Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

Holmes shook his head. 'I haven't forgotten how they let Moriarty and Colonel Moran slip through their fingers, to say nothing of Lightfoot.'

Frisbee registered puzzlement. 'Lightfoot?'

'You wouldn't know him, and it's unimportant, though he may be mixed up in this. Only as a mercenary, however—a pawn.'

'Albeit a dangerous one,' I remonstrated.

Holmes waved this away. 'There is some interest at Whitehall regarding this affair. I'm going to tackle Hananish tomorrow with the assistance of a special branch.'

Holmes said a special branch. Frisbee thought he meant the special branch, just as my friend had intended him to.

'Well, if you're going to ring down the curtain yourself, I'm happy about it.' Claymore Frisbee made to reach for his checkbook, but a gesture from the sleuth forestalled him.

'Let us settle accounts when we've written finis to this complex matter. There's a few jumps still to be taken.'

'Regarding the insurance?' queried Frisbee with alarm.

'No, no!' You can pocket the premium and consider the matter at an end. But I've a wish to bring Hananish to heel. The grim reaper has dealt harshly with the ungodly, and there's a few left to testify for the Crown against him. In addition, I cannot stand in court and swear that the gold in the Bank of England came from the west coast banks, for I have no means of identifying the precious metal. However, I want to see Hananish show where it did come from, if not his fellow bankers.'

'You've got him,' stated Frisbee.

'I'll need your help.' Holmes removed his gaze from the fire in front of him and regarded Frisbee keenly.

'You have but to ask,' was the prompt answer.

'No news of the matter must leak out now. I wish to catch Hananish completely off guard, for it might unnerve him. In fact, let us spread a false trail. Let it be known that you are paying off the policy on the gold shipment. You could arrange an appointment for me to deliver the Inter-Ocean check to Alvidon Chasseur tomorrow, could you not?'

'What check?' sputtered Frisbee, again alarmed.

'There will not be one, but I have a little matter to settle with Mr. Chasseur. Relative to a disagreement between us as to who is the world's leading detective.'

Frisbee, who had heard enough about the meeting between Holmes and the railroad tycoon to know what was going on, readily agreed to Holmes' request and made ready to depart, looking considerably more relaxed than when he had arrived.

Secretly, I groaned. Here we go again, I thought. Holmes accused me of having a pawkish humor, but he was not above a prank or two himself on occasion. I still shudder when I recall the hoax he perpetrated on Lord Cantlemere relative to the great yellow Crown diamond. The aged peer, who became one of Holmes' staunchest supporters, still contends that my friend's sense of humor was perverted.^*

^*Surely, in his later recording of this case, Watson became confused, for it is virtually certain that the Adventure of the Mazarin Stone took place after the turn of the century. It is obvious that this matter occurred somewhat before 1900.

I was helping Frisbee with his coat when Holmes posed a question. 'Have you had any dealings of late with the Deutsche Bank?'

Adjusting his muffler, Frisbee regarded the sleuth with surprise. 'Strange you should ask that.'

'How so?'

'They are solvent, all right. Their national economy is booming. Most of the pottery you buy now comes from German kilns, you know.'

'Most of the waiters in our restaurants are German, for that matter,' commented Holmes, for what reason I could not fathom.

'That so? One of the P.M.'s aides had a little talk with the banking commission recently about the size of German investments over here. They've been getting their fingers in a lot of things. Couple of steel firms in Birmingham were in need of financing but a while ago. The Deutsche Bank made overtures and the government had to step on the negotiations, diplomatically, of course.'

Standing next to our visitor, my confusion must have been apparent. Holmes chided me for having a mirror- like face as regards my inner feelings. Frisbee took pity on me.

'It's been a spell since we were allied with the Prussians and ever since Bismarck unified the German states, their empire has been gaining in strength. If Kaiser Wilhelm ever calls back the Iron Chancellor from Friedrichsruh and reinstates him, we could really be in trouble.'^*

^*Proof that this case predates 1900, since Otto von Bismarck died in 1898—unless Watson got mixed up with dates, which he did tend to do on occasion.

Frisbee pondered for a moment on his words, then turned toward the door, only to turn around again toward Holmes. 'You know, we do have a number of Germans over here. A bit of a sticky thing if there's ever a war. Matter of intelligence, you know.'

Holmes knew and so did I. As I let Claymore Frisbee out of our sitting room with a farewell, I thought of what he didn't know. Namely that Holmes' brother headed up the espionage department of the British government and was the second most powerful man in England. Holmes had never told me point-blank of his brother's real function; but ever since I had first met Mycroft Holmes in connection with that Greek interpreter matter in '88, I had realized that he did not just audit books in some of the government departments. I knew what special branch Holmes had in mind relative to Hananish in Gloucester.

Fatigue prompted me to sponge such thoughts from my mind. With the departure of our relieved client, I decided to retire for the night. The prospect of a return trip to Gloucester caused me to mouth a somewhat peevish complaint before doing so. 'Most of our time on this case has been spent in train travel, Holmes. It will be a relief to stay in London for a change.'

My friend was staring into the fireplace, his mind I knew not where, but he responded. 'It all started with a train robbery, you know.'

I could summon no retort to this and made my way to the upper story.

Chapter 17

The Return to Fenley

THE BELLS of St. Mary-le-Bow were striking the hour when I suddenly sat upright in my bed. The room was pitch-black and from the state of my bolster I knew that my sleep had been fretful. Something had been prodding at my subconscious, something I should tell Holmes. Then it came to me. The three men on the hill who had fallen before the American's flaming gun were unfamiliar to me. On that morning, not long ago, when I had been spirited away from the entrance to the Red Grouse Inn, I gained but a fleeting impression of the two men who had taken me so neatly and then, by intent, had left a broad trail behind them. But I knew they were not of the trio that had met their fate in Essex and were now being shipped to the morgue in London. This meant that Hananish had other bully boys at his beck and call.

The thought that had plagued me did not seem of importance when viewed with cold logic. Though my logic had acquired no fame, the room was cold—that I could state firmly. I knew that if I huddled under my blankets, sleep would prove the coquette indeed and but flirt with me through the remaining dark hours. Rather than waste my blandishments on the fickle mistress of the night, I searched with inquisitive toes for my slippers. Grateful for their fleece lining, I rose with a creak and a groan and trembled my way to the backless stool and my robe that rested on it. There was that silence that breathed at one, like a tangible thing rather than a total absence. A chill ran across the back of my shoulders, and I clutched my robe around me, stumbling in the darkness toward the door of my bedchamber. Down the back stairs I went with the thought that the dying embers of the hearth fire would be a welcome comfort. There was a dullish glow within the ashes of the back log that I stirred with the poker and then searched out the wood box for a length of birch. The bark of the soft wood was cooperative and soon there was a small but merry flame, which did little to offset the chill of the room but did raise my spirits slightly.

Throughout those untold generations before the wheel, the candle, the coming of the mechanical age, man