“It helps to wear dark lenses,” Holmes remarked. “To conceal the intelligence.”
“Metaphorical dark glasses, in my case,” Mycroft said. “I have found the appearance of age and infirmity quite helpful in maintaining the facade of oblivion. And I might have managed to complete my trap and bait it, had it not been for the abrupt arrival of my nephew on the scene.”
“Because of Brothers?”
“The Brothers case proved both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, that wretch’s acts drove a cart and horses through my tidy ambush. All of a sudden, the police were underfoot, with an all-out hunt for Damian, then for the two of you.
“However, once I began to look into the situation for you, I realised that it might be another in the series of incidents where I suspected my invisible opponent’s hand at work. It had become clear that Brothers had a guardian within the government, someone who greased official rails. One might think that there are a limited number of men who can establish new identities and arrange bank accounts, but in practice, a person who holds authority in one department can generally manipulate the machinery of another. And it can work informally, as well, or even indirectly: informally, in that when one knows the right people, one need only drop a word in a fellow club- man’s ear to have a protege’s application speeded, his request granted. And indirectly, because a tightly knit group of school- and ’varsity-chums will grant one another favours without asking where the request originated.
“I was in the process of narrowing down the candidates when five uniformed constables came to the office to demand that I accompany them to New Scotland Yard. I have to say, I did not know whether to laugh or to take out my revolver.”
“Why did you not telephone the PM?” Holmes asked.
“Because I thought this might be the additional factor that brought my list of candidates down to one. I knew Lestrade had to be acting under orders-why else not simply come and talk to me?-but I wanted to know whose.
“Unfortunately, I do not think he knew himself. During our interview, he seemed almost sheepish, as if he’d been asked to take part in a play with rather too much melodrama for his taste. Still, it gave me a pathway to investigate, since there are a limited number of ways in which Scotland Yard can be reached.
“And I might have found it by now had it not been for the motorcar that pulled to the kerb thirty feet from the Yard’s entrance. In the back sat a large man with a scar across his left eyebrow and a gun in his hand.”
“Gunderson,” I supplied.
I became aware of an odd, breathy noise; it took me a moment to identify it as Goodman’s snores.
“And the driver?” Holmes asked.
“Another criminal type. Certainly no public-school boy.”
“They masked you?”
“A sack over my head. He then made me get on the floor, and we drove back and forth for twenty minutes or so before ending up very close to where we had begun, at a warehouse in Lambeth-an old warehouse, no doubt slated for development and therefore quite deserted. I could hear Ben’s chimes and smell the river, but I was well and truly trapped, and any noise would go unheard.
“I was minimally fed every eight hours, the water often lightly drugged. Until this past Wednesday, when the three o’clock meal was not only brought me by a new set of feet, it was so heavily drugged, I could see the powder residue in the cup. So I poured it on the floor, and waited.
“Two hours later, Richard Sosa arrived.”
I jerked upright in disbelief. “They sent your secretary to kill you?”
Mycroft returned my look of disbelief. “Kill me? What are you on about? Mr Sosa came to rescue me.”
Chapter 62
Mycroft’s three o’clock meal-Wednesday? He was almost certain it was Wednesday-sat in the corner of the room, taunting him. He had seen the foreign matter in the cup, tasting it gingerly before pouring it onto the floor, and decided not to risk the solid food.
If death was finally coming for him, he wanted to meet it on his feet.
Ninety minutes later, he heard a noise, but it was not the noise he expected. It sounded like glass breaking.
After five minutes, it happened again, only closer. This time he moved to the far corner of the room, raising his eyes to the square of light overhead.
The next repetition came two minutes after the second; after another two-minute pause, his window proved to be the fourth. It began when the square developed a dark patch-ah, Mycroft thought: The breaker of windows had discovered that glass splashes back, and spent three minutes improvising a guard before his second attempt.
A sharp rap in the centre of the shadow split the glass. Palm-sized shards of glass rained down; the shadow was removed, and glass fell as the pipe jabbed at the widening hole. When the hole reached the window’s edge, the pipe withdrew. Seconds later, a torch beam hit the floor, searching the corners until it froze on Mycroft.
“Mr Holmes!” said a welcome voice that wavered upwards to a squeak.
“Mr Sosa,” Mycroft said in astonishment. “An unexpected pleasure.”
“Oh, sir, I am so glad to see you. I hope you are well?”
Mycroft’s lips quirked. “Much the better for seeing you, Blondel.”
“Er, quite. I am glad,” the secretary repeated, fervent with relief. “Shall I, that is, if you wish, I could go and fetch a locksmith?”
“Either that or a heavy sledge. The door is solid.”
“I do have… that is, I wasn’t certain if you… I have a ladder.”
“A ladder?” Mycroft had judged his prison on the top of a sizeable building: Summoning a ladder the height of the room would be a considerable project.
“Not a ladder as such, it’s rope. A rope-ladder. If you feel up to such a thing.”
“Is there sufficient anchor up there? I’d not care to get nearly to the top and have it come loose.”
“Oh no, no no, that wouldn’t do at all. Yes, there is a metal pipe nearby, and I have a rope as well. To fasten around the pipe, that is, and tie to the ladder.”
“Mr Sosa, I don’t know that I’ve ever had opportunity to enquire, but-your knowledge of knots. How comprehensive is it?”
“Quite sufficient, I assure you, sir,” he answered earnestly. “As a boy, I taught myself a full two dozen styles and their chief purposes. I propose a sheet bend rather than a reef knot. And to fasten it to the pipe, a double half- hitch should be quite sufficient. No, sir; my knots will hold.”
“Very well, let us make haste.”
“If you would just-”
“Stand back-I know. The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth down as the gentle glass from heaven. Bash away, Mr Sosa.”
Sosa bashed, until the frame was cleared of glass. He then disappeared, for a disarmingly long period, while Mycroft stood below, his hands working hard against each other.
A young eternity later, an object little smaller than the window leapt through the hole and plunged downwards. Mycroft stumbled back, seeing it as Sosa being thrown inside by the returned gaoler-but then the large darkness caught and rapidly unfurled, dancing its way all the way down to the floor: the ladder.
Mycroft rested his hand against his pounding heart for a moment. The torch-light hit him and he heard his name. He dropped his hand and picked his way over the glass to the ladder, tugging it with little conviction. It seemed sturdy.
He gave a last glance to his prison, and the formula scratched into the wall, then committed his stockinged foot to the first rung.
Five rungs up, the ladder dipped alarmingly, and he clung to the insecure rope as if it would do an iota of good. He waited, feeling motion on the line. Then came two sharp tremors, as if its tautness was being slapped.
“Mr Sosa, may I take it that the two raps were to indicate the rope is secure?”
Two tremors came down again; reluctantly, Mycroft inched up another rung, then another.
