The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part IV

by David Marcum

  “I beg of you, do not tell the others of the coachman in the night. Apart from the staff, my sister alone knows what I have witnessed, and I have no wish to be thought mad by my friends.”

  “You may rely upon us, but I must insist upon a private conversation after dinner. Perhaps there is a room where we will not be disturbed?”

  “My study should serve for that.”

  “Gentlemen,” interrupted a lady in a startling red costume. “Welcome to Oaklands Hall.”

  “My sister, Lillette,” Trasker introduced. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.”

  She was an extremely handsome woman, with high cheekbones and hair as black as a raven’s wing. Her face shone with the vibrant energy of a strong personality.

  “And here,” she continued, drawing in two onlookers, “are our other guests. May I introduce Mr. Forsyth Cromer,” a thin-faced man gave us a rather disapproving look, “and Mr. Gabriel Fullerton.”

  A shorter, swarthy man stepped forward to shake our hands.

  “Hunt, do you?” Mr. Cromer asked me.

  “I have little time to spare sir,” said I, “for my London practice is invariably busy.”

  “Pity,” he replied. “I hear there are fallow deer in the woods around here.”

  He turned away abruptly and Holmes, who had been talking to the others, followed him with his eyes.

  “I think, Watson, that if someone will be good enough to show us to our rooms, we will refresh ourselves and change for dinner.”

  The butler, Gerrard, showed us to comfortable, if rather small, rooms. I quickly unpacked and changed, before meeting Holmes on the landing.

  We ate at a long table in a hall hung with mediaeval shields and weapons. To my most pleasant surprise, Miss Lillette, wearing a purple dress, was seated next to me, and maintained lively conversation throughout the meal. I heard snatches of the talk between the others, and learned that Mr. Cromer was a London solicitor and Mr. Fullerton an insurance broker. Much that was spoken was of hunting and fishing, except for the exchange between Holmes and Mr. Trasker, concerning the ever-changing scene in London.

  At the conclusion of the meal, Mr. Trasker approached his sister and spoke quietly. She nodded vigorously and led the other two from the room.

  “They have gone to the games room,” he told us. “I explained that we are likely to be late in joining them. She will see that they are kept amused at cards.”

  “Excellent,” said Holmes. “Let us repair to your study.”

  We crossed a stone-flagged corridor to a room that proved to be much as I expected. Dark panelling and bookshelves surrounded a desk and several armchairs near an unlit fire. Only after we had settled ourselves and lit cigars did Holmes begin his questioning.

  “Mycroft has explained much of your situation to me, Mr. Trasker,” said he, “but there are still a few points about which I am not quite clear. Pray take your time in answering, and try to do so as accurately as you can.” He leaned forward suddenly for Mr. Trasker had swayed in his chair, almost dropping his cigar. “My dear fellow, you are not well! Watson, a brandy, quickly!”

  I poured from the decanter on a side-table and administered a half-glass to our host, but it was quite a quarter-of-an-hour before he was restored sufficiently to continue.

  “I feel stronger now, gentlemen,” he said in a quivering voice. “I am grateful for your assistance.”

  “For how long have you experienced these seizures?” I asked him.

  “I cannot recall exactly, for my memory seems affected. I sought no help, for I have always had a morbid fear of hospitals. However, Doctor, I would be grateful for your diagnosis.”

  His eyes held a vacant expression that concerned me greatly, as did his appearance. But I had met these symptoms before.

  “I must ask you, Mr. Trasker, without intending any offence - do you take opium?”

  “Never,” he stated definitely. “I have seen others ruined by it. That was warning enough.”

  “Quite. Let me consider the matter. I may have to consult my books in Baker Street, but be assured that I can help.”

  “I am already indebted to you,” he said gratefully. “But now, Mr. Holmes, I feel able to continue.”

  I refilled his glass and poured for Holmes and myself, before my friend began.

  “First the coach. Are you satisfied that it is the same coach, at every appearance?”

  Mr. Trasker nodded. “I am sure of it. As you will know, I emptied both barrels of my shotgun at its driver. The following night the coachman seemed unharmed, but the damage to the coach was evident.”

  “And was it familiar to you?”

  “It was a landau that I had never seen before.”

  “The horses?”

  “Two large black beasts. There are many like them in use around this district. I could not tell if they were local.”

  “Thank you.” Holmes considered for a moment. “This road that passes the house, it runs from Richmond through Little Chillington, does it not?”

  “Indeed, and through several other villages further on.”

  “If one were to pass this house in the direction of the village, is there a way to return without passing the house again?”

  “There are many tracks winding through the forest. It is possible to return to the road nearer to Richmond.”

  “So I had supposed. I understand that it was from your sister’s room that you saw the coachman on all occasions.”

  “That is so. It is the only room that looks down on that part of the courtyard.”

  Holmes put down his empty glass. “It is imperative that Doctor Watson and I are installed there, ready to anticipate the coachman. You will not be disturbed tonight, Mr. Trasker.”

  Our host was noticeably relieved. “I will make the arrangements. Lillette will sleep elsewhere. No one will go near that room until morning.”

  “Capital!”

  Mr. Trasker left us, and we finished our cigars. He reappeared, much improved, a short while later.

  “It is done,” he said.

  Presently we joined the others, to find that Miss Lillette had already retired, as she intended to take one of the mares out early. Mr. Cromer and Mr. Fullerton drained their glasses, agreeing that the journey from London had been tiring. I suggested to Mr. Trasker that he also should take to his bed soon to conserve his strength, and he readily agreed. So it was that at half past eleven Holmes and I found ourselves in the room previously occupied by Miss Lillette, watching from the window, awaiting an unknown foe with our hands never far from our revolvers.

  The road was quiet, except for leaves rustling in the faint breeze. Midnight came swiftly, with Holmes’s expectations mounting, but the hour passed without incident.

  “We will wait a short while longer,” he whispered.

  I found it hard to stay awake, but Holmes seemed as alert as always. I heard a horse approaching and a new tenseness rose, but it was a lone rider upon a weary mount and I presumed him to be a local man returning from Richmond.

  Soon after, a family of deer strayed across the road before returning to the forest.

  “The coachman will not appear now,” Holmes said quietly.

  “An unexpected disappointment.”

  “To the contrary, this night has turned out exactly as I expected.”

  “You foresaw this?”

  “I was certain of it.”

  “You know what is happening here?” I asked in astonishment.

  “Much begins to make sense. Now I suggest that we return to our rooms to salvage what we can of our night’s sleep.”

  We made our way through the dark and silent house, carrying a single candle. As we parted I saw in that poor light the glitter in my friend’s eyes that meant, unmistakably, that he had cau
ght the scent.

  I went down to breakfast early the next morning to find Holmes already halfway through his eggs and bacon. I joined him, ordering the same, together with a pot of strong coffee. Of Mr. Cromer and Mr. Fullerton there was no sign, and we agreed that they had probably not yet risen. Gerrard informed us that it was Mr. Trasker’s custom to take a walk before breakfast, but we would see him later.

  Miss Lillette strode into the room wearing riding clothes, and we exchanged greetings.

  “Doctor Watson and I saw nothing last night,” Holmes told her. “Perhaps this business will die out of its own accord.”

  “I do hope so,” she said with concern, “for Rodney’s sake above all. He really is not well, but refuses to consult a doctor.”

  “Doctor Watson may be able to prescribe something that will help.”

  She removed her riding cap and shook out her hair. “Again, we are grateful to you both.”

  “I wonder if we could borrow the trap for the morning. There is nothing to be done here, and the prospect of a walk around your charming village might be agreeable. Will Mr. Trasker be long returning, do you think?”

  “He may be, since his walks vary according to his mood. But there is no need to wait, Mr. Holmes. You have only to tell Querry, the groom, that I would be obliged if he would prepare it for you.”

  Holmes thanked her and she left us. When our meal was finished, we went directly to the stables, where Querry was rubbing down the horse that Miss Lillette had recently exercised. Holmes said that there was little to report and he replied likewise, adding that he was keeping a close watch on Mr. Cromer and Mr. Fullerton. The trap was soon ready, and we left in the direction of Little Chillington.

  We progressed at a moderate pace, and Holmes peered around in every direction.

  “What is it that you are looking for, Holmes?”

  “I will know it when I see it.”

  We passed a long curve before he spoke again.

  “Rein in, Watson!”

  “Near that old barn?”

  “Exactly there.”

  As we came to a halt he sprang to the ground, walking up and down in front of the structure before returning with a frown upon his face.

  “You found nothing?” I enquired.

  “No. Its dilapidated appearance suggested that the barn is no longer used, but it has merely been neglected.”

  I knew that my friend would explain when he was ready, so I said nothing more. Shortly after, we sat at a rough wooden table outside the village inn.

  “Two pints of your best ale if you please, landlord!” Holmes called cheerfully to the man who approached.

  Red-faced and bald, he signalled his acknowledgement. “Right away, sir.”

  Soon, he delivered two foaming tankards.

  “Do you know this area well?” Holmes asked him.

  “Lived here all my life, sir.”

  “We are from a London establishment specialising in the restoration of disused property in provincial districts. A request was received for us to survey an abandoned building in this area, but we have accidentally left the details behind. Do you, by any chance, know of such a building? We have driven around for miles, but have found nothing.”

  The landlord scratched his head. “No sir, I cannot think where that could be. The only abandoned building I know of is the old church on Middlemire Road. It was struck by lightning some ten years ago and never repaired because folk hereabouts attend St. Thaddeus, here in the village.”

  Holmes nodded. “Well, as we have come all this way, we may as well look at it. How is it reached, from here?”

  “You go straight through the village,” the man pointed, “then watch for the signpost to the left.”

  We found Middlemire Road easily. I slowed the horse and we turned onto a wide track. It was largely overgrown, probably since the damage to the church, but still my friend saw at once that something had passed by recently.

  “There are disturbed and broken bushes,” he observed. “It may be that this is the place we seek.”

  “But what are we looking for, Holmes?”

  “We have found it, I think.”

  The undergrowth fell away, revealing an untended field. Many gravestones leaned precariously and a weathered stone angel gazed down at us. The church, or as much as remained of it, stood near the track.

  “Half the roof has gone,” I observed. “Why are we here?”

  “We are seeking answers.”

  I tethered the horse and we made our way along a short path. Holmes pulled open the tall entrance door and the rusted hinges protested loudly. We walked cautiously into a vast chamber, disturbing birds that roosted among the rafters.

  Holmes examined the dusty floor. “We are in the right place, Watson. Here are the tracks of a man and two horses. Also, there are wheel marks that lead further into the church and back, several times.”

  “The coach?”

  “I shall be surprised to find otherwise. It had to be stored out of sight, between visits to Oaklands Hall.”

  Our footfalls echoed back at us. The air was heavy with the smell of decay. Sunlight streamed through the pierced roof, revealing scattered slates upon the altar. The marks in the dust led to a large alcove near the sanctuary.

  “You were right, Holmes!” I cried. A black landau stood, deep in shadow.

  “There we see the damage from Mr. Trasker’s shotgun. The soft top and wooden coachwork have been badly torn in places.” He walked slowly around the coach. “But look, here are traces of wax, such as I discovered outside Oaklands Hall on our arrival. It now becomes clear how the coachman survived the blast.”

  “Some sort of shield? I hardly think it would be strong enough to withstand two barrels.”

  Holmes peered into the darkness. “Aha!” he cried after a moment.

  The broken effigy of a man lay sprawled upon the flagstones. A few feet away stood several others, sinister in the half-light, undamaged and moulded in the same likeness.

  “These are undoubtedly fashioned to appear to be Derringsham, whom Mr. Trasker killed during the burglary,” my friend said. “The damaged remains are of course from the shotgun blast, later.”

  “Holmes, this cannot be. Mycroft mentioned that Mr. Trasker stated that the coachman looked up at him. A wax model cannot move of its own accord.”

  “I think I can show how it could do so with some assistance.”

  “Holes have been cut in the front of the soft top, near where it joins the coachwork,” I observed.

  “Indeed, that is so that the horses could be guided from inside, by a man lying full length. This could not be sustained, so probably the effigy was set up immediately before approaching Oaklands Hall, and then normal driving resumed as soon as the house was out of sight. But look,” he bent over the damaged figure, “at the neck and arms of this fellow.”

  “They have wires running through them, like puppets!”

  “So the shotgun blast destroyed but one of several wax effigies, and its movements had been guided like those of a marionette. The darkness of course, aided the deception.”

  “Trasker has been treated cruelly.”

  “I suspect, Watson, that there is more cruelty in this.” Holmes looked into the landau. “Halloa! It appears that I have missed something.”

  “What more have you found?”

  “Blood,” he answered.”

  I peered beneath the covering. Dark stains marked the floor.

  “So,” I concluded, “the driver did not escape Mr. Trasker’s shotgun, after all.”

  “Not entirely. He will have some injuries. I confess a certain admiration of this man’s courage.”

  “My dear fellow! What can you mean?”

  “He returned to Oaklands Hall after the
shooting, not knowing whether he would again face that danger. We must therefore conclude that we are dealing with a brave, although ruthless, man. You will understand this, having been under fire yourself.”

  A recollection of the Battle of Maiwand came to me. “Indeed, but these are our country’s enemies.”

  “They are, and that is why we shall bring them to ruin. There are two more calls to make, doctor, and then we return to Oaklands Hall.”

  Soon we were in Little Chillington once more.

  “If you would care to wait for me, I will not be long.” Holmes sprang from the trap and made off down the street. I tethered the horse and had begun to inspect the rose gardens in front of some charming ivy-covered cottages when Holmes called my name.

  We left the village for Oaklands Hall with the horse eager to get into his stride.

  “Did you learn anything of significance?” I asked.

  “For the consideration of a half-sovereign, the boy at the livery stable was most forthcoming. Although he could not remember the times with certainty, he confirmed that a foreign gentlemen has on several occasions left his grey mount to be cared for late at night, while he hired two black mares for short periods.”

  “He exchanged his own horse for two to pull the coach!”

  “Exactly. My other call was to the Post Office, to send a wire.”

  I recognised about him that air that meant the case was nearing its end, and so asked nothing more. At lunch he spoke little, answering the remarks of Mr. Cromer and Mr. Fullerton with few words. We repaired to a sitting room shortly after, where we found the early editions. Presently, we heard Mr. Trasker and Miss Lillette in conversation in the entrance hall, and I assumed that they had lunched elsewhere. Then Gerrard brought a telegram for Holmes which I assumed to be from Lestrade, though my friend confirmed only that it was an answer to an earlier enquiry.

  “I fear that we must cut short our stay,” he said with some urgency as he laid down the newspaper and put the folded form in his pocket. “Come, Watson, we must pack our things before asking Mr. Trasker to allow Querry to drive us to Richmond Station.”