SEVENTEEN: Forces joined
The enterprise is hopeful, but full of hardship and danger, it would seem to have been conceived by some sovereign intelligence, that was able to divine most of our desires.
'It's a good thing there wasn't another bomb here, Russell. There wouldn't be much left of you.' It was the old priest from the library, sitting in my chair and peering at me with disapproval over his spectacles.
'Oh, God, Holmes, it is good to see you.' To this day he swears that I thrust his head between my breasts, but I am quite certain that he was on his feet by the time I reached him. I was reassured that his musculature had not suffered during his weeks of confinement and enforced sloth, and in fact felt distinctly bruised about the rib cage from the force of his arms. He of course denies this.
'Holmes, Holmes, we can talk again, it's over, I know who she is, but I thought she had you, my watchers disappeared and your telephone line is out, and I was coming up here to get the revolver and drive down to Sussex, but you're here, and — '
Fortunately Holmes interrupted this drivel.
'Very well, Russell, I am flattered that you seem relieved to see me alive, but could you be a bit clearer please, particularly concerning the telephone line and the watchers?'
He reached up to reattach his beard, and I stooped to pick up an eyebrow from the floor and absently handed it to him. 'I've been working in Bodley this afternoon — '
'Oh for God's sake, Russell, don't be completely daft. Or has my absence softened your brain?'
'Oh, of course, you were there. Why didn't you make yourself known then?'
'And have a scene like this in the midst of those hallowed halls? I thought you might wish to work there again in the future, so I came here to wait for you. I could also see you were on the edge of something and didn't want to risk knocking it out of your head. I did blow my nose loudly in your ear, if you remember, but when that failed to get your attention I took the hint and left. What did you find? I could see that you were working on the Roman numerals theory, but without peering too closely I couldn't see where your thoughts were taking you.'
'Yes, Holmes, it was a code. Roman numerals in a base eight, not base ten. It spelt Moriarty. And do you know who had me working on base eight three days before the bombs were set?'
'I do remember, yes, your maths tutor. But how does — '
'Yes, and she even told me of Moriarty's exercises, though not directly, of course, just mentioned offhand that she had seen some problems in a book and — '
'Ah, I see now. Yes, of course.'
'Of course what?'
'Your maths tutor is a woman. I might have known.'
'Didn't you know? I thought I told you. But she's not blonde, you see, so — '
'And where is she now? Kindly quit blithering, Russell.
I should greatly enjoy catching this woman if she is so kind as to walk into our trap, so I shouldn't have to spend the rest of my life dodging bombs and pretending to detest the very mention of your name.' 'Oh. Yes. But she is. I mean, she withdrew my watchers today while I was in the library. She may have guessed what I was doing, or she may have just decided to go ahead, but the telephone lines to the village are down, so I thought — '
'Right you were, Russell, and that means we must fly. Can you put on some more sensible clothing? There may be rough work ahead of us.'
I plunged into the next room and into my young man's mufti in two minutes flat, and in another thirty seconds had my boots on and the gun and a handful of bullets in my pocket.
The two of us created quite a sensation clattering down the stairs. The hypochondriac down the hall had just come out of the bathroom when we came running towards her. She screamed and clutched her dressing gown to her chest as we flew past.
'Men! Two men in the hall!'
'Oh, for God's sake, Di, it's me,' I shouted ungrammatically.
She leant over the stairwell with several others to watch our descent. 'Mary? But who's that with you?'
'An old friend of the family!'
'But it's a man!'
'So I noticed.'
'But men aren't allowed in here!' Their protests faded above us.
'Russell, I must use Mr. Thomas's telephone — Ah, here he is. Pardon me, Thomas.'
'I beg your pardon, reverend sir, may I help you? Miss
Russell, who is this? Please, sir, what do you want? Sir, the telephone is not for public use. Sir — '
'Mr. Thomas, is my car ready?' I interrupted while Holmes awaited connexion.
'What? Ah, yes, Miss, they said they would bring it out for you. Miss, who is this gentleman?' 'A friend of the family, Mr. Thomas. Dear me, I hear
Dianne at the top of the stairs. Do you think you should perhaps see what she wants? You know how highly strung she is. No, Mr. Thomas, you go help her; I'll show this friend of mine out. Yes, friend of the family. Very old. Yes.
Good-bye, Mr. Thomas, I'll not be back in tonight.'
'Or tomorrow night,' shouted Holmes. 'Come, Russell!'
The car was warmed up and running at the kerb, and the garage man quickly got out when he saw us coming, then paused with his hand on the door.
'Is that you, Miss Russell?'
'Yes, Hugh, thanks a million. Bye.' He winced as I squealed the tires, but after all, it wasn't his motorcar.
Holmes did more than wince before we were out of Oxford, but I didn't hit anybody, and only brushed the farm cart slightly. It wasn't his automobile either, and what do men know about driving?
When I had settled the Morris down to a slow blur on the black and narrow road out of Oxford, I turned to Holmes.
'What are you doing here, anyway?'
'I say, Russell, do you think — that is, is this the proper speed for this particular road and these — watch the cow — these particular conditions?'
'Well, I could go a bit faster, if you like, Holmes. I suppose the car would take it.'
'No, that was not what I had in mind.'
'Then what — Oh, of course, you want an alternate route. You're right as usual, Holmes. Reach behind you and get the maps; they're in that black pouch there. There's a hand torch in the pocket. Holmes, your eyebrow has fallen off again.'
'I'm not surprised,' he muttered, and peeled off the rest of the disguise.
'You make a fine priest, Holmes, very distinguished.
Now, those maps start with Oxford and work their way down to Eastbourne. There's a point in a few miles where we can get off to the left. It's marked as a farm track. Do you see it?'
Holmes claims that night's ride took ten years from his life, but I found it quite exhilarating to be rocketing along unlighted country lanes at high speeds with the man I hadn't been able to properly speak with openly for so many months. He didn't seem to find many topics of conversation during those hours, though, so I had to fill in.
Once, when we slipped by inches through a gap between a hay wagon and a stone wall, losing considerable paint to the latter, Holmes was really quite uncharacteristically silent. After some minutes I asked him if he was feeling well.
'Russell, if you decide to take up Grand Prix racing, do ask Watson to do your navigating. This is just his métier.'
'Why, Holmes, do you have doubts about my driving?'
'No, Russell, I freely admit that when it comes to your driving abilities, I have no doubts whatsoever. The
