by Unknown
He had me there and I thought furiously. "Isn't a key problem the means by which the thieves got on the train? A lot of thought had gone into preventing just that from happening."
"Considering that our problem involves a train, I will resist the impulse to say that you are on the right track, old fellow."
Encouraged, a thought came to me. "Let us assume that the riflemen guards were not part and parcel of the plot."
"I'll accept that."
"Then once the freight achieved running speed, it would seem more than difficult to get aboard."
"Agreed."
"Then the thieves rode with it from the start."
"Not an unwieldy theory at all. Really, Watson, you have developed the ratiocinating mind through our long association."
This being rare praise indeed from Holmes, I plunged ahead. "Is there not an expression common in America, 'riding the rods'?"
"Relates to traveling hobos."
"Quite. Could not the two men you picture have been hidden under the boxcar before the engine assumed motion?"
"A possibility. How they would manage to crawl from their place of concealment and gain the roof eludes me, but the inventiveness of the homo sapiens is limitless."
"The only other thought that comes to mind is that the thieves hid themselves within the boxcar, but that idea is self-defeating as they would have been unable to get out of the securely locked carrier."
"Your first thought is the one that will bear investigation, good fellow."
At this point Mrs. Hudson made her presence known. It was time for dinner. This was the day of a most important social gathering, the meeting of the Marylebone Sewing Circle. While the event did not warrant a squib in the Evening Chronicle, it was dear to our landlady's heart. To make amends for her absence from the premises, Mrs. Hudson fairly outdid herself. We were served consommé Marie Stuart and filets de sole Carlton. Then we had thick mutton chops, their ends curled around a broiled kidney and affixed with a toothpick. This led my mind to the subject of claret and I brought forth a bottle of Château Lafitte '68, which I had been saving. By the time we dealt with a toothsome soufflé aux pêches à 1'Orientale, the evening, in my mind, was a merry occasion indeed.
Following our repast, it was my thought to peruse an article in the latest Lancet, but I soon found myself nodding over the medical journal. With apologies to Holmes, I soon made my way to bed and promptly fell into a deep sleep. On this night, with a nod no doubt to the Château Lafitte, bottled on the estate, I had no dreams of great trains hurtling through the night to their doom. The next thing I knew there was a shaking of my shoulder. As my eyes reluctantly blinked open, I beheld Sherlock Holmes leaning over my bed with a half smile on his lips. It was a new day.
"Come, old chap, if you would be part of the opening act of this drama we have become entangled in."
Despite a delightful lassitude, the coldness of the room and the floorboards, and the reticence of protesting bones to assume motion, I mumbled something to my intimate friend and made haste to perform my morning ablutions and struggle into clothes. In our sitting room, the smell of Holmes' pipe was everywhere. I gave it scant heed as I eagerly seized the cup of coffee he poured from the great silver urn and then applied myself to that mainstay of the empire, a stout English breakfast. The sleuth might have been up all night for all I knew, though I noted no clues as to the presence of others. As I wolfed kippers and eggs, he was going over a sheaf of papers that had the appearance of a business report.
When I poured myself a second cup of coffee and ignited a morning cigarette, Holmes tossed the document on the desk surface and joined me.
"My brother is a most meticulous man," he commented, "and despite his bulk, fast-moving. I cabled him last night for a report on recent transactions on the gold market, and early this morning a complete dossier came to our doorstep. I sometimes wonder when he sleeps."
"A thought that has bothered me at times relative to you," I replied, downing the last of my repast.
"The normal human requires sleep to oil the mechanism and food to fuel it, old friend," stated Holmes. "A thinking machine does not operate in that fashion."
Holmes often declared that he was a walking brain, since thinking was his sole reason for being, and I humored him by pretending acceptance. The fact that he was a superb fencer and the finest amateur boxer I had ever seen prompted me to adopt a different view, though I was the first to agree that he wasn't normal.
He did not seem disposed to divulge any results of the past evening, so I posed an obvious question. "What move do you plan now?"
"We meet with that Ledger chap at the B & N freight yard in half an hour, Watson. The gold train is there, and possibly we will find clues, to buttress your theory of robbers 'riding the rods'."
It was an overcast day and a chill wind faced us as we hailed a hansom and made for the freight yards. The vicinity we sought had the bleak, forlorn look exhibited by portions of London in the early morn. Holmes seemed to know exactly where we were to go. When we alighted from our conveyance, he set off at a brisk pace that I struggled to match. Richard Ledger was awaiting our arrival beside the office of the freight dispatcher. His thin face had the bronze cast of one oft exposed to the sun and there were deep circles under his bright eyes, which were a peculiar shade of light blue. His manner toward Holmes was most deferential, but then he had worked for the Kimberly people and the diamond syndicate was not known to hire dullards.
"The train is over here, Mr. Holmes," he said after suitable greetings. Assuming that Holmes' prime interest was in the carrier, he turned and walked through the maze of intersecting roadbeds, and we found ourselves beside an engine and two boxcars on a short section of rail that Ledger referred to as a hold track.
Claymore Frisbee's description of the bullion carrier had been accurate, and I noted nothing that I had not expected to see. While Holmes and Ledger conversed beside one boxcar, I walked around the train, intent on an investigation of my own. Atop the boxcar nearest the engine was the specially constructed fortified position looking rather like a pillbox. It seemed small for four riflemen, but I was interested in the line of sight afforded by the slots in the armor plating of its sides. It did not take long to establish that the marksmen could cover everything save for a thirty-five-degree arc centered at the rear of the second boxcar. The rifle roost, for want of a better term, would have suggested the turret of the U.S. Navy's monitor-type vessel had it been round rather than square. I bent down to survey the undercarriage of the boxcars and found myself regarding Ledger and Holmes on the other side of the track.
"It could have been done, Watson," said Holmes. Then he threw a quick remark at Ledger. "A theory of my associate." The sleuth's intense eyes returned to me. "They might have secured themselves by the rear wheels, though it would have been a perilous and most uncomfortable journey. But what about their equipment? The smoke bombs, hammer and cold chisel and small arms as well, in case the plan went awry?"
I nodded in agreement with his words and hastened around the rear of the train to rejoin the sleuth and the security man. When I arrived on their side, Holmes had evidently explained my thought to Ledger.
"Impossible, Mr. Holmes," Ledger was saying. "Before the gold shipment took off, I went over the undercarriages and the boxcar interiors myself. The train left here with no one aboard save the engineer and firemen and my guards." As Holmes nodded and I drew up by the two, Ledger continued: "The riflemen were all bonded and of good reputation. Two are formerly of the Lincolnshire Regiment."
"I know," said Holmes, and I later wondered at this remark. "We'd best have a look at the roofs, for that's where the mischief started."
Ledger led us to the rear coupling between the two boxcars and we carefully mounted an iron ladder. On the top of the second boxcar, which had held the gold, Holmes went to his knees to survey the roof with his ever-present pocket glass. I noted that he paid special attention to the right aft section above the sliding door in th
e car's side. I began to pose a question, but he shrugged and then his long legs took him forward on the roof to the edge and he leaped from there to the first boxcar with Ledger agilely following. I contented myself with climbing down the ladder we had mounted and up the matching one to the top of the adjacent car. A more dignified approach and more fitting for an overweight middle-aged general practitioner. I had no desire to secure the services of a fellow physician for treatment of a break or contusions.
Close to, the gun emplacement revealed nothing that I had not noted from a distance and Holmes seemed to be paying it scant attention. He was inspecting the top of the boxcar and gestured for Ledger to join him on the forward end nearest the engine.
He had risen and was pointing toward a streak of white paint running across the boxcar roof. "Was this marking in some way connected with your security measures?" he asked.
The youngish man shook his head. "Mr. Chasseur originally had a rectangular area marked in paint as the position of the guard house. I indicated to him that the line of fire would be improved if it was built farther back, to which he agreed. Evidently, the man who was to paint out the line only completed a part of his job. We were in a bit of a rush to get the train ready, you know."
Holmes accepted this without question, but I noted that he positioned one heel on the mark and strode back past the armor-plated cubicle to the end of the boxcar. Holmes could suit his stride to an exact three feet and I knew he was measuring a distance, though for what reason I could not fathom. Nothing else about the train claimed his attention, so we descended to the ground, where Holmes evidenced a considerable interest in our guide.
"How long were you with the diamond people?" he asked.
"Three years. The mines are not as they once were, which made my duties easier. They are now walled compounds with more guards per acre than a military base. Getting in and out is about as easy as getting close to the Crown jewels. To mount a raid would take a trained military unit and a sizeable one at that. Therefore the main duty, in addition to maintaining an alert guard force, was inspection of the native diggers when they periodically left the compound to rejoin their tribes in the interior. It's all been rather worked out by formula. Prior to departure, an enema is used to make sure a diamond doesn't go out in someone's intestines. Anyone leaving is stripped to the buff and doctor-inspected, the interior of his mouth as well."
"Necessary, I suppose," commented Holmes. "What brought you back to England?"
"A friend of Mr. Chasseur is a major shareholder in Kimberly and must have given me a spanking recommendation. The B & N had some problem with warehouse thefts and I was offered my present position. Jumped at it, I might add. Africa is all very well, but the boredom of the job was getting to me."
"I can imagine. Where did the robbery take place?" asked Holmes, suddenly shifting subjects.
"Outside of Brent. A small village almost due north of Colchester."
We were back by the dispatcher's now, and as Holmes thanked Ledger for his trouble, a thought burst upon me. "I say, we've rather dismissed the idea of the thieves being aboard the special when it pulled out. But I noted a blind spot at the rear of the train. Might they not have somehow overhauled the train as it was leaving the yards?"
Again it was Ledger who supplied the cold water. "The special was routed on the main line," said the security man.
"To be red-balled through," added Holmes.
"Exactly." There was a small smile on Ledger's tight mouth, as though in recognition of Holmes' familiarity with railroad jargon. "Along with a group of trusted employees, I was right here to watch her off, and she'd gained considerable speed by the time she was out of our sight. They got to her beyond the yards, Dr. Watson, or a whole group of us had better have our eyes checked."
"Certainly not necessary in your case," said Holmes, and I noted that Ledger shot him a quick glance. The comment did seem cryptic at first, but then Ledger was relatively young and one could assume that his eyes were keen. "You did not decide to go with the bullion, and I have wondered why." Holmes' voice had hardened slightly.
"Mr. Chasseur had an appointment with the people at the London, Tilbury and Southend Railroad. After that, we were to go together by express to Yarmouth to be present when the gold was loaded aboard a channel boat."
He paused for a moment with a wry expression. "The news of the robbery reached us before we left, so the trip to Yarmouth had no meaning. My employer rather left this matter in my hands and I've let him down for fair. If there's anything I can do to help in your insurance investigation, please call on me."
Noting Holmes' sudden and sharp glance, he elaborated quickly. "I know where the request for me to meet you here came from, sir. It's not hard to judge what rekindled your interest in this matter."
Holmes seemed kindly disposed toward Ledger's frankness. At least he did until we had regained a hansom and were clattered back toward Baker Street. "What did you think of him?" he queried.
"Seemed forthright enough. After seeing the special freight, can't say I'd fault his plan for guarding it either."
There was a twinkle in Holmes' eyes. "The former lieutenant in the Grenadiers was not guilty of falsehood," he said.
"What then? Something is amiss or you would not be discussing him."
"You know me too well, old friend. We had visitors after you were abed last night. I learned that there is another facet to Ledger's career that he did not choose to mention—his feats of marksmanship."
"We'd already heard of that from two sources."
"But not of Alvidon Chasseur's involvement with the Wellington Gun Club."
I was regarding Holmes blankly, and bless him for not letting the matter drop, an annoying habit he had on occasion. "Industrial tycoons are not rushing down to Sussex or similar country areas for long weekends as in times gone by. Pressure of business, you know. With foxhunting and grouse-shooting on the wane, they have found release for competitive spirits and an interest in ordinance by forming gun clubs, where target shooting occupies the members. The clubs all have rifle teams and they compete in a league, which may explain the number of former members of Her Majesty's forces being employed by big business."
"Ahhh," I said. "Now I understand your remark about the man's vision."
"Ledger's reputation assures us that he has the eyes of an eagle."
"And a position was created for the shootist so that he could represent the Wellington Gun Club," I continued, feeling on firm ground.
"He's qualified in his job, I'm sure," replied Holmes, "but his offer of employment was certainly based in part on his marksman abilities. The Wellington Club has the champion rifle team of greater London and will defend their title in the near future against the Bagatelle Club, sponsored by Lord Balmoral. It might be fitting if we attended that match, Watson."
I did not have much time to consider this matter since we had returned to our chambers and Holmes was occupied reading cablegrams and several letters delivered to our door. He then wrote out answers and casually informed me that he would be off to Essex by the afternoon train and would appreciate my company if I felt so disposed. As he summoned Billy to deliver his queries and instructions to the cable office, I thought again how the sleuth had shunned the installation of a telephone in our quarters. In matters of criminal investigation, Holmes was ultramodern and I'm sure his many innovations must have influenced Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the forensic medicine genius, in later years. Why Holmes did not choose to use Mr. Bell's greatest invention I could not guess, though its absence never seemed to hamper one of his investigations.
The village of Brent being in Essex, the sleuth was going to visit the scene of the crime, and nothing would keep me away from that. It was apparent that whilst I had been the slug-a-bed the previous night, my friend had used the time to good advantage. From long experience, I knew I would just have to wait to find out what else he had learned.
Chapter 6
End of Track with Dandy Jack
; WE REACHED Brent on a local and, to my surprise, found a four-wheeler plus driver awaiting our arrival. Holmes approached the conveyance with confidence.
"You would be Dandy Jack," he said to the driver.
"Not by that name in these parts, sir," responded the man, saluting briefly with his whip. His broad face was creased by a toothy grin.
"And my name is not Sherlock Holmes," responded the sleuth, "nor is this gentleman with me Dr. Watson."
"What goes in one ear comes out t'other, sir. That way it don't come out the mouth."
During this singular conversation, Holmes and I entered the carriage, which swayed back slightly as our posteriors found the straw-stuffed cushions. The driver's whip flicked lightly on the rump of a sturdy bay and we were off. Holmes offered no directions nor did the driver seem to require any.
In contrast to the city, a limpid sun tried to brighten the rural scene and succeeded in part, though the air was crisp and cold. In London, with the moisture of the Thames close by, I would have thought it raw, but not so in the dry and clear air of the countryside. Leaving the buildings of the village of Brent was a matter of a moment, and as we were setting a brisk pace, it was not long before I spied a ribbon of rails in the distance.
"Now if you was that amacheur peeler wot you mentioned," said the driver, "you might be interested in the spur line where they hit the bullion train. People hereabout are talking 'bout nothin' else, the robbery bein' the biggest thing wot's happened in Brent, you see."
"It does seem the place to be for a casual visitor," said Holmes. "I take it the rails ahead are on a straightaway and the roadbed follows an upgrade in that direction." Holmes was indicating to our right, where the rails curved around the base of a small hill.
Dandy Jack turned to view us and his face again was transformed by a grin. It changed a weathered and potentially grim visage dramatically. "Right, sir."
"How far up the grade is the bridge?"
Since no such feat of engineering was visible as yet, I well understood the expression of surprise on Jack's face.