Then he was gone. I cannot explain why I did not do
what I was told. The fact is, instead of going to the
police station, I followed Holmes. Perhaps I was afraid
that my friend could not fight Moriarty on his own.
I ran to the corner of the street. I could just see
Moriarty, walking straight on. Then, to my great
surprise, Holmes turned left, and disappeared into a
house, while Moriarty reached the end of the street
and turned the corner. I could not understand what
was happening, or what I should do next. What if
Holmes, realizing that someone was following him,
thought I was one of Moriarty's men? Some minutes
later, I was still wondering what to do when I heard a
door close. A man came out into the street. It was
Holmes. He was now richly dressed, in a hat and a
long, dark coat. He had changed his appearance in
several small and clever ways, but I knew him.
I wanted to call to him, but was afraid he would not
be pleased. Instead, I decided to follow secretly,
ready to help him if he needed me.
We walked and walked. The rain became heavier
and the streets emptied of people. Then a short fat
man passed me, and soon afterwards a girl. She
looked like a woman of the streets, but younger and
prettier than most I had seen that night. She seemed
a little drunk, and could not walk straight.