the ceiling, filled with boxes in every stage of completion. Holmes inspected the locks upon the doors, the seals on the packages, and asked to be shown the system by which orders were checked. Upton explained that Mrs Smith oversaw the ledgers, while he himself verified all consignments of importance.
“Have you dismissed any staff of late?” Holmes asked suddenly.
“Only one,” said Upton, after a moment’s thought. “A man who was idle and given to drinking on the job. He left some eight months ago.”
Holmes nodded, saying nothing. He examined the post box at the rear door. He asked about the hours at which deliveries were received, who signed for them, and how packages were dispatched. His questions were minute and precise, yet delivered with so easy an air that they scarcely seemed interrogations.
At length we returned to Mr Upton’s office overlooking the shop store. Holmes stood silently for some moments, gazing at the polished counters, the bright array of confections, and the throng of well heeled customers.
“A curious business, Watson,” he murmured at last. “Here we see the machinery of luxury, the smooth surface beneath, however, runs with a current of human greed. To poison a reputation is often more deadly than to poison a man. Observe how every client here purchases their goods with the serene confidence that it contains nothing but delight. Shatter that confidence, and the whole edifice crumbles.”
Upton, who had overheard, looked pale. “That is my dread, Mr Holmes. The merest whisper, and I am undone.”
Holmes laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Courage, sir. We have made a beginning. I should like copies of your staff schedules for the past month, and any alterations that may have occurred.”
These were subsequently provided and Holmes folded the papers slipping them into his pocket.
As we took our leave, he bade a polite farewell to each of the staff in turn. Mrs Gordon returned to her ledger, Mrs Smith to her ledgers and parcels, George to his sweeping, Mackenzie to his pots, and Miss Lombardo to her ribbons.
Out in the keen winter air once more, Holmes hailed a hansom. “Back to Baker Street, Watson,” said he. “There is something in this business that requires a little further quiet thought, and perhaps the assistance of our young allies.”
“Do you mean the Irregulars?” I asked.
“Precisely so, if there are threads here to be followed, they shall find its end. I must know how each of these worthy persons spends his or her evenings. For if danger lurks in Bond Street, it may not be found in the chocolates, but in the shadows cast about them.”
“You suspect a staff member, Holmes?”
“I suspect everyone, My dear Watson, but in all crimes, always start with the most obvious, especially as the blackmailer knows of the shop's clientele.”
And with that, Holmes settled back against the hansom’s cushion, his eyes half closed, the thin lips pressed into that curious smile which heralded the stirrings of his most subtle deductions.
It was already dark when we regained our familiar sitting room in Baker Street, Holmes had sent for the irregulars and the yellow glow of the lamp fell warmly upon the well known disorder of papers, pipes, and chemical bottles which ever marked my friend’s apartment. Holmes hung his coat with a careless hand, paced twice across the hearthrug, and then seated himself, drawing from his pocket his pipe, pondering it.
“At present,” said he at last, “we have nothing but respectable lives and excellent chocolate. That will not suffice.”
Mrs Hudson presently announced a visitor in the form of the irregular’s leader, Robins.
James Robins was the present leader of the Baker Street Irregulars, a tall, sharp featured youth who had grown into the post once held by the redoubtable Wiggins, now promoted into more settled employment by Holmes’s benevolence. In a moment he appeared, cap in hand, his quick eyes already alight with anticipation.
“You sent for me, Mr Holmes?”
“Yes, Robins. I require your services and those of your most enterprising lads. He succinctly availed Robins of the situation and asked that each of the five employees of Charbonnel et Walker were to be followed when they leave their homes or work and thereafter, so far as it may be done without trespass or interference. No entering houses, no listening at doors, no questions asked. You will simply observe where they go, whom they meet, and at what hours they return. This is to be undertaken and Robins to report directly to Holmes each morning personally.”
Robins grinned broadly. “Right you are, Mr Holmes. Hawkins, Doolan, Smith, Jenkins and myself will see to it. ”
“See that they are discreet,” said Holmes. “We are watching honest people, at least until proven otherwise.”
When Robins had gone, Holmes relapsed into silence, lighting his pipe and gazing thoughtfully into the fire. For myself, I confess to a certain impatience. The danger to Mr Upton’s trade seemed real and pressing, and yet here were we, merely watching innocent men and women walk home through the winter streets.