day.'
His skill a recognized thing, the audience was riveted on the champion and there was a respectful silence indeed.
As he took his stance before the crowd, I was much surprised to note that he had changed weapons. Having done so well with his lever-action gun, I would have thought that he would stay with it; but instead, he now carried a different-looking rifle, with an elongated barrel. It was an unusual weapon with a stock decorated by ornate checkering. I had seen similar carving on sporting rifles and understood it had a grip-aiding purpose.
'Note that he is using a Beals revolving rifle,' whispered Holmes in my ear. 'They haven't made those since seventy-two.'
While I mused over this information, Ledger put on a show that had the crowd breathless. Lord Seville stood to one side of the marksman with another judge, and both men alternated in spinning coins into the air. Ledger knocked four out of the sky and then added a fillip by drilling two more, firing from the hip. As he paused to reload, I realized why his repeating rifle had seemed strange. Its firing chamber was similar to a revolver in its action, hence the name that Holmes had given the gun.
While I watched openmouthed as Ledger ran through his bag of trick-shooting feats, a thought came to my mind, spurred by the fact that the man and his gun moved as one. It was further stimulated by his speed in firing and the so brief time that he took to aim.
The climax to Ledger's performance should have been clear to me before the fact. The afternoon had been a singular triumph for Alvidon Chasseur, and if I judged him correctly, he must have derived great joy from forcing Lord Balmoral to take a back seat. Would he let the matter come to an end without interjecting himself into the proceedings? Certainly not; though I had to admit that he displayed remarkable nerve in the manner in which he did it.
Ledger now completed what proved to be his next-to-closing bit of rifle legerdemain. With his weapon held by Lord Seville, he faced the audience, two small wooden balls in hand. Tossing them over his shoulder, he snatched the Beals repeater from his lordship's hands and whirled, again firing from the hip, and smashed his targets with twin shots that rang out almost as one. As he acknowledged the applause, a look passed between the president of the Birmingham and Northern and Ledger. The marksman reloaded his weapon as Chasseur, without an announcement, strode out onto the firing range. From a silver case he extracted a cigarette as a puzzled hush spread over the crowd. Igniting an Egyptian cigarette, which I identified from its length, the rail tycoon stood with his profile toward Ledger, the smoking cigarette in his mouth. By now everyone realized what was going on, and there was a low rumble of protest and several of the ladies present grew quite pale. I have mentioned that the cigarette was long, and I noted that Chasseur held it between his teeth at the very end; but still, it was a sporty exhibition of faith in his employee's ability.
Ledger did take time aiming now. Then the shot rang out and the burning end of the cigarette was no more as Chasseur turned toward the audience with a triumphant smile. He rejoined the excited throng to the tune of hearty cheers, this time as much for him as for Ledger.
Holmes was exhibiting a sardonic smile. 'The old reprobate carried it off like a circus ringmaster,' he stated.
'It was an impressive piece of showmanship, Holmes.'
'I'll not say you nay on that. Has a thought been nagging at you?'
'The candle in our sitting room?'
'Exactly. I don't think Ledger would have missed the wick.'
I agreed quickly. Actually, that was not the thought that had come to my mind at all.
Chapter 13
Watson's Investigation, Holmes' Revelations
THROUGH THE mass of spectators, all now standing and discussing the happenings, I noted Claymore Frisbee making his way purposefully in our direction. Some sort of conference with the banker was overdue, and I could add little to it. So I took a bold step and spoke to Holmes hurriedly.
'I have an idea. Would it be inconvenient if I took this time to pursue it?'
'By no means,' responded my friend. There was a faint twinkle in his intense eyes and he cocked his head slightly, surveying me. 'You know my methods, Watson. Do make use of them. In conjunction with your talents, of course.'
'Now see here, Holmes . . .'
'I'm serious. If you're on the scent of something, by all means have at it. I'll see you later at Baker Street.'
Holmes turned to wave a greeting at the approaching Frisbee, then returned his attention to me. 'Good hunting, old friend.'
A solicitous club attendant readily gave me the information I requested and shortly thereafter I found myself in the basement of the club, outside a small room which I had been informed was given over to the star performer of the Wellington gun squad.
Richard Ledger was already within, having removed himself from his many admirers promptly. But then it was Alvidon Chasseur who was taking the bows, a pleasure he had paid for; and I judged that he paid Ledger well.
The marksman recognized me immediately and invited me to enter his dressing room. Trying to emulate Holmes, I bid my eyes make note of the surroundings, hoping to implant them upon a mental photographic plate. It was a small place, partitioned off like numerous others for the convenience of club members, which Ledger certainly was, though it was not his money paying the dues. There was a locker for hanging clothes, since the rifle squad affected costumes bearing the Wellington insignia. A cupboard was the largest piece of furniture, the top section being a rack for rifles with glass doors secured by an efficient-looking lock. A drawer underneath was closed and also sported a lock. I suspected that it contained an assortment of small arms.
On a square table there were tools, and I noted a bullet mold and a small but serviceable-looking vise, which gave me a thought.
'For half loads?' I asked, indicating the equipment.
'Sometimes handy,' admitted Ledger. He was slipping into his suit coat and shot a sudden look at me as though making up his mind. 'You see how it is, Doctor. There's not just the shooting involved.'
'A bit of a side show as well,' I hazarded.
The man's pale blue eyes were disconcerting, but if one overlooked them, his manner was forthright and friendly. Evidently, he sensed a kindred spirit in me.
'I have to be ready to change the act, you see. If it's not long guns, there's naught left but side arms and for fancy work, half loads are helpful.'
'Less recoil for greater accuracy.'
The fact that I understood seemed to please him. 'Tricks of the trade.' He shifted subjects. 'Can you talk about the treasure train matter?'
His directness was refreshing. Leaning against the table, he seemed relaxed; but I knew I was in the presence of a coiled spring. The man reflected his profession: dangerous, certainly ruthless if necessary, but his youth dissipated any suggestion of malevolence. I will grant that I rank with the gullible, certainly in comparison to Holmes. Yet I felt that Ledger was sincere, his mood tinged by a genuine regret—not for his performance of the day, but relative to the matter of the stolen gold.
I decided to take a chance. My companion of so many years had once said that to learn something one should tell something, so I became revealing.
'Sherlock Holmes seems intrigued by this gun club competition that has sprung up.'
'The trained seals.' There was a twist to Ledger's mouth. 'I shouldn't complain, for it's what got me my job with the railroad; and marksmanship competition is nothing new. The other stuff, like the cigarette bit, is just so much lagniappe to entertain the people.'
I must have been regarding him rather intently, for he shifted position, possibly a nervous movement, and was now seated on the table. 'Does Mr. Holmes associate the Wellington Club with the robbery?'
