Sherlock Holmes and the Father of Lies

by C J Lutton

  As I climbed into the cab, Holmes continued, ”I'm afraid I was too late to save the stoker. He's nowhere to be found.”

  ”Mr. Holmes!” yelled Thaddeus. His outcry stopped my ascent. I turned and saw a pair of hands breaking through the surface of a large snow drift.

  ”Tend to the engineer, Watson!” ordered Holmes. ”We'll look after our surprising little mole.”

  Holmes and Thaddeus grabbed the exposed hands and pulled a man from the snowbank. Holmes shouted, ”I think it’s the stoker! He has a nasty bump on his head and a few bruises, but he looks as if he'll be fine.”

  Stepping over a lifeless body that had been the victim of Holmes’ Aramis, I tended to the engineer. He also had bumps and bruises, but from the look of his hands, he gave as well as he got.

  ”He's fine, Holmes!” I shouted, helping the man as he rose shakily to his feet. Thaddeus assisted the engineer in getting down to the ground. I joined the four men, standing in the cold, blustery snow.

  ”We better get inside before we all freeze to death,” said Holmes.

  Looking towards the rear of the train, I dreaded having to trudge through the snow with the two wounded fellows. Holmes, as if reading my mind once again, interrupted my self—pitying thoughts. He climbed the ladder into the engineer's cab. We watched as he expertly manipulated the levers and slowly inched the train forward until our car drew even with us.

  As Thaddeus and the two men climbed the steps, Holmes pulled me off to the side. ”Watson, we have to get this train moving. Keep our friends inside, and Thaddeus on a tight rein. I will tend the engine and get us through. At every thirty—minute mark, I'll sound one short burst of the train's whistle. That will let you know that everything's fine. When I'm planning to stop, you will hear three short bursts. When you hear that sound, either you the engineer, or the stoker should come to relieve me. I don't want to leave the engine untended. Thaddeus is to remain in the rear car at all times. I fear he's beginning to take too many chances and displaying an unforgiving air. Tell him that I personally demand his obedience. He'll understand. If you hear anything other than the two signals that I've just described, you and the rest are to do everything possible to get to where I am. Understood?

  ”Yes,” I said.

  ”Good. Everything depends on it. Now, do as I ask. I'm sure young Thaddeus is wondering where we are.”

  Holmes disappeared into the billowing steam and snow. I heard the hiss of escaping steam as the wheels slowly sought purchase and squealed against the frigid metal. After a few seconds, momentum balanced the load, and the wheels turned smoothly.

  I grasped the handrail and pulled myself into the car. The door slid shut behind me. I staggered closer to the stove. Shaking snow from my coat, I took a moment to enjoy the warmth generated by the stove against my exposed skin. Then I sank down into a club chair. The two men we had rescued had also taken comfort in the chairs. Both looked exhausted beyond measure.

  ”What was that all about?” asked Thaddeus, as he walked in from another car. Presumably, he’d been the one who’d brought more chairs into our car. ”Where is Mr. Holmes?”

  With a nod of my head, I gestured that we should remove ourselves. Thaddeus followed me into the luggage compartment where we could speak in private. I explained Holmes’ orders. Once we were back inside the car, the young man sat down dejectedly, taking the club chair next to mine. The train continued to move steadily. Hearing a shrill, single whistle, I glanced at my watch. It was precisely on the half—hour mark. Thaddeus had placed his weapon in his lap and rested his elbows on his knees, whilst his hands raked through his soaked hair. I felt for him, knowing the impact of Holmes’ occasional stinging rebukes.

  ”What have I done to make him cross with me, Doctor?”

  Feeling it wiser to confront the problem head—on, I did my best to put Holmes’ feelings into words. ”I'm not sure exactly, but he did mention that you have an unforgiving nature. What he means, but does not want to say directly, is that he is honoured that you emulate him. But he recognizes that he has a most serious flaw. We've discussed it many times. Holmes looks at you, and sees himself—twenty or so years ago. One of his greatest faults is that he does not suffer fools gladly. I believe that he hopes you will be less cold and calculating. And, if I may offer my own personal observation, I'm beginning to think that you enjoy killing. Do you understand, what I'm trying to say?”

  ”I think so, Doctor. I know that I appear to be cavalier about death, but I can assure you that it has given me no pleasure. My joking manner is just bluster. If I did not act this way, I would surely retch. This is my way of dealing with death.”

  ”I understand,” I said. “Holmes is also worried that you might charge into a situation blindly, without knowing the full ramifications of your actions.”

  ”Thank you, Doctor. It would seem that your practice has expanded beyond the physical.”

  I must have worn a puzzled look because Thaddeus went on to say, ”You have made my heart, as well as my mind, well again. Do you think Mr. Holmes will ever trust me again?”

  Smiling, I reflected it was fortunate I’d beckoned the young man to the luggage compartment. Rummaging through Holmes’ bag, I found what I was looking for. I handed the articles to my young friend. ”Just give these to him, when he returns. He will understand.”

  Thaddeus glanced at his hands as they held Holmes’ prized possessions, a Persian slipper and a calabash.

  ”Now,” I said, ”to our guests.”

  We walked back to where the two men were warming themselves by the stove.

  ”How are you two getting along?” I asked.

  ”As good as can be expected,” replied the engineer, rubbing his hands together over the stove. “Me name is Billy. That’s Scotty over there. We’re all right. Thanks to Mr. Holmes stepping in.”

  Billy was a massive man with many years of coal dust and hot sparks embedded in his weathered face. His hands had the beefy and hardened look of a man who had always done manual labor. The calloused knuckles implied previous pugilistic prowess, as did his mashed flat nose.

  ”What happened out there?” I asked. ”Who were those men?”

  ”Can't rightly say,” Scotty responded. Scotty was short and stout with a face as round as the moon. He wore a permanently puzzled expression as if he’d only recently been surprised. ”All I know is that I was conked on the head when I gots back to Billy here.”

  ”It's me you should be directin' your questions to, Doctor,” said Billy. ”Old Scotty here's a might slow and tetched in the head. If you know what I mean.”

  ”Argh, Bill,” Scotty moaned, spreading his fingers over his chest. ”You wounds me right in the heart. That's where you hurt me, right in the heart.” He then cackled like an old hag, and playfully sparred with some invisible foe.

  Bill added, ”Take no mind of Scotty, Doctor, or of my words. I would kill anyone who would ever try to hurt him.” Billy balled his fingers into a fist and made a playful swipe at Scotty. Then he tussled with Scotty good naturedly, musing his hair.

  ”He's my brother,” Bill continued as he looked at Scotty with great affection. ”As you know, I sent Scotty uptrack to see if the rails were clear. The closer we get to Niagara, the snow is deep and gettin' deeper, but it was the way the drifts covered the tracks that didn't seem right. Someone had been deliberately pushin' snow on them. Well, Scotty was gone for a while, and then we came up on that last big drift. We was crawlin' at a snail's pace up until then, but this one made me stop.”

  “I was up top,” Bill continued, “eyein' the situation, when I see'd Scotty returning. I never saw them hooligans comin'. They were all over me like flies on a cow chip. In my younger days, I would've torn their heads off, but drivin' the rails is hard work and takes a lot out of a man. I fought them as best I could, and I'm proud to say that they both took one hell of a pounding.

  ”They was wiry little runts and wouldn't stay down. One of them finally landed a shot upside my head with S
cotty's shovel, and down I went. It was then that Mr. Holmes joined the fight. He tore into them like a beezerk mule. Fists and feet were flyin' everywhere. He picked one of them up, holding him over his head and banging the bugger's noggin on the roof of the cowl. Finally Mr. Holmes tossed him like a rag doll, a good thirty feet into the snow. Then he gets to wrestling with the other one. I musta been hit harder than I thought, because the next thing I know you were bending over me. I never saw what happened to Scotty, but he says he was climbing up into the cab when he got pulled back and beaten to the ground. If Mr. Holmes hadn't come when he did, we was goners, for sure. By golly, when I see him, I'm gonna get that man drunk!”

  Thaddeus and I listened with amusement at Bill's vivid descriptions. From my friend’s expression, I am sure that he, too, felt alarm at the desperate attacks of the two thugs.

  ”Do you have any idea how far we are from Niagara?” I asked.

  ”Well, at this pace, we're about an hour or two away from Rochester. If the tracks remain clear, we should be passin' through Buffalo just about sunup. From there, it's a short trip to Niagara.”

  Unconsciously, we all glanced at our watches, as we heard the single burst from the whistle.

  ”Right on time,” offered Bill. ”He missed his calling. After you gents are through with whatever it is you're doing, maybe Mr. Holmes would want a job as an engineer.”

  We all laughed at the thought, but I was worried about Holmes. The weather was again taking a turn for the worse, and he was all alone. Thaddeus was intrigued by our guests and he questioned them at length about their lives, families, and beliefs. The night wore on, and the rhythmic clickety—clack of the train hungrily gobbled up the miles. Holmes’ signal sounded at each half hour, right on time.

  After a time, we had run out of conversation and were lulled into an occasional nap, making sure that one of us stayed awake to monitor Holmes’ signal. The sky brightened, heralding a new day. Sometime during the night, the snow had stopped. The horizon ahead hinted of a majestic sunrise. Looking out the window, the stark white snow was nearly blinding in its brilliance. The car was quiet, except for the occasional snore that escaped from Scotty.

  Thaddeus and I noticed the train had slowed measurably. We became instantly alert. Both of us reached for our weapons in anticipation of danger.

  Thweet, thweet, thweet sounded in rapid cadence. That was Holmes’ signal for his planned stop.

  Bill shook Scotty from his snoring and told him to go and check up front with Holmes. ”Tell him I'm ready to take over. And get that fire going hot and proper.”

  After making sure he was buttoned up tight, Bill pushed his sleepy brother outside and watched out the window as Scotty struggled by. When he noticed we were watching, Scotty waved. Then he intentionally fell backwards in the snow. Lying there, Scotty spread his arms and made a flapping motion. Carefully, he rose to his feet and admired his effort. The sweet innocence of the young man was plain to see upon the realization that his creation was a beautiful snow angel. He looked up at us again, smiling and waving, and we watched as he trudged forward towards the engine.

  ”A babe. That's what he is, an innocent babe,” Bill said, shaking his head with amusement.

  A short while later, I saw the top of Holmes’ head as he passed by the window. Entering the car, Holmes was a sorry sight. His face was mottled and black as pitch. The dark coloration was broken only by the whites of his eyes. His clothes reeked of smoke. Coal dust covered every surface of the man. I couldn't help but laugh at his comical appearance.

  ”That bad, am I?” he asked. Holmes looked at Bill. ”She's a magnificent beast! What do you call her?”

  ”Irene,” came the reply.

  Holmes burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. ”That woman, she lulls you to complacency, but given the opportunity, she will roll right over you! How appropriate is that name? Huh, Watson?”

  Getting Holmes’ meaning, I nodded as Thaddeus and Bill looked on in confusion. Holmes walked over to the engineer. ”Do you think you can get us the rest of the way?”

  ”Don't you worry, Mr. Holmes. You're as good as there, right now!” Bill beamed at the great detective.

  ”Good man!” Holmes shouted, shaking the engineer’s hand with genuine affection. ”Get us moving, then!” Clapping Bill on the back and ushering him out of the car, Holmes spoke to him quietly. As the engineer left, Holmes turned. ”I'll be out shortly,” he said, while eyeing Thaddeus, whose hands were hidden behind his back. But before Holmes turned to leave, Thaddeus tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  ”Excuse me, Mr. Holmes?” said the young man. Without a word being spoken, Thaddeus offered Holmes his favorite pipe and the Persian slipper. Facing him directly, Holmes nodded and then walked away, clutching the pipe and slipper.

  The train lurched forward, and we were again on the move. A single whistle pierced the air. Glancing at my watch, I noticed that it was at the half hour.

  The sun was peeking over the mountains when Holmes returned. His face and hands were cleanly scrubbed, and his hair was slicked back and wet. Having changed into clean clothes, Holmes looked like a new man. His eyes were bright and alert, and his demeanor gave no hint of his exhausting previous night's work. His calabash, with its fragrant aroma filling the compartment, presented an aura of warmth and familiar comfort. Holmes folded himself into one of the chairs and lazily draped a leg over one of its arms. After puffing away at his pipe for a few moments, he fell fast asleep.

  Thaddeus rose, removed Holmes’ pipe from his hand, and covered him with a throw blanket. I in turn retrieved two more blankets and tossed one to Thaddeus. We made ourselves comfortable, quickly nodding off. My mind hovered between wakeful alertness and the edges of my dreams. In that half—awake, half—asleep haze, I heard the comforting single blast of a whistle, as the train moved relentlessly forward, carrying us to our destiny.

  14

  The Great Falls

  I awoke to the clanging of the bell as the train inched its way into the station at Niagara. Holmes and Thaddeus were already up and about by the time I stretched myself awake.

  ”Good afternoon, Doctor,” said Thaddeus. ”I was afraid that you would sleep straight on through, and miss the beautiful sights.”

  I've never been known for my quick wit immediately upon rising, and I thought better of returning his barb with a response that I knew I would regret. The train came to a shuddering halt. Holmes was bundled up for the cold, and he jumped down from the steps.

  ”I'll be right back!” he called over his shoulder.

  I opened the window and watched my friend, as he struggled to meet Bill and Scotty.

  After a period of animated discussion, the brothers shook hands with the detective, and Holmes made his way back to us, but before he could ascend the steps, he was approached by a stooped woman, dressed in black. She wore a heavy black cowl draped over her head that partially hid her face. From what I could observe, she appeared to be ancient with grey, wrinkled skin and a hawk—like nose that rested beneath a forest of brows. Her bare, bony, and gnarled hands placed a package in Holmes’ arms. They spoke for a few minutes. My friend bent down, allowing the woman to kiss him on the cheek. And in his gallantry, Holmes brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it as if she were a queen.

  She disappeared from my view into the throng of people milling about, but Holmes watched her for some time before a man in military uniform came over to Holmes and started speaking. Holmes nodded yes, and there was an exchange of credentials. The man saluted and followed Holmes up the steps of the car where we were waiting.

  “Watson? Edwards? Please say hello to Major Ryder, of the President's Special Services Branch,” Holmes said. “Major Ryder? This is my dear friend, Dr. John H. Watson, and my young protégé, Mr. Thaddeus Edwards.”

  After we shook hands, a contingent of soldiers marched onto the platform. We disembarked the train and the soldiers smartly snapped to attention. A squad of men climbed into our car an
d shortly carried out all of our luggage. Sentries were posted along the entire length of the train. We followed the Major to a waiting carriage and climbed in. Whilst soldiers clung to the sideboards by holding tightly to the handles, we were whisked away to the Hotel Niagara. There our credentials were checked, verified, and exchanged once more.

  While we were being escorted to our suite of rooms, no one spoke a single word. Once there, the squad searched our rooms as we waited outside in the hallway. Next, they brought in our luggage. Once they had finished, Major Ryder saluted us, and finally, he left us alone.

  Holmes was still clutching the package from the old woman. Turning to us, Holmes suddenly said, ”I do not want to be disturbed.” Then he slammed the door of his room behind him.

  Accustomed to Holmes’ ways, Thaddeus and I thought little of the sudden abandonment by our friend. A persistent knock on our door brought in a bellboy.

  ”A message for Mr. Holmes,” he said, holding a sealed envelope in his hand.

  ”Give it here,” I responded, reaching for it.

  ”Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

  ”No, but I'll see that he gets it.”

  ”I'm sorry, sir, but the letter is for him only. And he must sign for it.”

  ”Mr. Holmes is indisposed. I'm his associate, Dr. Watson. Please be so kind as to give me that letter.”

  ”I'm sorry, sir, but those are my orders. It's for Mr. Sherlock Holmes only. He's got to sign for it!” The little boy hugged the letter to his chest.

  ”Watson!” bellowed Holmes from the other room. The door opened a crack, and Holmes extended his arm through the opening whilst snapping his fingers repeatedly.

  The boy walked to the door and stared at Holmes’ protruding arm.

  ”Are you Mr. Holmes?”

  ”I am,” came the reply.

  ”A letter for you, sir. I was told it was urgent.”

  ”Good lad, give it here,” Holmes commanded from his sanctuary. As if to accentuate his demand, he rapidly opened and closed his hand. The boy, timing his move until Holmes’ palm was open, slapped the envelope into it. Holmes’ hand snapped shut round the sealed letter and disappeared into the shadows, slamming the door behind him. The boy did not move.