“I hope not. It is possible,” Holmes said grimly. “After our interview this morning, I cannot think we should have another—” He broke off, pointing. “There!” he exclaimed.
I saw a man in tradesmen’s garments hunkered down behind Sir Cameron’s house. He had made himself a blind between the house and the stable that serviced the entire Mews; he had a long-barreled Hungarian boar-pistol in his hands and was practicing his aim as Mycroft Holmes leaped from the still-moving cab and rushed at him. I followed after him, ready to do my part, whatever that might be.
The miscreant lurched to his feet and started to run only to have Holmes slam into him and grapple with him, pulling him to the paving stones.
“Guthrie,” Holmes panted. “Secure his hands.”
I had nothing in the way of rope, so I removed my tie and used it to confine the gunman’s hands at the small of his back. The man fought as best he could, kicking and twisting with all the strength of desperation, keeping silent the whole time; when he was as bound as he could be, Mycroft Holmes tugged him to his feet.
“Gather up his pistol and its case, if it is here, and find that other case Hastings saw,” Mycroft Holmes ordered me. “It will be crowded with three of us, but there’s nothing for it.” He shoved the man toward Sid Hastings’ cab. “Get in, sir. And do not attempt an escape. Unless you can outrun a horse, you have no prayer of getting away.” The man shot a vitriolic look at Holmes, his teeth flashing in a snarl, but he got into the cab without incident, and Holmes followed him at once. “Guthrie, ride with Hastings. You’ll get wet, I’m afraid, but there is nothing for it.”
“If Hastings does not mind, why should I?” I said, and climbed into the box.
Hastings shifted his position—not an easy thing, for the box was small and cramped, being designed for one man—and put Lance into motion again. “Most peculiar,” he remarked to me as we once again entered Deanery Mews.
I looked at him. “How do you mean?”
“A man, wanting to take a shot at Sir Cameron—if that was what he was doing—choosing to fire in the service alley rather than in the street.” Hastings leaned down and called to Mycroft Holmes, “Will you want to go to Scotland Yard, then?”
“I think that might be best,” said Holmes. “I suppose they will want to know what this fellow has been up to.”
“Right you are,” said Hastings, straightening back up.
“There was no cover in the street,” I said, in response to his earlier remark.
“What’s that?” Hastings asked, confused.
“You said it was strange he should try to fire in the service alley,” I reminded him. “He is noticeable in the street, and not so in the service alley. If Sir Cameron called for his coach, then the fellow we have in custody might have had an easy shot, and a great deal of confusion in which to make good his escape.”
“I take your point, Mister Guthrie,” said Hastings. “That I do. But what if Sir Cameron did not call for his coach? The fellow might have spent the day waiting to no purpose.”
“Sir Cameron might not have left his house at all today,” I pointed out. “No matter where that man waited, he had no assurance of taking his shot.”
“Just my point,” said Hastings as he moved his cab between a brewer’s wagon pulled by two enormous Belgian draught horses and a Clarence drawn by a spanking pair of matched bays; there was a crest on the panel, but I could not make it out.
I considered what Hastings had said, then exclaimed, “Turn around, Hastings. At once.”
“Why should I do that, Mister Guthrie?” asked Hastings so calmly that I was minded to take the reins myself.
“Because you’re right. This man is not the assassin. He is the decoy. He was meant to be discovered so that we would not bother to look further for anyone who might intend to do Sir Cameron harm.” As I said this, I added to myself that such a list would be long.
“But you don’t think someone is going to make an attempt on Sir Cameron’s life?” Hastings protested.
“What better time?” I leaned down and quickly repeated to Holmes what I had just said to Hastings. “Well, sir? What do you think?”
Mycroft Holmes sighed. “He’s right, Hastings. Turn back.”
Beside him, the man we had caught began to squirm, kicking and flinging himself about as much as the confined space would allow. His eyes were angry, but he kept his teeth clenched together even as he struggled.
“Stop it,” Holmes ordered him, and when the man did not, Holmes struck him a sharp blow on the side of the head that stunned him. “Next time I shall knock you unconscious,” Holmes warned the fellow.
There were cries and curses from other drivers as Hastings turned his cab around and started back toward Deanery Mews. I clung onto the top of the cab as it swayed and lurched about. As I recovered my balance, I saw traffic slowing ahead. “What now?”
“There’s a cart down,” said Hastings laconically.
“Can you get around it?” I asked, leaning forward in the hope of seeing our way clear of it.
“Not readily,” said Hastings. “Look about you, Mister Guthrie. Everyone is at the same impasse.”
I swore, and apologized for my unseemly outburst, and was about to ask Mycroft Holmes if he had any instructions for me when the man we had taken in hand staggered out of the cab, and, his hands still tied behind him, began to stumble through the increasing tangle of traffic.
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS
MH has still not returned from Sir Cameron’s, although it is well passed the hour I expected him. I am not yet worried, but I am not entirely sanguine, either. Sutton has wakened and has offered to disguise himself in order to go about looking for MH and G. I have said it is not wise, and perhaps he is persuaded ...
The Admiralty have sent word that there will be services tomorrow for the courier. I would like to attend to pay my respects, but MH may not be able to spare me for the morning.
I must go to the greengrocer within the hour to pick up the cabbage I have ordered, and a string of onions. If there are any suitable potatoes, I will buy them as well. Then to the tea-merchant for Assam, Lady Grey, and Darjeeling. How the demands of every-day life intrude on us all.
I VAULTED down from the box and began to run after the fleeing man. Around me the press of wagons, carriages, vans, and cabs made progress slow, but I forced my way through the crowd, shoving horses and pushing men aside as I went. The rain did nothing to make my efforts easier; I did my best to keep the fellow in sight, but in the confusion I lost track of him, and wasted almost a minute staring about me in the hope of discovering where he had gone. Finally I saw him blunder onto the side-walk, thrusting himself among the passers-by, many of whom drew back in alarm. I hurried after him, using my elbows and shoulders to clear the way, but lost him once again; I was distracted by a coachman who bellowed insults and imprecations down at me in a Cornish accent so deep he might have been speaking a foreign language. I paused to make a gesture of apology before resuming the chase. This time I cast about for some little time, and was rewarded by finding my tie, dropped in a puddle and smirched, as the only trophy of this most frustrating hunt. I picked it up and began to make my way back through the tangle to Sid Hastings’ cab, growing more despondent with each step. When I finally reached that vehicle, it had progressed less than fifty feet from where I had left it. I came to the side, and found it difficult to look at Mycroft Holmes. “I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t catch him.”
“Small wonder, in all this,” said Holmes with a sigh. “Well, there’s nothing for it. He chose his escape-site quite strategically. I only wish I could have seen who was in that spider that took him up; a fine pair of matched red-roans pulled it.”
“The driver had a patch over one eye,” Sid Hastings added helpfully. “They turned west, but that may be nothing more than
an attempt to misdirect us.”
“Perhaps the Golden Lodge guards saw some of this. They may be able to provide us with information,” I said, trying to make the best of a bad situation.
“If they are watching us, and if they are willing to tell us anything, then perhaps they may be worth asking,” said Mycroft Holmes. “But I would prefer not to have to rely on them.”
“Don’t you trust them?” I asked as I got into the cab dejectedly. “Not entirely. As no doubt they do not trust me; they have their work to do and I have mine,” he said, sinking back on the squabs. “I only hope we may be in time.”
“You are not going to blame this”—I flung my hand in the direction of the traffic jumble—“on the Brotherhood, are you, sir?”
“No,” he conceded. “Not that I would put such a ruse past them, but as they needed to make good their escape, this works against them as much as it does against us. That spider might have been enmeshed as we are, and then there would be no escape, for culprit or henchman. I would not be surprised to see them use a traffic snarl to their advantage, as they seem to have done now. But to rely on one to do their bidding, no, I don’t think even they would venture anything so foolhardy.” He folded his arms.
“And you are sure it is the Brotherhood we are dealing with?” I did not question his conviction, but I was not so willing to believe them capable of so extensive a machination.
“As sure as I may be without having them in my sights; that Hungarian pistol is as good as a signature,” Mycroft Holmes answered, a bit of disgust making him impatient. “And now this. It is just the sort of thing they do, Guthrie: throw their opponents into confusion, and then use the turmoil to their advantage. They know how to turn misfortune to their purpose. In this case, the traffic added to their plans; you may be sure they know how to put public disorder of all sorts to use.” He was growing as morose as I was. He tapped on the roof of the cab. “Get round this as best you can, Hastings, and return us to Deanery Mews.”
“Do you expect an attack to be made on Sir Cameron?” I asked, trying to put myself in a semblance of order.
“I think something may happen that would be detrimental to our current plans.” He sat forward again. “They do not want Lady MacMillian to arrive here without her uncles, that much is certain. So I must be on guard against anything that may make such an event more likely, such as Sir Cameron being badly injured. If he is in hospital, then who would think it strange of his wife to rush to his side, uncles in tow? So they will try again to have him incapacitated.”
“Or killed,” I added.
“That would be a trifle too extreme, I suspect,” said Mycroft Holmes as the cab began to move again. “I think they would prefer Sir Cameron paralyzed than six feet under, for with their estrangement still in effect, her claims would be limited indeed.”
“I take your meaning, sir,” I said, aware that the reconciliation would have greater significance than I had assumed it would. “If Sir Cameron is alive but an invalid, he is at the mercy of his wife.”
“And she is at the mercy of her uncles,” said Holmes, watching as Sid Hastings expertly threaded his cab through the knot of vehicles and beyond the worst of it. “Very good, Hastings. I will see you have something for your four children as a sign of my appreciation.”
“Most kind, sir,” said Hastings, beginning to whistle as we retraced our route to Deanery Mews.
Beech, the butler, was no more pleased to see us a second time than he had been an hour earlier. “Sir Cameron is in his bath, gentlemen. I am afraid he cannot receive you.”
“Never mind. This is not so much for his ears as for yours; in fact it would be as well for him to know nothing of our conversation. I need you to listen and pay attention, Beech,” said Mycroft Holmes, and went on confidingly, “As you may know, a shot was taken at your employer on Saturday evening as he was in Mount Street.”
“Everyone in this house knows about that incident, sir,” said Beech stiffly.
“Yes. Well, you will understand how serious it is when I tell you that the assassin is still at large. As we left this house this morning, we surprised a man with a hunting pistol setting a firing place for himself in your service alley.”
“Lawks!” the butler exclaimed.
“Exactly.” Mycroft Holmes pulled the butler away from the door in order to speak to him in a more confidential fashion. “We tried to apprehend him, but he escaped into traffic, so now we must warn you that Sir Cameron is still in danger, which is why we have urged him to remove from the metropolis for a week or two. In the meantime, everyone in this house must be on his guard.”
Beech bobbed his head to show he understood. “You say the culprit was in the service alley?”
“Just so,” said Holmes.
“And he got away?” There was real fear in the man’s eyes now, and his voice rose by a major third.
“I am sorry to say that he did,” Holmes told him somberly. “You cannot imagine how distressed I am by this turn of events. I fear the man may return here to make another attempt. If he should be so brazen, I hope you and the staff will summon the police at once, and do your utmost to keep him from harming Sire Cameron.”
“Oh, yes,” said Beech. “How terrible it would be if he were injured.”
“I see we understand one another,” said Mycroft Holmes, giving the butler a gesture of approval. “Err on the side of caution, Beech. Rather be safe than sorry.” He made the two old saws sound original and urgent.
“Truly, sir,” said Beech. “It was good of you to come back to warn us. I am sure Sir Cameron will be grateful.”
I thought that unlikely in the extreme, but I said nothing as Mycroft Holmes went on. “Sir Cameron will need your sharp eyes and your wits.”
“Right you are, sir,” said Beech. “I will brief the staff at supper. There are only six of us, but I give you my word they shall all do their duty.”
“Very good, Beech,” said Holmes. “I will stop round tomorrow, or Mister Guthrie will come in my place, to have your report.”
The butler didn’t salute, but I could see he wanted to. I spoke up. “I will give Mister Holmes your full account, whatever it may be.”
Mycroft Holmes was edging back toward the door. “Keep an eye out for any strangers, of any stripe. Tradesmen are as questionable as men in carriages.”
“We will be diligent, Mister Holmes, my word of honor.” He stood very straight as we reached the door.
“Thank you, Beech,” said Mycroft Holmes as we went out onto the front step once more.
Again Sid Hastings pulled up and took us aboard, then said, “Still want Scotland Yard, sir?”
Holmes frowned with thought. “Not just yet. I’ll write a note for you to carry round to Inspector Featherstone, and one to Chief Inspector Pryce. I’ll try to arrange a convenient time to speak with them today or tomorrow. We’ll peel the layers off this conundrum or I’ll know the reason why.”
“I am certain of it, sir,” I said, taking heart from his determination.
“Yes. I have knocked their kingpin out from under them, and now they are going to have to scramble. That may give them away.” He glared at the rain. “This infernal weather. I know it is very English, and I’d far rather have rain than fog, but still—” He stopped. “I suppose I should also keep your Miss Gatspy informed.”
“I am sure Miss Gatspy would appreciate it, as would her superiors,” I said, making a point by leaving out any pronoun whatsoever, of identifying her independence from me.
“Always so proper, Guthrie,” said Holmes, amused. “Indubitably, you have the right of it: no doubt she and the Golden Lodge will be more useful if we work in concert on this occasion.”
“But I thought you didn’t trust them,” I remarked.
“I don’t,” Mycroft Holmes said curtly, and fell silent for t
he rest of the ride back to Pall Mall.
Tyers was preparing a bag for the laundress when we arrived. “You are back early. I did not expect you for another hour or so,” he said as he abandoned his chores and set about putting on the kettle for tea. “Give me your over-coats and I will set them to dry in the kitchen, near the cooker. They will be damp until evening if I don’t.”
We both complied at once. “Any news this morning while we were out?” Holmes asked as he handed his over-coat and muffler to Tyers.
“There is a note from Baron von Schattenberg; it arrived a quarter of an hour ago. I put it on the table in your study.” Tyers took my over-coat, put it on a hanger, and prepared to go back to the kitchen. “Sutton is out for the morning. He’s gone over to the theatre.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?” Mycroft Holmes asked, interested but unworried.
“He said he would be back by two, no later. He understands that he is to go to the club in your stead this afternoon.” Tyers was almost to the kitchen and had to raise his voice to be heard.
“Yes. I have too much to do.” He motioned to me to follow him into the study. “You will need a new tie, I fear,” he said to me as he sat down. “I will be glad to see you are supplied one from the stores of those Sutton has in the back.”
“It isn’t immediately urgent,” I said, sitting down opposite my employer. “Unless you are expecting callers this morning.”
“My dear Guthrie, given the last five days, I hardly know what to expect.” he thought for a long moment. “I think it might be best if you go and select a tie now. Then if we have anyone arrive, you will not raise any questions.”
“Right away, sir,” I said, getting up again and leaving him alone in the study. As I passed through the kitchen, I saw that Tyers was baking some cheese with walnuts to augment our tea. “It smells wonderful,” I told him as I went into the rear and began to look at the labels on the drawers behind the racks of clothing. This was the place the courier had been concealed, and I had an unpleasant twinge as I looked about me, recalling the sad fate of that young man. Finally I opened the drawer marked neckwear and selected a tie of deep-green with a hint of blue-black in the weave. It was handsome without being showy, and it was proper without being grand. I slipped it around my neck, refixed my collar-stud and knotted the tie using the oval mirror hung there for that purpose. It was set higher in the wall than was comfortable for me—intended for Mycroft Holmes and Edmund Sutton, both of whom were over six foot—but I managed well enough. By the time I returned to the study Tyers was serving tea and Mycroft Holmes was scribbling an answer to Baron von Schattenberg’s note; two other sealed envelopes lay beside his elbow.
The Scottish Ploy Page 26