by C J Lutton
”I am Professor Heinrich Steiglitz, and I work for the Chancellor of Germany. I have heard much about you, Herr Holmes and Dr. Watson. But I am afraid I do not know of the young man.”
We did not reply.
”Aha, I see. And would you not show me the courtesy of at least allowing me to sit?”
Holmes waved him to the chair.
”Danke.” Professor Steiglitz sat down, being sure to keep his hands in sight. ”Herr Holmes, I am sure you have some questions, ja?”
Sherlock Holmes ignored the professor's mocking civility and turned towards me.
”Watson, check the other compartments. I'm sure that you'll find Wilson's man in one of them with his throat slashed.” Turning to Thaddeus, Holmes said, “At least, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you've avenged your sister's murder. It was Alan who killed her, am I not correct, professor?”
”Ja, it was him. Such an animal!”
”But how did you know?” Thaddeus asked. “We thought there were only two assailants.”
”Watson, the compartments?” Holmes prodded, ignoring Thaddeus for the moment.
”There is no need, Herr Holmes. He is also very dead.” The professor shook his head sadly.
”Check it anyway, Watson,” said Holmes while tying the professor to the chair with a length of rope he had pulled from his pocket.
I did as ordered and opened the door to the adjacent compartment. There I saw a young man's body lying crumpled in the corner. As Holmes had predicted, his throat had been slit from ear to ear.
”He's dead, Holmes!” I called.
I returned to the main part of the coach in time to see Thaddeus slowly raise Athos and point it directly at the professor's head. Holmes and I watched silently, as the young man fought back the human instinct of revenge. It was plain by his white—knuckled grip on the arms of the leather club chair that the professor expected to die at any moment.
”I do not believe you will shoot. It is not in your nature! You are too...”
Thaddeus jerked the shotgun to the right. There was a roar as Athos spewed its venomous lead through the air.
The professor howled as the pellets whizzed by his left ear. To this very day, I've yet to determine whether Thaddeus’ shot was errant or intentional.
”Nein! Nein! Gott in...”
”My next shot won't be so delicate,” said Thaddeus, as he broke the weapon and let the spent shells fall to the floor. He immediately loaded two more shells into Athos.
”Herr Holmes,” said the professor, ”you are a man of science. I have a plan. One that my Chancellor approves. Imagine an entire army of vampires to wage war on the enemy. You must see the value!”
”I see a madman. That's what I see. From where would you propose this army be drawn, Herr Professor?”
”From the slums and prisons of the world! Think of the beggars who line the streets of London! The children who travel in gangs and pick the pockets! We could train them in the art of warfare. Let them earn their place in society. Those that do not volunteer, would be the blood bank for our army.”
Holmes walked over to me and reached into my jacket, removing my revolver. “As a man of great mental powers,” continued the professor, ”you must see the merit of this idea. You cannot in good conscience—”
”Conscience?” spat Holmes, his long—legged gait quickly reducing the distance between him and the prisoner. He stopped to stand behind the professor's chair. ”You dare to speak to me of conscience?”
“No? You do not appreciate my plan? Then I must end your life,” the professor said, “so I can make the world a better place. This new idea will rid all the cities of the world of riffraff and produce an unbeatable army.”
Somehow, he had freed his right hand and in it was a derringer. He aimed the gun at Holmes’ head. The small silver weapon looked harmless as a toy, but I knew it could destroy the great detective’s brilliant brain.
“Holmes!” I cried. “Gun!”
But Holmes was ahead of me. With deadly purpose, my friend placed the revolver against the professor's temple and pulled the trigger. As the pistol roared to life, the professor's head slammed to the side. The bullet crashed into his skull. His hands clawed the chair's arms for a second, before his brain knew that he was dead. The derringer fell from his dead hand.
Holmes let the revolver fall to the floor, and then he stared into our shocked eyes. With a dazed look, he removed the piece of rope binding the professor. Holmes lifted the corpse out of the chair. With a supreme effort, he tossed the lifeless body through the jagged glass shards that were once the window. The body toppled out into the snowy world.
The great detective and I sat down heavily. Thaddeus sat opposite us and stared off into the distance. It was obvious that the ferocity of the recent struggle had greatly affected the young man. It wasn't until Holmes and I started shivering from the cold that Thaddeus rose and ran back to the compartments. He returned with a blanket and secured it around the trim of the broken window to block the cold air. ”I'm going to check the rest of the train,” he said. “We cannot afford any more surprises.”
Holmes glanced up and nodded. ”Watson, go with him.”
”What about you, Holmes?” I asked.
”I'm fine, Watson. Please go along with Thaddeus and see whether you can rustle up some food.”
Holmes walked to the window and stared out at the snow. We left him alone and scouted the other cars. Finding the coffin the professor had mentioned earlier, and having no wish to linger with such a gruesome memento, we were about to leave. But Thaddeus hesitated. ”The lid, doctor. Take a look at the lid.”
The lid was open a crack and so I quietly brought up Porthos. Thaddeus, thus alerted by my actions, brought Athos to bear. We stared at each other, then at the coffin, and its open lid. Nodding, Thaddeus walked to the casket and placed his hand on the lid. He threw it open. The youthful colouring of Thaddeus’ face drained as he peered down into the silk—lined coffin. Inside, lay the body of an elderly man. Judging from his white uniform, the man had most been probably the cook for the President’s railroad cars. The cook’s throat had been mutilated. His eyes bulged in surprise and agony. I gently closed them, then lowered the lid of the coffin. Rest in peace, I thought, as we backed out of the compartment.
On our walk back, Thaddeus pointed at the well—stocked larder and said, ”At least we will not starve to death.” After completing our search of the other cars, we headed back to Holmes. We arrived to find Holmes standing where we had left him. His breath had fogged the glass, making it impossible to see out. But he continued to gaze, appearing not to have heard us enter.
”How many more?” he asked. Not knowing to what he was referring, I stood waiting.
”One,” said Thaddeus, understanding Holmes’ meaning. ”Probably the cook.”
Nodding, Holmes turned to face us. “This has been a bloody start to our excursion and a terrible test, but we have overcome it. Now I am tired. I’m going to bed.”
Thaddeus and I agreed to stand guard that night, alternating every three hours. I stood the first watch. After only an hour, Thaddeus tapped on the door. ”I'm afraid we have a problem. The train has slowed to a crawl. Stay alert.”
The reflection of the moon against the whiteness of the snow afforded me an excellent view outside the window. The rolling blue and white drifts were enormous and rose high along the sides of the coach.
”Stay with Mr. Holmes,” said Thaddeus. ”I've got to find out what is happening up ahead. I'm going to talk to the engineer.”
Before I could respond, Thaddeus disappeared.
The train came to a lurching stop. I was quickly growing impatient and concerned with my dilemma. Should I abandon Holmes, praying that he would not wake until my return? Or should I go in search of Thaddeus? Providence stepped in before I could make a decision.
”Go after him,” whispered Holmes. ”He may need you. Go! I'll be all right.”
I was on my feet whe
n I heard the stomping of boots outside our door.
”Come in!” called Holmes, rising onto his elbow. Bursting into the room was an apparition of white. I brought my hand to Porthos before realizing that it was Thaddeus who stood before us, stomping off the accumulation of snow.
Holmes asked, ”What news?”
”I'm afraid we’re here for a while,” Thaddeus said. “The engineer said that the snow is so high across the tracks he is certain we can't get through. He sent his man up ahead to the next station. He'll find out when the tracks will be cleared. In the meantime, he said that we're to sit tight.”
”As if we had a choice,” I said.
The train lurched forward and began to move again very slowly.
”Ahh,” sighed Holmes, ”all is not hopeless. We may get there yet. Watson, see if you can find us some fresh coffee or tea. Thaddeus, go by the stove and warm up. I'll be out shortly.”
I allowed myself a faint sense of optimism. However, Thaddeus quickly deflated my mood as we stepped outside of Holmes’ room.
”Keep your eye on Mr. Holmes. I'm still worried about him,” Thaddeus counseled me.
”I cannot find anything physically wrong with him,” I said.
”Be that as it may, Doctor, I for one do not wish him to make a fatal decision. His stamina has been greatly tested.”
”And I am telling you,” I responded, ”that you and I will fall exhausted well before he does. I'm sure of it. He thrives on the chase. If his mind is not challenged, then he becomes incorrigible and impossible to be around.”
”You're the doctor. I hope you're correct in your diagnosis. It's just that I do not want him to be hurt.”
”Nor do I. But I know Holmes’ ways, and we'll serve him best by being as strong as he. ”
We fell silent, warming ourselves near the stove. The train continued forward. We moved along slowly, but at least it was progress. As the strained silence grew, I said, ”I'll make some coffee and perhaps something to eat. After a good meal, we shall all feel better.”
I left Thaddeus warming his hands by the stove. Holmes came out of his compartment as I was setting out a tray laden with coffee and food.
”Just in time, Watson. I'm famished.”
We removed club chairs from the other car to replace the ones Holmes had destroyed. Once we had our seating sorted, we sat down to eat.
”I'm afraid Roosevelt is going to be put off by my handiwork,” said Holmes, gesturing to the condition of the car. There were blood spatters on the walls and floor. Chairs overturned and destroyed. Truly, we had made a mess of the place.
”Mr. Holmes? My sister. How did you know the identity of her killer?” Thaddeus let the question hang in the air.
”It had to be Alan,” Holmes replied. ”Upon seeing the horrible crime committed against your own sibling, you were in no condition to be an objective observer. But I found traces of three men at the scene, and I checked the soles of the shoes of all of Wilson's men. None of them matched. There was a singular nick in one of the heels of the murderer's shoes, which I had noticed in the bloody footprints leaving the scene. When you returned from your dealings at the tenement, stating that you gotten them both, I knew one was still at large. I figured that the day would come when our paths would cross again, so I did not inform you of the third man.
”I thought it would be better that I told you of him when your mind was clearer. At the scene, I examined your sister's fingernails and found traces of skin beneath every one of her fingernails. It was obvious that all of the murders were accomplished from behind the victims. The footprint with the identifying nick in the heel came from directly behind your sister. Therefore, it was reasonable to assume that her murderer was the person with the telltale mark on his shoe.”
”Holmes!” I cried, finding his cold dissection of the murder scene too detached for Thaddeus’ well—being.
Holmes said, ”Thaddeus, if my description is causing you pain, I am sorry. I'll stop if you want.”
”Please go on, Mr. Holmes.”
My friend nodded and continued, ”Your sister fought valiantly. Even though her throat had already been slashed, judging from the blood that was only on the flat surfaces of her thumbs, I assumed she’d reached back like this.”
Holmes placed his hands straight back with his thumbs pressing on his neck and splayed his fingers to show a clawing movement. ”Her attempt to stem the flow of blood was futile, but she fought her murderer one last time before falling to the ground.”
Holmes paused again, watching for Thaddeus’ reaction. With his face set in stone, Thaddeus nodded for Holmes to continue.
”When we boarded the train and were greeted by Alan, an unexplainable sensation came over me. Instantly, I knew that I did not like the man, but I just wrote that off to being tired. However, if you recall, once inside we all stomped our feet to knock the snow from our boots. Milling about like we were, we flattened the small piles of snow. Alan stepped on one of the mounds by pure happenstance. I was shocked to see the mark his shoe had left was the same as I’d seen at the crime scene. Noticing his poorly fitting jacket, I studied him more closely. Remembering the torn flesh under your sister's nails, I paid particular attention to his neck. At first, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. No marks or welts. But his collar had a faint smudge of color on the inside. I knew he was wearing stage makeup to hide the scars your sister had left as a remembrance.”
Holmes walked over to Thaddeus, placed his hands on the young man's bowed shoulders, and said, ”Alan died in pain and panic. I hope that he lived long enough to feel the blood drain from his body. That would have been a truly fitting death.”
Thaddeus rose to his feet and nodded. ”As did the professor, Mr. Holmes.”
“I cannot help but feel the world is a better place for it,” Holmes said.
Again, the train lurched. Outside, the wind howled, driving the snow against the windows. It came in gusting, biting sheets of white. Holmes walked to the closet and pulled on his coat and hat.
”Where do you think you're going, Holmes?” I asked.
”To find the engineer. I must know what's going on up ahead. I'll not be long.” He opened the door and allowed the frigid wind into the car, as he quickly stepped into the blizzard.
I ran to the window and watched the top of Holmes’ head pass by. Turning round, I was in time to see Thaddeus pulling on his coat. He held Athos in his right hand, as he glumly fastened the buttons with his left.
”Wait for me,” I called, sensing the urgency in his movements. ”We should face this together.”
I grabbed my hat and coat. Whereas Thaddeus held Athos, I clutched Porthos in my right hand.
”Doctor, I'll take the other side of the train. You follow in Mr. Holmes’ wake. Please move quickly,” said my young companion.
Bracing ourselves for the wind and snow, we lowered ourselves into the drifts. The wind's constantly changing direction erased any sign of Holmes’ tracks. The frigid air cut through me like a knife, and carved deep furrows and towering ice sculptures that impeded my progress. Even though it was blisteringly cold, the uncompromising assault on my advancement caused me to become sopping wet with perspiration. An occasional gust would hit me broadside with enough force to push me farther away from the train. After every few laborious steps, I would have to change my direction and plow through the virgin drifts until I could once again reach out and feel the side of the car with my frozen gloves. My woolen coat had become intolerably heavy, crusted as it was with snow and ice. The howl of the wind blocked every noise except my own laboured breathing.
Hoping Thaddeus was faring better, I pushed away from the side of the car once again. Finally, I saw the steam billowing from the engine. The farther I proceeded, the more I heard of the engine's hollow hissing and pinging. Once I reached the engineer's cab, I looked up for Holmes. The whirling snow blinded me. I was about to shout his name, but I noticed a fresh set of footprints in the snow, coming from the right of the t
rain and leading directly to where I was standing. I squinted and looked harder. There were not one, but two sets of prints.
Again, I peered up into the engineer's compartment. This time as a gust cleared the air I saw the silhouettes of two men locked in a fierce struggle. The billowing steam blurred my vision once more and I was unable to determine who they were. I had to do something! I raised Porthos and fired in the air. The roar of the gun was nearly swallowed up in the fury of Mother Nature's wrath.
”Stop!” I yelled upwards at the fighting men. ”Put your hands in the air!”
Another roar answered my demand. I dove headlong into a snowbank and felt in my pockets for new shells. Clumsily, I opened the breech, kicked out the spent casings, and replaced them with fresh ones. Snapping the gun shut, I rose to my knees and prepared to fire another volley directly into the engineer’s compartment. But I was relieved to hear Holmes sing out, ”Good show, Watson! Your timing, as usual, is impeccable!”
Holmes jumped down from the engine and called out, ”Thaddeus! Are you all right?”
”Just a minute!” Thaddeus replied, breathless with exertion. The familiar sound of Athos' thunder reverberated in the air. ”All done here, Mr. Holmes,” came Thaddeus’ voice from the other side of the engine. ”Stay where you are. I'm coming round.”
We watched as Thaddeus’ form took shape at the front of the giant, steam—spewing locomotive. He trudged towards us. Suddenly, I saw that he had blood all over him. I rushed forward to give him assistance.
”Whoa, Doctor,” Thaddeus said, glancing down at his coat. ”It's not my blood. It belongs — or should I say, belonged — to my friend on the other side of the train. He no longer requires it.”
”What the devil happened here, Holmes?” I asked.
”Later, Watson. Your medical expertise is required.” But seeing the expression of concern on my face, Holmes added, ”No, not me, old friend. Your timely arrival spared me any serious wounds. I'm talking about the engineer up in the cabin. He's had a rough time of it.”