a dog, as a sloth this was not as easy.

“I was planning on going as a widow, with her lapdog in her bag,” Holmes explained.

“If the bag is large enough,” I said.  “But I weigh rather more than a lapdog.”

“Fortunately I am rather stronger than the average widow,” Holmes said.

Dr Watson, who had been listening to the conversation, snorted and said something about their landlady’s ability to wield a carpet beater with a fair amount of strength.  Holmes ignored this comment.

Accordingly elderly Miss Holmes and her lapdog went to the sweetshop, where Miss Holmes, in a quavering voice asked for some sweets for her nephew’s children.  She placed the little paper bags in the basket with me, and told me very firmly not to eat them.  There was no chance of that; I am not terrifically fond of sweet things, and these seemed not a little dubious.

From there, we made our way to the greengrocer, who sold us what he described as a swede.  One final shop, the ironmonger, who didn’t have the screwdriver poor Miss Holmes needed to repair her broken lunettes, and we made our way back to Baker Street.

As soon as Holmes was back he removed his bonnet, which he squashed into the bag along with everything else.  He paused on his way upstairs to say to Mrs Hudson, “Can you make use of this swede, do you think?”

She looked at the vegetable and said, “Mr Holmes, surely even you can recognise a turnip when you see one.”

“I was under the impression I could.  But then the greengrocer who sold it to me said it was a swede, so I started to doubt my ability.”

“You, doubt your abilities, surely not,” Mrs Hudson said.  “But I certainly wouldn’t buy my vegetables where the greengrocer didn’t know his swede from his turnip.”

Holmes laughed.  “Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the turnip, except possibly a case of identity, so are you able to make use of it?”

“It will go well in tomorrow’s stew and better that than remaining in your rooms for weeks until it goes mouldy.”

Holmes nodded and continued up the stairs.  “So, we have a greengrocer who doesn’t know his produce, an ironmonger who doesn’t have basic items in stock, which just leaves the sweetshop owner.  And for that I think we need the Ferret’s help.”

Fortunately the Ferret turned out to be dozing in front of the fire.  Holmes took one of the packets of sweets out of the bag and instantly the Ferret woke. 

“We’ve just come back from a visit to the new sweetshop the Sloth mentioned,” Holmes said.  “Do you want to try one of these apple bonbons?”

The Ferret trotted over and accepted the little green sweet.  He put it in his mouth and then spat it out almost immediately.  “Blhhh,” he said, sticking his tongue out.  “That was sour.”

“Yes, I rather thought it might be,” Holmes said.

The Ferret glared at Holmes, who took pity on him and passed over a pink and yellow sweet instead.

“Here,” he said, “this one should be all right.”

Gingerly the Ferret licked the outside of the sweet, then nodded and began to suck it happily.

“The nephew who received that packet of sweets would not have been happy,” I said.

“No indeed,” Holmes replied.  “It does prove whatever these shops may be being used for, they are not what they purport to be.”

“And without an alternative source of income they would not manage to stay open,” I agreed.  “They’re not going to have many customers trading like that.”

“But why open three shops with no intention of making money?” Holmes mused.  “One I suppose would be plausible, no-one would question a number of people going in and out of a shop, but three?”

“I can’t answer that,” I said, “but there was one thing which did puzzle me.  When you asked for the sweets, you asked the shopkeeper to suggest the more popular sorts.  Yet all the jars he selected were from the higher shelf.  Surely you would keep the popular varieties on the lower shelf?”

“It’s the same with a chemist’s shop,” Dr Watson added.  He had been listening quietly to our discussion.  “The everyday remedies are always kept on the lower shelves.”

“So maybe the sweetshop owner had something else in the jars on the lower shelf,” Holmes said.  “Did you spot anything else untoward in either of the other shops?”

I thought back.  There was nothing strange, other than the limited amount of stock, in the ironmongers.  However there had been one oddity at the greengrocers.  “I noticed there were a few boxes which still had vegetables in.  I did wonder why the greengrocer hadn’t put them all on the shelves.”

Holmes sat with his fingers steepled under his chin.  Then he said, “I think we have it.  Lestrade mentioned a spate of burglaries last year where the stolen jewellery was never recovered, but a few months later the main stones seemed to reappear in different settings.  The burglaries stopped, but have recently started up again.  I think the original pieces of jewellery are taken to the greengrocer, from there they are transported to the ironmonger to be refashioned, and finally they go for collection to the sweetshop.”

“Surely it would be risky having so many different shops involved,” Dr Watson said.

“Yes, if they were unconnected shops, but these are just fronts for the different staging posts.  It also minimises losses if by chance one of the shops is suspected, because the jewellery is spread between three locations.  Because who would connect three separate tradesmen?”

“Nobody but Sherlock Holmes,” the doctor said.

“And, of course, the Sloth,” Holmes added, “who brought it to my attention in the first place.”