Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

'The simple matters are the most frustrating.'

'How so?'

'Recall, if you will, that Jack the Ripper fellow. Back in eighty-eight, it was.'

'I'm not likely to forget him. But you can't consider those brutal murders a simple affair.'

Holmes turned from our carriage window with surprise in his eyes. 'Was there any indication that the Ripper even knew his victims?'

'Well, the killings were most all in Whitechapel.'

'But no one was uncovered who had known the seven poor souls and could have been the murderer.'

'What is your point?'

'The matter of Jack the Ripper was basically a simple one.'

'Oh come now, he was never found. There was much hue and cry that you should be put on the case.'

An expression of distaste crossed Holmes' features. 'I well remember those newspaper stories—all motivated by a desire for sensationalism, which our press is not averse to. They were certainly not the result of honest conviction unless written by idiots, which is within the realm of possibility.'

'Your use of simple jars me.'

'I did not say easy. The fact is that the streetwalker murders were committed with no thought of profit or gain. They were wanton killings by an insane person to fulfill some inner compulsion. What was the prime clue? The occupation of the victims, somehow tied in with the force that drove the Ripper to raw murder. How could I have been of service in the matter? Catching him required a dragnet effort—the searching of doctor's records to locate someone with a deranged mind who might have been impelled to launch a vendetta against prostitutes. The far- flung facilities of Scotland Yard were much more suited for a search of that type than you or I, Watson.'

'You feel, then, that he will never be caught?'

'Unless he starts up again—a possibility. Or unless he makes some deathbed confession, which I think is very doubtful.'

I shrugged and my mind took an obvious tack. 'How is this associated with the treasure train?'

'Ah, that matter is beset with complexities. But the more angles to a case, the more chance for the lunge of the rapier that will impale the kernel of truth, the key to unlock the door of mystery.'

'If complexities aid your investigation, you have plenty.'

'Agreed. Had a group of thieves with access to inside information raided the train and removed the gold, we would have had little to work with. How did they get their information? What disposition did they make of the bullion? As it is, I feel this case embraces a wider canvas.'

'It certainly does if the Trelawney and Michael deaths are part of the plot.'

'That, Watson, will be settled for us. If Cedric Folks killed Michael, then I must abandon my redheaded-man theory.'

'Not without regrets,' I hazarded. 'You do seem quite taken by the idea.'

'Because of a remark you made, good fellow.'

As I regarded him with puzzlement, he chuckled. 'Ah, you haven't figured it out yet. No matter, since for the moment it is a dead issue. Our thoughts must go elsewhere.'

'Where, specifically?' I queried, with a show of impatience.

'If Hananish, the banker, is the mastermind, he certainly was not directly involved in the train robbery.'

'A man in a wheelchair? I should think not.'

'Who, then, did the actual deed? I mean to bag them all, Watson. You recall that when Moriarty went down, the Yard allowed him to escape, along with two of his top henchmen. It was several years later that we convicted Colonel Moran. Then, in that Golden Bird affair, Chu San Fu was not brought to justice and he rose again to plague us. We'll make a clean sweep of it this time, old friend.'

That happy prospect caused Holmes to fall silent again, and I could get no more from him during our return trip.

The following morning, we had scarcely completed our morning repast when a despondent Inspector MacDonald was ushered into our quarters. The Scot's habitually glum expression was more pronounced than usual.

'I'll not be guessin' how you figured it, Mr. Holmes, but you did give me fair warning,' he said, lowering himself into our cane-backed chair.

'The matter of Cedric Folks,' stated Holmes.

'Exactly. I located the artist without much trouble. Of course he denied any association with Michael's death, though he was honest enough to admit that he was not grief-stricken over the happening. But he couldn't come up with an alibi for the time of the murder. Were I a gambling man, I'd have given rather long odds on his being the culprit. Then I ran into a roadblock.'

'The hansom driver who had come to the Michael mansion.'

MacDonald threw me a dark look. 'There's little I can tell him, is there?'

'Come now, Mr. Mac, your case against Folks revolved around the hansom driver. Both Watson and I knew you would track him down straightaway.' As Holmes continued in his soothing tone, I poured the inspector a cup of coffee, which he accepted with gratitude.

'The driver did not identify Folks as his redheaded passenger, I take it.'

'For a fact, Mr. Holmes. I was a mite stern with him, bein' somewhat taken aback; but he stood his ground. Said the man in his hansom had a longer nose than Folks; and the color of his hair wasn't the same, bein' more auburn than red.'

'The cabbie certainly wasn't color-blind,' I remarked.

'I see your point,' said Holmes quickly.

This surprised me, for I did not know I'd made one.

'Auburn is an unusual word for a cabbie to use, but no matter. The point is that the case against Cedric Folks has evaporated.'

'Completely,' agreed MacDonald, lighting up a cigar, which I had secured for him. 'Now I'm back where I started.'

'Hardly,' replied Holmes. 'We do know that Michael's ward was not involved, the assassin being the cabbie's passenger. It is possible that I may be able to unearth something about him. Just yesterday I was speaking to Watson about the fall of Moriarty.'

I sensed that the sleuth was choosing his words carefully, for MacDonald had been completely hoodwinked by the master criminal's college-professor facade.

'The professor met his end in Switzerland, and we got Moran in connection with that Ronald Adair matter. But one man of the Moriarty ring is still at large.'

'Porlock,' exclaimed MacDonald.

'No, the informer is free as a convenience. An arrangement you know of, Mr. Mac. I refer to the late professor's hatchet man.'

'Lightfoot,' breathed MacDonald. ''Tis said he died on the Continent.'

'No body was found.'

As Holmes and the Scot mused on this, I rallied my thoughts. The name meant nothing to me, but I could deduce who they were referring to. Holmes had specifically said that he had spent his years in self-imposed exile from London because two particularly vindictive members of Moriarty's infamous crew had escaped. Sebastian Moran was one, and this Lightfoot fellow must have been the other.

'What makes you suspect McTigue?' asked the inspector.

So, I thought, that's the rascal's name.

Holmes seemed to read my mind. 'He used a number of names, and you'll recall that Moriarty only sent him on special assignments. He'd appear at the victim's home as a chimney sweep, a deacon of the church, and on one occasion, he masqueraded as a nurse. A clever fellow was Lightfoot, and I've a thought that he's adopted a redheaded disguise and is back in business again. But there is no concrete proof of this.'

MacDonald rose with alacrity. 'We've a few people who are helpful on occasion that date back to the Moriarty