THE TRAIN FROM PLYMOUTH
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Maurice Barkley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, without permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely a coincidence.
Copyright © 2017 Maurice Barkley
To Marie
Special thanks for priceless advice,
counseling and inspiration.
Robin Pudetti
Rose and Rick Taubold
Sue Jerrems
Edited by thEditors
Other Sherlock Holmes stories by Maurice Barkley:
The Holborn Toy Shop
The Legacy of Doctor Carus
Arriving soon:
The Whitehall Papers
The Grosvenor Square Furniture Van
The Train From Plymouth
The notes I have compiled on the many cases undertaken by Sherlock Holmes have become so numerous it has become difficult to select for publication those problems that best portray his amazing abilities of observation, deduction and logic. Many cases which would make interesting reading will, I fear, remain unpublished at least until I have more time to devote to the pen. For this reason I have added variety to my criteria when making my selection. I had almost decided to turn to the puzzling matter of the five-sided brick, but in the spring of 1895 a singularly unusual series of events occurred. Upon reflection I have traced their genesis to a train which arrived at Oak Hampton Station on the evening of May 25th of that year. It had come, I believe, from Plymouth.
As I recall the tale begins the next morning. The weather had taken a turn for the better so I quite easily found excuses to sally fourth from our rooms in Baker Street and enjoy, along with other Londoners of the same bent, the fresh air and sunshine.
My first destination was the Turkish Bath in Jermyn Street. At about eleven o'clock that morning, after a refreshing hour in the hot chamber and cooling room, I was walking up Baker Street, looking forward to a light lunch and an afternoon at the window reading my copy of The Lancet.
A horse drawn cart was parked at the curb at 221B and a husky driver was off-loading a cask of drinking water, fresh from Bagshot Heath. For some time we had been drinking that water instead of the questionable London product on the recommendation of Sir Edwin Chadwick and the Local Sanitary Authority. I held the door for the man and then climbed the stairs to our rooms.
When I left the apartment earlier, Holmes had remained, lounging on the sofa in his robe, befouling the air with the smoke from his oily clay pipe. Knowing Holmes, I expected to find him in exactly the same position on my return, but such was not the case. As I entered the room I saw Holmes standing by the fireplace. Three other persons occupied the sofa and an easy chair. The two on the sofa were strangers to me, but Inspector Lestrad occupied the chair—his bad foot drawn up to the fringe.
As I excused myself and started to leave, both Holmes and Lestrad put up a restraining hand. Holmes, seeing Lestrad was about to invite me to remain, lowered his hand and looked to the inspector.
“Doctor Watson,” Lestrad said, “you came just in time. We have been here only a few moments so let me introduce you to these gentlemen, then we may begin our story. This gentleman is Mr. Stephen Browne who is the Director of the Great Western Railroad,” he said while indicating the larger man who was indeed an imposing figure.
Mr. Browne was a bulldog of a man, fast approaching 60 years. His mostly bald, bullet shaped head and bristly mustache most likely held him in good stead at Company Board meetings. Lestrad next introduced me to a Mr. Alfred Waterhouse, the Station Master at Lidford. He was a slight, bookish looking person of about my age.
We shook hands then I pulled up the cane bottom chair and made myself comfortable. Lestrad remained standing with the air of a man savoring his thoughts. It was obvious to those who knew him that he was delighted with the story he was about to tell. My interest quickened and I gave him my full attention.
“Watson—yesterday at three in the afternoon, a small freight train that began its journey at Plymouth and passed through Lidford, arrived near the Station at Oakhampton. I said near the Station because it passed slowly through the boarding area with no one at the controls. Luckily, an off-duty fireman was on the platform and was able to jump aboard and stop the engine safely.
“Now, this much is interesting, but the truly amazing item of interest is that the train was quite late—quite late indeed...”
“How late exactly?” I asked.
“Almost three years to the day.”
“Did I hear you right?” I cried, almost rising from my chair. “Three years late?”
“Precisely, my friend,” said Lestrad—a wide grin on his pinched face. “I was as surprised as you when I first heard the tale from Mr. Browne here.” Lestrad fished his pipe from his pocket and sat down in the easy chair. “When you came in,” he said, while fumbling in his vest for a light, “Mr. Browne was about to outline this pretty little problem from the beginning.” Turning to Mr. Browne, he said, “You may proceed, sir.”
Holmes handed a match to Lestrad, then returned to his place by the mantle. He stood with his pipe dangling loosely from his mouth, eyes half closed, and a languorous look on his aquiline face. To all the world he looked half asleep, but I knew that every word and gesture would be accurately recorded in his keen mind.
“The story begins,” said Mr. Browne, from his seat on the sofa, “about three years ago at Plymouth. A goods train left the yard at about one in the afternoon, with two wagons filled with fine hardwood in tow. Its intended route was North to Lidford then through the Dartmoor Forrest followed by some rather hilly country just South of Oakhampton. The track continues north then curves East to Exeter where the two goods wagons and their cargo were to be left in the marshalling yard to be made up as part of a larger train bound for Salisbury and London. There was a crew of three aboard at the time—the Engineer, a Fireman and a Signalman. The train was rather small, but it is a scheduled run and it leaves with whatever is available.
“Now this particular train had no scheduled stops before Exeter. However on occasion something does come up in a hurry so the stations along the way have the privilege of flagging down the freights. The Engineer can then accept or reject the addition to his train depending on the load.
“At Lidford someone who was not an employee of the railroad flagged it down. Fortunately, our Mr. Waterhouse here was on duty at the time and from his office window was witness to the flagging and the series of events, which rapidly followed.
“Several men appeared from hiding along the tracks and boarded the train, front and rear. They forced the crew off at gunpoint, then took the train on North at full throttle. Mr. Waterhouse immediately telegraphed ahead to Oakhampton where the Station Master notified the local police. The people at Oakhampton threw the switch on the main line so that the train would be diverted to a siding, and then laid in wait. The trip from Lidford to Oakhampton should have taken less than thirty minutes, but when, after forty-five minutes no train had arrived, the Lidford Station Manager wired Oak Hampton to notify them that they would board a small shunting engine and head south to investigate. Mr. Waterhouse wired back to inform the Lidford folks that he had already fired up a spare engine and would head north in a matter of minutes. He further requested that they remain there as a blockade.
About four miles out from the Station, the Oakhampton engine burst a steam pipe and became inoperable. Mr. Waterhouse,
on foot, rushed back to his office and telegraphed the Lidford people, requesting that they now head south on their engine. This delayed the investigation for about one hour, but since both ends of the track were blocked, the added hour made no difference.
“Some time later the little engine from Oakhampton pushed the damaged engine into the Lidford Station without having seen a trace of the object of their search. Mr. Waterhouse had never left his post and can guarantee, along with the dispossessed crew, that the Plymouth train never returned south.
“Much to his credit, Mr. Waterhouse then sent for the foreman of the track maintenance and plate laying crew. This man has intimate knowledge of the roadbed between the two towns. The two of them then squeezed aboard the working engine with the people from Oakhampton and proceeded north very slowly. They examined every foot of the track for the entire distance and found nothing amiss. There was in fact no way to remove the entire train from the tracks. The path through the forest is heavily wooded and very wet at that time of year. The route through the hills resembles a trench—the hillsides rising rather sharply on either side. In short gentlemen, on that day a train weighing in total about eighty tons, vanished from the face of the earth. The track was searched several more times, but no trace was ever found.”
“I hesitate to interrupt this most singular story,” said Holmes, “but I must know why this remarkable occurrence was not reported in the papers at the time.”
“Ah, well,” said Mr. Browne. “I was reluctantly coming to that. I have to make a little confession that may reflect poorly on railroad management.
“As you know, the area where this event took place is not heavily populated so very few people knew of it first hand—therefore it was rather simple to suppress the news. The reason for the suppression was simply profit, Mr. Holmes—pure profit. If word had got round, we may well have lost some customers so we recompensed the owner of the cargo and suffered our loss in private.
“That fairly well covers the events of three years ago. During the intervening time railroad personnel have actually walked the entire distance and have uncovered not a shred of evidence or a single clue. For all practical purposes we had given it up forever. Of course that all changed yesterday afternoon when this same train mysteriously appeared at Oak Hampton with its original cargo intact.
“When I was informed of this I immediately contacted Inspector Lestrad. What has happened is beyond me and I feel it is time to let professionals take over regardless of the bad publicity. I’d advise you to direct any further questions to Mr. Waterhouse. As I have said, he is here as witness to the theft of the train and as an expert on the roadbed in question.”
Mr. Browne, having finished, fell silent and the room remained quiet for several minutes as we digested this most unusual story. How on earth could this have happened? I couldn't begin to apply Holmes' methods because I could not see where to start. I could see only the impossible—there was no improbable.
A bit later I noticed Lestrad glancing furtively in Holmes' direction. I knew that the rascal was befuddled and was looking to Holmes to cast some light on the problem.
“Mr. Browne,” said Holmes, breaking the long silence. “We need to go back to the beginning at Plymouth. You are the expert there. When the train left that day three years ago, did anything unusual or out of the ordinary happen—no matter how trivial?”
“No Mr. Holmes,” Browne replied. “I have gone over the records and interviewed everyone on duty. It was a routine make up. The original engine did develop a leak in its flue and was replaced by a standby machine, but things of this sort happen every now and then.”
“Mr. Waterhouse,” said Holmes, turning to the Station Master, “did you see the train yesterday?”
“Yes sir,” He replied. “Had a right good look at her, I did.”
“Was it the standby engine?”
“Yes, sir, Checked the builder plate number I did.”
“Fine,” said Holmes. “Did it look weathered at all—as though it had been exposed to the elements all this time?”
“Oh, yes it did, sir—every sign of it. There's no mistaking when a piece of equipment just stands in the open for a long time. I'll swear that that train stood still with no shelter for the full three years she was missin'.”
“Very good,” said Holmes. “By the way, am I correct in assuming that your search did not extend into the countryside along the tracks?”
“Right you are, sir,” said Waterhouse. “Weren't no need to look further than the eye could see.”
Holmes then walked over to the wall cabinet where he rummaged around for a few moments in a wide drawer. He returned with a large ordinance map of the land area in question and spread it out on the table. We gathered around as he traced the route with a stub of yellow chalk.
“Mr. Waterhouse,” said Holmes after a minute or two of study, “this map does not show the location of the siding between the two towns. Would you be so kind as to point it out to us?”
“Of course, sir,” said the Station Master, “but how did you know of it? No one mentioned it until now.”
“I knew it is there because I knew that it had to be there. Now, be a good fellow and show me exactly where it is.”
Waterhouse took the chalk from Holmes, bent over the map and said, “Well now, let's see—it's located right here.”
As he said this he made a mark that put the siding in the hills north of Dartmoor Forrest.
“Are there any other sidings?” asked Holmes.
No sir, only the one. This siding is used only by work trains so as to keep clear of the main line while repairs are underway. I remember when we searched the line three years ago, we gave particular attention to that siding, but came up empty. It's just a short length of track that runs parallel to the main line. It ends at a stout log bumper so there's no place for a train to go.”
“If you will,” said Holmes, “please describe the vegetation in the immediate area.”
“Near the track,” answered Waterhouse, “you'll find only gravel and rock. On the hillside is grass and shrubs and in the ravines is a tangled mix of trees, vines and underbrush.”
“Are there any ravines near the siding?” asked Holmes.
“Yes sir, there's a big one just a few yards beyond the end of the siding, but there's no rails and the ravine is plugged with dead wood of all sorts. No one could have taken a train apart and dragged it away in a couple of hours.”
Holmes stepped back from the table and began to pace slowly around the room. On the face of it the ravine could not figure in the problem, but moments later Holmes turned again to Mr. Waterhouse.
“I'm about to test your memory. I hope you have the ability to recall details. I would like you to think back to that day, three years ago when you were inspecting that area. Place yourself on the track at the entrance to the siding and proceed to its end. You are now standing in front of the log bumper. Does the ground stay at the same level as you look beyond the construction?”
“Not quite, sir,” said Waterhouse, his eyes closed in concentration. “It takes a bit of a rise—about half a foot I would say, then continues level. It’s all loose gravel alongside the rails.”
“As far as the ravine?” asked Holmes.
“That far and a ways beyond, sir.”
“Is the mouth of the ravine at the same level?”
“It is, sir and fair choked with underbrush.”
Is there any grass in front of you?”
No, sir, not a blade—nothing except for the tree.”
“The tree? What tree?”
“A big elm, sir. If you was to lay more track beyond the bumper you would have to cut it down.”
At this point Holmes looked extremely surprised and puzzled. He thought a bit, then said, “Describe the tree to me in detail.”
“Big as a pickle barrel at the butt. What's left of it runs up about fifteen feet. Been dead for several years by the look of it. Not much more than a big pole stuck in the gro
und.”
On hearing this, the look of puzzlement left Holmes' face and he visibly relaxed. He rolled up the map, placed it back in the cupboard then invited us to take our seats. His next action was to serve us a generous whiskey.
“Well, Holmes,” said Lestrad who was enjoying himself and in an expansive mood, “my duties, at least for now, keep me in the city, but I suppose you and the good Doctor will be flying off down Lidford way. I must say that the appearance of the train adds nothing to the investigation of three years ago and I don't care to go over well-plowed ground. To be brutally frank, I think somebody’s not telling the truth. I will recommend that the authorities at Lidford and Oak Hampton look into the possibility of wrongdoing by railroad personnel at one or both of those towns. You may have one of your theories, but this is the only possibility as I see it.”
“To begin with, Lestrad,” said Holmes, who had listened to all of this with a slight smile on his lips, “you know that I am loath to travel unnecessarily, so at best, my partner and I will be flying off to the theatre this evening.”
“You talk like a man who has the problem solved,” Lestrad said.
“Quite right, old man,” said Holmes, rather casually. “I may have the solution to your little mystery, but allow me to come to it in proper order.” Holmes paused to relight his pipe, then continued. “The appearance of the train after three years, contrary to your belief, adds quite a bit. It is important in the extreme. I would also suggest that you wait a day or two before you set the hounds on the poor citizens of Lidford and Oak Hampton.
“At this time it would be premature for me to enlighten you further as there are still a few pieces of the puzzle to be set in place. I need more information so if you gentlemen will excuse me for a few minutes, I will retire to my desk and draft a telegram.”
As Holmes busied himself at the desk, the rest of us remained where we were and engaged in desultory conversation. Lestrad and Browne were nervous—wanting answers to many questions, but Mr. Waterhouse seemed content to sit comfortably and work on his whiskey. It was apparent that the trip to London was quite a treat for him.
The Train From Plymouth Page 1