"Have each of them in here and ask him some special railroad questions. Your brother was a station agent in the north of England, I believe, at one time. Surely you can come up with something!"
"Perhaps," Moriarty said.
"If not, toss the four of them off the train," Holmes said, making a tossing gesture. "We can survive without conductors for the next few hours."
"Unnecessarily cruel," Moriarty said. "I have already determined which is the imposter, and I've set the mummer to watching him. If we can discover what he is to do, it might give us some idea of what we are to face."
"You have? How?"
"Dirty fingernails," Moriarty told him.
"Ah!" Holmes nodded. "I must not have seen him. I'm sure I would have noticed. I pay special attention to the nails, and the elbows and knees."
"Even so," Moriarty agreed.
They sat in silence for the next half hour, each immersed in his own thoughts, and then Mummer Tolliver opened the door and slid in. "It's coming!" the mummer announced.
Moriarty opened his eyes. "How's that, Mummer?"
"The conductor what ain't a conductor was sitting in the galley drinking hot chocolate and checking his watch every few minutes— that's a great galley they's got on this train; they can give you four different kinds of coffee, as well as six or seven different kinds of tea and three different hot chocolates. And talk about pastries! Well, they has—"
"Mummer!" Moriarty interrupted. "To the point, please!"
"Sorry. Well, this gent gives one last check to his watch and then he ups and traverses to the rear of the train, all sneaky-like, and starts to undo the coupling between the kaiser's car and the last car, what holds all them troopers."
"What happened?" Moriarty asked.
"I bopped him on the noggin with my little peacemaker," the mummer explained, displaying his sand-filled sock. "And then I tied him up and gave him over to one of the kaiser's chaps."
"Excellent!" Moriarty commended the little man.
"If he'd succeeded, that would have done it," Holmes said. "Our opponents can't be expecting to face more than a dozen guards at most, but they're taking no chances."
"Very commendable on the part of their leader," Moriarty commented. "If I were he, I would have done the same. So—" he pulled out his pocket watch and clicked it open. "It's the watering station at Schladming, which we should reach in another ten minutes, that is to be our battleground. So be it." He closed the watch. "We must alert the troops."
"I took the liberty of doing so before I came up here," the mummer said.
Moriarty smiled and patted the mummer on the shoulder. "Good man." If he noticed at how the little man beamed at the praise, he said nothing.
Colonel-General Duke von Seligsmann pushed the door open and poked his head in the room. "The water tower we are approaching will be on the right side of the train," he announced.
"As we approach, the train will slow and my men will depart on the left side and go around. We should catch them by surprise."
"Unless, of course, they are awaiting us on the far side of the train," Moriarty said. "But I agree that is unlikely."
"If so, the battle will begin a minute or so earlier, that is all," said General Seligsmann, confidently.
Five minutes later the train slowed. For the past hour the train had been puffing its way up a fairly steep grade, but here the tracks were level, perhaps even slightly downhill. As they went around a slight bend the ghostly silhouette of the tower and coaling station came into sight ahead, a clear space in the forest of stunted pine trees they were passing through.
Holmes shook Watson awake. "Come along, old man," he said. "Make sure your revolver is loaded. The game's afoot!"
"Right with you, Holmes," Watson said, sitting up and shrugging on his jacket.
Barnett appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. "Action at last?" he asked.
"Come along," Moriarty told him, " 'He which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made.' "
" 'We few, we happy few,' " Barnett quoted, "could do with a cup of coffee."
"After," Moriarty told him.
"All right. Let's go."
The four men went to the end of the car and unlatched the door on the side away from the coaling station. The water tower was now in clear sight, perhaps half a mile away. Colonel-General Duke von Seligsmann leaned out of the door in the last car, and his men dropped to the ground, one by one, and paced the train at a leisurely trot. As the last one hit the ground, the general came after him, and gradually made his way to the front of the running line.
Moriarty and his three companions lowered themselves from the car and trotted along at the break between the two cars, so they could watch the other side without being conspicuous.
Now the train was wheezing to a stop as it reached the water tower, and the band of Hussars double-timed to the front, ready to round the engine and attack from an unexpected direction, but there was still no sign of activity from within the coaling station. Even if they were somehow wrong about the attackers awaiting them here, there should have been a station attendant about, waving them on and making a note of how much coal they took. The hussars waited, gathered at the side of the engine, just barely out of sight.
The engineer and the fireman swung themselves off the engine to maneuver the water spout in position to fill the water tank.
This was the moment the Knights of Wotan were waiting for. Three men raced out from behind a shed to grapple with the trainmen.
With a shout of "Come on my brave boys," a man in a shining silver helmet and a tunic full of medals charged from the front of the engine, waving his sword high over his head. Behind him raced the platoon of hussars, cheering madly and waving their sabers.
"My god!" said Moriarty, "it's the kaiser!"
"I t-tried convincing hi-him n-not to g-g-go," said a man who had come up behind them in the dark, "b-but he n-never listens t-to m-me."
Moriarty turned to look at the stutterer. In the slight light spilling from the railroad car, he could that the man was, perhaps, in his early sixties, wearing the uniform of a colonel-general in the German Cuirassiers. "Well!" Moriarty said. "Your Highness Prince Sigismund, I believe?"
"Th-that is c-cor-rect," his highness said. "And you?"
"Professor James Moriarty, at your service."
"I s-see. P-perhaps we sh-shall speak later." And, with an abrupt nod, his highness walked stiff-legged away from them into the gloom.
"Professor," Barnett whispered. "That stammer—could the crown prince be the man Jenny Vernet overheard speaking to Graf von Linsz?"
"Perhaps," Moriarty said. "There are many stammerers in the world, and coincidences abound. But it seems likely. Since the kaiser is childless, Sigismund is next in line for the throne should anything happen to his nephew. He may be trying to arrange just that. We shall see."
A sudden volley of pistol shots drew their attention to the impending battle. "That can't be the enemy's main force," Barnett said, looking over the developing situation with a critical eye. "The hussars should have waited until the main force showed."
"General von Seligsmann would have waited," Holmes said. "The kaiser is impetuous."
A group of men emerged from inside the coaling station building and formed a rough line facing the hussars. Several more shots rang out.
"Revolvers only," Moriarty commented. "They were not expecting resistance."
The hussars immediately dropped to their knees and pulled their long-barreled 9-mm Mauser pistols from the stiff leather holsters. At the first irregular volley of shots from the hussars, their opponents broke and ran for the woods.
"They give up rather easily," Holmes said, "I had been expecting a fight."
"Should we give chase?" Watson asked.
"I think not," Moriarty said. "It was too easy. That may be a diversion. I don't believe the game is done here yet." Unsheathing the blade from inside his sword-cane, he crossed the tracks and
stalked forward the coaling station building, Holmes, Watson, and Barnett following. A wave of hussars passed around them, in hot pursuit of the fleeing Wotans.
Moriarty reached the building ahead of his companions and tried the door. It was locked. He shattered the lock with one swift kick and darted inside, Holmes and Barnett following. The room was dark, with only the slightest spill of moonlight coming through the long, barred window that faced the railroad tracks. Two men were leaning against the window, motionless in the dark. Moriarty grabbed for one of them, feeling a rigid arm encased in a stiff leather jacket under his hand. It took him a second to realize that the man was dead, and had been so for some time.
A man appeared in an inner doorway, just a shadow in the darkness. He fired two shots at the intruders, without effect, and ran for a rear entrance. Holmes was on him in an instant, using a baritsu move to relieve the man of his weapon and another to pin him to the floor.
Moriarty followed a strange whirring sound through the inner doorway. The narrow inner room ran the length of the building, ending at an oversized window in the far wall. Moonlight flooded the far end of the room, revealing a man kneeling on the floor working over a small square box in front of him. When he saw Moriarty, he swore and grabbed for a pistol on the floor next to him. Moriarty threw his blade at the man with long-practiced skill, and dove forward. The man screamed and cursed, and then Moriarty was on him, his momentum throwing the man to the ground.
The man fought with an insane intensity, but Moriarty was almost as skilled at baritsu as Sherlock Holmes, and in a brief time he had him pinned to the floor.
Barnett was a few seconds behind Moriarty, and he tied the man's hands behind his back with wire from a roll found conveniently by the man's feet.
"Well," Barnett said, rolling the man over, "if it isn't Graf von Linsz."
The count squinted up. "Herr Barnett!" he exclaimed. "Then," he said, looking at his other captor, "you are—"
"Professor James Moriarty, at your service," Moriarty answered.
"Goddamn!" the count cried, "you must be the very devil!"
"I wouldn't speak of devils, if I were you," Moriarty said, looking over the device von Linsz had been working with when he was interrupted. "That's an electric dynamite igniter. You weren't attempting to capture the train; you were going to blow it up!"
Barnett squatted down and examined the apparatus. "It's all hooked up," he said, "and the handle's been pushed. Why didn't it go off?"
"Perhaps a general war in Europe was not meant to start quite yet," Moriarty said. "Perhaps there is some sort of higher force that watches over we foolish mortals."
Watson came through the door, brushing himself off. "Holmes seems to have everything in hand out there," he said. "Sorry I'm late. I stumbled over some wires outside and got all tangled up. Had to break them to get my foot loose, and it took a few moments. Hope you'll forgive me."
"Forgive you!" Moriarty clapped Watson on the back. "Why man, you've just saved the lives of everyone aboard the train. You may have just prevented a general war!"
"No need to be humorous about it," Watson said. "I said I was sorry."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN — OF CABBAGES AND KINGS
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.
— Plato
It was Saturday evening and the British Embassy in Vienna was giving a reception for His Grace Peter George Albon Summerdane, the seventh duke of Albermar, Her Britannic Majesty's secretary of state for foreign affairs, who, the guests were informed, just happened to be passing through Vienna on private business; and His Grace's younger son, Charles Dupresque Murray Bredlon Summerdane, who was returning to public life, or at least public view, after a long seclusion.
In a small side room off the reception room, His Grace the duke had gathered a small group of people who, in the past few days, had become his special friends.
"A few words," he said, standing before the group. When they had all turned to look at him, he raised his glass. "A toast," he said. "To all of you who have helped save two of the things most precious to me in all the world; my son Charles, and this fragile amity between nations that is preventing—or at least delaying—a war that will be as horrible as any the world has yet seen."
They drank the toast in silence, as any reply seemed too artificial or too trite.
"I will not go on about how gratified I feel to have my son back, as I would not embarrass him," the duke continued. "But let me say that anything any of you ever need—anything at all—you have but to come to me, and if it is in my power, you shall have it."
Holmes turned to Moriarty and murmured, "Well, Moriarty, how does it feel to have been of some service to your country?"
"It has not been without its points of interest," Moriarty replied, "and the duke's remuneration will go a long way toward paying for some equipment I need for my laboratory and observatory on the Great Moor."
"Jenny identified His Highness the Crown Prince Sigismund as the man she overheard that night," Holmes said. "We told von Seligsmann and he's pondering what to do about it. He doesn't think telling the kaiser directly is wise, but perhaps one of the kaiser's aides—"
"I'm sure the Prussian bureaucracy will manage to render him harmless," Moriarty said. "Nothing enfeebles a man quite as effectively as being caught in the roils of a vast bureaucracy."
Charles Summerdane took the hand of Madeleine Verlaine as though undecided whether he should shake it or kiss it. Madeleine solved the problem by shaking his hand firmly. "It has been a pleasure being your sister, 'Paul,' " she said. "I never had a brother of my own before. Come to think of it, if I had such, he probably would have ended up in jail, what with this and that."
"I understand that I have to thank Professor Moriarty for saving my life," Charles said, "but I thank you for saving my sanity. Were it not for your occasional visits, life in that dank little cell would have been even more intolerable than it was."
Madeleine ran her hand across his chin. "You look quite different without your beard and mustache," she said. "I could hardly recognize you."
"A good thing," Charles said. "If any of my old compatriots, or any of the Austrian police, recognize Paul Donzhof in the son of the British foreign secretary, words would be exchanged."
"I can see that," she said.
Charles squeezed her hand. "Madeleine Verlaine," he said, "I hereby appoint you my honorary sister, from this moment forth, in good weather and in bad, my house shall be your house."
"Thank you, sir," she said, curtseying to him. "I'll remember."
"I mean it," he told her. "So do I," she said.
Sherlock Holmes walked over to where Watson was sitting by the window, watching the four-wheelers pass by in the street below. "Come, Watson, old man," he said. "It's time we started back to London."
"I agree," Watson said. "Perhaps there'll be some fascinating crime for you to work on."
"And for you to write up, eh Watson? Well, perhaps. And if not, there's always ..."
Across the room, Moriarty walked over to where the Barnetts were standing. "I hope you're recovering from your ordeal," he said to Cecily.
"You know," she said, "I believe I've quite recovered. Unhappiness recedes into the past when it is replaced by joy, and I've been quite joyful for the past week, reveling in all those thing that I once took for granted, like walking down the street, and doors without locks."
"I feel responsible for what happened to you," Moriarty told them. "I don't know how to make it up to you."
"Being your friend is certainly what got us in the clutches of that madman in the first place," Benjamin said, "but very few people could have gotten us out of that castle so neatly, or would have gone to so much effort. A man-carrying kite! Who would have imagined such a thing?"
"Where are you going from here?" Moriarty asked.
"Prince Ariste and his wife have asked us to spend a few weeks with them," C
ecily said. "Playing bridge and shopping."
"Ah!" Moriarty said. "Give them my best."
"We shall," Cecily said. "Tell me, what will happen to that vile creature—Graf von Linsz?"
"He seems to have lost his mind," Moriarty told her. "He sees henchmen of his mythical Professor Moriarty everywhere, and is cowering in a corner of his cell afraid to let anyone touch him and refusing to eat. He may be faking, but it is a debatable question as to whether a lifetime in a hospital for the criminally insane is better than a lifetime in an Austrian prison."
"Poor man," Cecily said.
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