Whitechapel: The Final Stand of Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free PDF Page A

several men who greeted him by name. The train hissed, belching a giant gust of smoke that rained ash on Monty’s hand through the open window. With a loud whistle and a shake, they began to move. “You might as well try to sleep, Monty. Portsmouth is quite far.”
    The train rocked back and forth as it sped along, soothing Monty into a light sleep. A whistle blew and William tapped him on the arm, “Get up, Monty. We have to go.”
    Monty cleared his eyes and looked through the window at a sign that read Portsmouth. Wisps of foul-smelling fog swirled past the train car as Monty leaned forward, trying to see. Buildings blocked his view, one after the other, much taller than any he had ever seen. Everything was grey, carved from concrete and steel, and dripping wet from a brown mist that descended over the entire city.
    Even from inside the train car, the sounds of Portsmouth filled Monty with both terror and excitement. Men hawked goods from the train platform, calling out in loud carnival-barker voices. Women screamed, and police blew sharply pitched whistles. Carriages crashed into the pavements when the horses pulling them veered out of each other’s ways and the carmen operating the cabs shouted angrily at one another.
    Monty gripped his father’s hand tightly as they left their seats and began moving toward the exit, scanning the people waiting to board the train. These people were dirty. Their faces were filthy, dripping grey sweat down their necks. William pulled him through the crowd, whispering in a quick, hurried tone, “Do not make eye contact with anyone, Monty. Do not look afraid. Do not look at even the tallest buildings in wonder. Act as if you are in a hurry. Act as if you belong here.” They reached the entrance to the train station, and there was a cab waiting for them. William lifted Monty into it, and shut the door tightly behind them.
    “Good morning, Dr. Druitt,” the carman said. “Made it again, eh? How was your trip?”
    “Excellent. This is my son, Montague.”
    “Montague?” the driver said. “That’s a big name for such a small lad.”
    William smiled, putting his hand his son’s shoulder. “I wanted to name him Jack, but his mother insisted on naming him after her father. He will grow into it though. Today was his first time on the train.”
    “That right, Mr. Montague? First time in Portsmouth, then?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Different here than back home, I reckon,” the carman said. “You get used to it. Mind yourself, though. Desperate people do desperate things.”
    Monty stared in wonder at the swarms of people crowding the streets of Portsmouth. Women leaned against the walls of broken-down buildings and called out to anyone who passed, “Feeling good natured, sir?” Children in ragged clothing coughed and spat black clumps of phlegm into the sewers, looking up at him as the carriage flew past.
    “Are these the people we are going to help, father?”
    “The ones out there?” William said, laughing. “No, I am afraid not, Monty. Unfortunately, there is no money in that. Those folks cannot afford food, let alone my services. It is already too late for my clients.”
    “I do not understand,” Monty said.
    “If I wanted to cut off tumors and spend my day treating tuberculosis, I could work in Dorchester or Weymouth. Multitudes of sailors there are willing to promise payment, but then they ship off to Africa, never to be seen again. A prostitute will try to barter, promising goods that no one in their right mind would take. In medicine, there is only one sure way of receiving money, and that is from the dead.”
    The horse pulled their cab to the curb, underneath a small grey sign that read “ Medical Offices of William Druitt Sr. ” Monty waved to the carman, as William unlocked the door, telling Monty to come along. “No time to waste, son. Let us see what work the police surgeon has left for us to do today.”
    Monty followed his father into the operating room and