Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

Surely his words wrote finis to the matter, but his manner did not.

'Please don't say elementary,' I replied. 'You surely solved MacDonald's problem, and mine as well since our departure into the night was not necessary at all.'

'In a short while MacDonald may not be as satisfied with the resolution of the Michael death as he is right now. However, we did exonerate Miss Vanessa Claremont, which was the matter of immediate importance. The so-called Cedric Folks is a sticky wicket, I fear.'

'You say so-called?' My query was automatic, for this had to be the fly in Holmes' ointment.

'A redheaded man presented himself at the Michael abode and called himself Cedric Folks. I have doubts about his being the irate painter.'

'But why? Folks had a motive for wishing to do Michael in.'

'Agreed. Injured pride and rage, fueled by an artistic temperament, can cause feelings to run high, but not often to the white heat required for murder. Then we have the matter of Trelawney to consider.'

'Surely there is no connection.'

'Possibly not. However young Charles Trelawney was the prime suspect because the stationmaster at Shaw saw him get off the six o'clock special. He testified, as I recall, that there were but two arrivals. Charles and a redheaded stranger.'

'Dear me,' I mouthed with a frown. 'I'd quite forgotten about that. Do you think the same redheaded man . . .'

Holmes rose briskly to his feet and began pacing the length of our sitting room. 'Let us not jump to assumptions, but just consider this as a possibility. We have two murders, with a redheaded man on the scene of both. Not necessarily the same person, but it does give one pause. One way to disguise identity is to alter one's appearance, presenting to the unobservant eye an inconspicuous and false figure. Another is to adopt a striking characteristic.'

'Like red hair,' I cried suddenly. 'You envision an assassin using a wig so that anyone noting his presence would identify him as being redheaded. Which, of course, he is not,' I added, and was rather pleased with my understanding of Holmes' idea.

'We are in agreement on that last point,' said the sleuth, returning to his favorite chair beside the fire.

'But wait. Holmes, are you not running far afield? Could not the banker Trelawney have been killed by Horace Ledbetter? Mightn't Michael have been shot by the real Cedric Folks in the manner you outlined to MacDonald?'

'Agreed on both points,' replied Holmes with a prompt acceptance that made me suspicious.

'Yet something got your hackles up,' I continued. 'Some clue perhaps?' My voice dwindled away as I racked my brains to no avail.

There was a mischievous twinkle in Holmes' sharp eyes. 'The third caller on the departed Michael made a singular statement to the butler, Herndon.'

'A message from Shadrach?' I said, dredging words from my memory. 'You suggested a code.'

'Sounds like one.' Holmes' relaxed thoughtful mood vanished and his expression sharpened. 'But I have played you false, good fellow. I do have certain information that you are not privy to. Evidently MacDonald as well, since he made no mention of it.'

Holmes was gazing into the fireplace. A silence fell between us which I did not break, knowing well that he was considering a theory.

Finally he spoke and I imagined a trace of approval in his tone, as though his analysis had withstood the tests he placed upon it. 'Ramsey Michael on several occasions has flitted on the periphery of investigations that came our way. There was the Bishopegate Jewel Case, for one.^* But no matter. The point is that he maintained a considerable establishment, was able to gather a collection of costly objects, and enjoyed a certain reputation as an art critic, an occupation not noteworthy for its direct remuneration.'

^*Spelling used by Watson. Was there another Bishopgate case?

'You suspect that he had a concealed source of income?'

'Especially since I took the trouble to establish that he was not blessed with inherited wealth. Michael could well have been a member of a small and clandestine group known as expediters.'

Holmes shot a quick glance at me but received a blank stare for his trouble, so he continued. 'A necessary strut in the framework of illegal activities. A man who can grease the machinery and, on occasion, set up a certain situation.'

'A go-between. As, for instance, one who arranges for the disposition of stolen property. Sometimes before the theft is committed,' I added, my mind going back to the Bishopegate case and how Holmes had lectured the force upon it.

'Stout fellow,' said Holmes approvingly.

'But now new vistas beckon,' I stated with some excitement. 'If Ramsey Michael had a shadowy background, his murder could well have stemmed from it. You did rather hold out on MacDonald, Holmes.'

'Not at all,' was his swift reply. 'The matter of Cedric Folks has to be explored. If the former soldier turned artist is indeed the culprit, my thought does not pass muster.'

Holmes seemed about to continue and then his lips compressed in a thin line and his eyes reverted to the fireplace, taking on an opaque look they sometimes did when his mind was churning with a new thought.

'That is an interesting statement I just made,' he continued after a moment.

Of a sudden, I felt in tune with his thinking. 'Ledger is a former soldier,' I exclaimed.

'So was Trelawney,' said the sleuth, as though talking to himself. 'Though of much older vintage. It crosses my mind that the late Ramsey Michael was reputed to have served in the Crimea as well.'

'Ah hah. You have established a possible connection between Michael and Ezariah Trelawney.'

Holmes' predatory features swiveled in my direction. 'Michael and Ezariah, you say, Watson? Not for the first time, you have come up with a seemingly commonplace remark that suggests fascinating overtones.'

I was pleased to have been of help but completely at sea as to what he was thinking of.

'Shadrach,' he murmured in a tone so soft that I was pressed to distinguish the single word.

Then Holmes was out of his chair making for the bookcase. 'Research is called for, old fellow, and we have an excellent file on the train robbery as well as the material Mycroft so kindly placed at our disposal.' Holmes took the M volume from the row of file volumes and had the wick of the desk lamp raised in but a moment. I assumed the late Ramsey Michael had first call on his attention and I noted that the material he had received from his brother was already on the desk surface.

Suddenly I ceased to exist as far as my intimate friend was concerned. He was leafing through pages and, from experience, I knew he would be referring to his commonplace book before too long. The walls of our familiar habitat and the intimates within had faded into a nothingness for Holmes, who, with rapid steps, was traversing the wonderland of his mental world and completely absorbed in his journey.

His abrupt preoccupation, not uncommon during our years together, was irritating nonetheless. But a moment before we had been discussing possibilities in a case that was certainly producing added complexities. Now I was shunted off, discarded, and this produced annoyance that led to a testy remark as I prepared to make my way upstairs to my waiting bed.

'I am reminded, Holmes, of your frequent cautionary statements about the premature acceptance of a theory. Do you not contend that it risks the adjusting of facts to fit it?'

My words produced no reaction from Holmes whatsoever. I had risen from my chair and extinguished my cigar before his noble head rose and he turned toward me.

'Good, loyal, Watson. I can only say, touche, old comrade. However, do recall that I have a kind of intuition based on special knowledge gathered through the years. But your warning does not go unrecorded.'

I must say I felt considerably better as I made my way up the backstairs toward the waiting arms of Morpheus.

Chapter 9

To Fenley in Gloucester

IT WAS somewhat late the following morning when I literally staggered down to our sitting room and alerted