Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

ask?'

'Marley, of course,' replied Holmes. 'You will recall that on the day of the murder, Agnes Bisbee said her uncle had ridden off to Marley in a rage. But Bennett stated that Ledbetter's farm was equidistant between Marley and Shaw. It occurred to me that Ledbetter might well have said he was riding to Marley but actually have directed his horse here.'

'Placing him at the scene of the crime. And what, pray tell, did you learn in this adjacent hamlet?'

'Much more than I anticipated. Obviously, Agnes had informed her uncle of her love for Charles Trelawney. The news was such a shock to the old fellow that he rode into Marley like Rob Roy on the run. Leaving a foam- flecked horse, he promptly made for the only public house available and spent what was left of the early evening disposing of a complete bottle of very old Irish whiskey. This induced a certain truculence in his general attitude and the local constable was summoned. This protector of the peace, Farquhar by name, placed Horace Ledbetter with some difficulty in what our American cousins call the local pokey. Ledbetter spent the entire night in a cell in the Marley jail.'

'Good heavens!' I exclaimed, adjusting my waistcoat. 'This gives Ledbetter an alibi.'

'The very best I can think of, since it is supplied by the authorities themselves.'

As Holmes helped me into my coat, there was a loud knocking on the door. 'Do come in,' said Holmes, and the door opened revealing an agitated Constable Bennett.

'Forgive me, gentlemen,' said Bennett, entering rapidly. 'Things have taken a sudden turn.'

'So Holmes has just told me.'

The constable shot an inquisitive glance at my friend. 'They said downstairs you had hired a four-wheeler early this morning. I was looking around town for you before coming here. Have you chanced upon something?'

''Twill wait,' said Holmes with an airy gesture of one hand. 'What have you learned, Bennett?'

'As you know, I have been staying at the Trelawney house to protect the evidence. This morning, I dropped by my digs and found an envelope under my door.' Bennett extracted a piece of cheap paper from his pocket. 'Let me read you the contents: 'Young Charles did not arrive at Trelawney's till just before eleven. Why don't you follow the finger of guilt, which points directly at Horace Ledbetter?''

'It's signed: 'One who knows,'' concluded Bennett.

'Your anonymous correspondent might just as well have affixed his name,' said Holmes.

'My thought exactly, Mr. Holmes. Vincent Staley trying to implicate his enemy. I came here at once, but they said that you had already departed. Therefore, I went to Staley's home. There was no response to my knock, but I noticed the door ajar. Something prompted me to look inside and it's a good thing I did, gentlemen. I found Vincent Staley in his bedroom with his head bashed in.'

'Good heavens!' This news set me back for fair.

'Hmmm!' added Holmes. 'A turn of events I certainly did not foresee.'

Bennett looked harassed. 'I haven't made the fact known as yet.'

'Just as well,' was the detective's comment.

'I thought you gentlemen would accompany me to Ledbetter's farm. He is a tough old coot and I may need assistance in placing him under arrest.'

I was dazed. 'But he has an alibi.'

Holmes explained the situation to Bennett. 'Constable Farquhar of Marley assured me that Horace Ledbetter was under lock and key in the Marley jail the entire night of the murder of Trelawney.'

Now it was the constable's turn to look dazed. 'Farquhar, eh? A good man. Bit of a local celebrity since he is our best dancer in these parts. Considered the master of the English Quick Step.'

'Well, he has quick-stepped our only suspect right out of the picture.'

'Not necessarily, my dear Watson.'

'Half a moment, Holmes. Young Charles is innocent, being a left-handed man and incapable of delivering the death blow to his stepfather in the manner in which it was done. Staley has been murdered himself, and Horace Ledbetter has an ironclad alibi. Surely you cannot make anything sensible out of this hopeless tangle? Unless another suspect appears in a deus ex machina manner, we are at a hopeless dead end.'

Holmes' eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. 'The only way of arriving at what can be true is the careful elimination of what cannot be true. And there is a glimmer of light relative to this complex affair. Our solution lies in following your thought, Bennett, and departing immediately for the Ledbetter farm.'

Using the four-wheeler that Holmes had secured for his trip to Marley, we were soon heading down a country road with Holmes at the reins. He set the horse at a good pace and it was not long before we pulled up in front of the substantial farmhouse that was our destination. We were met at the door by Agnes Bisbee, a comely girl with the creamlike complexion native to the locale. Her eyes were red from weeping.

'Agnes, we wish a word with your uncle,' stated Bennett.

'He is in the barn,' said the girl. 'Though I don't know in what condition. The past few days have been a nightmare. He was gone all of one night and he's been drinking steadily and is up at all sorts of hours.'

The recounting of recent events proved too much and she began to sob. 'Now, now,' said Holmes with as close to a fatherly tone as he could come. 'Things may not be quite as bad as they seem. Charles Trelawney will shortly be released from custody and his name cleared of any complicity in the heinous murder of his stepfather.'

The girl's tears ceased at this news and Holmes indicated the barn. 'Now, if you will excuse us, I believe we can arrive at the end of this most regrettable chain of events,' he said.

Holmes and I followed Bennett, who marched purposefully to the barn but found the door locked. He knocked authoritatively. 'Lea' me in peace,' said a slurred voice from within.

'It is Bennett, Ledbetter. Open this door in the name of the law.'

There was a silence for half a minute and then the sound of a bar being removed. Half of the large barn door slid open, revealing a gnarled man of six feet in height with a weather-beaten face topped by a shock of white hair. He was dressed in work clothes. His callused hands and wide frame bespoke of strength and that durable power produced by hard manual labor.

I'm glad there are three of us, I thought. He looks as if he could be a bit of a handful.

The farmer indicated with a vague gesture for us to enter and turned inside and made his way to an anvil on which rested a depleted bottle and a tin tankard. He poured himself a considerable amount of whiskey and downed it in a gulp.

''Tis about Staley that I'm here,' said Constable Bennett.

'Aye! I've been expectin' ya.'

The farmer's eyes were bleary and his speech thick, but his brain appeared to be working. I surmised he had drunk himself sober, a physical peculiarity that has been known to happen.

'I'll no beat the bushes abaht it. 'Twas yesterday of an evening hour. I came out here in search of some bottles that I had hid away from Agnes' eyes. When I opened the door, there was Staley, curse his black heart! He was by the stalls with a club in his hand. I'd surprised him all right and he rushed at me. 'Twas all so fast. I grabbed this here fence rail what I had been workin' on.' The farmer indicated a stout piece of oak on the floor of the barn. 'Wi' it, I blocked his first blow and swung. 'Twas a lucky hit or I would not be talkin' to ya now. Caught him full on the forehead, I did, and he was dead afore he hit the ground. What went through my poor addled pate then I canna tell ya. Somehow I were plagued with the idea of gettin' his carcass out of here, so I saddled my mare. She was skitterish, I tell ya, for she smelled Staley's blood, but I got him hoisted over her withers and into the saddle meself. Then I rode into Shaw and put the body in his house. I had the idea that if his corpse be found in Shaw, I would not be involved, but 'twon't work. I been livin' wi' the deed and that fierce moment for these hours past and it will nay do. I killed him.'

With a groan, Ledbetter sank onto a bale of hay and buried his face in his hands.

'There seems to be ample grounds for a plea of self-defense,' stated Holmes. 'You said Staley had a club. Is it still here?'

Ledbetter just gestured toward a wall of the barn. Holmes crossed to the indicated spot and secured a stave of seasoned wood, which he studied carefully. 'This, gentlemen,' he continued, 'will prove to be the murder weapon which did away with Ezariah Trelawney. The series of events seems clear. Impelled by blind rage, Vincent Staley