The Flying Scotsman

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

“He’s been like this for the past hour,” said Sutton, sympathy and exasperation nicely mixed in his delivery. “Holmes, you couldn’t have known you were dealing with a bent copper.”

  I rarely heard Edmund Sutton use such slang and it struck me all the more because of it. “What does he mean, a ‘bent copper’?”

  “I think the meaning is obvious,” said Mycroft Holmes gravely. “You think a policeman did this?” I wanted to be more stunned by this supposition than I was.

  “Who else?” Mister Holmes asked, his demeanor bleak. “One of the police assigned to this case is in league with the assassin, and—we cannot ignore the possibility, can we?—the Brotherhood.” He put the tips of his fingers together and pressed his index fingers to his lower lip.

  “Do you have any notion yet? Who is the ... er ... bent copper?”

  “There are three possibilities that I can see.” He was preparing to enumerate his suspects when Tyers arrived with the butler’s tray laden with tea, scones, butter, and a brandied fruit compote as well as a few slices of cold, rare sirloin.

  As he put this down, he said, “I have a pot of shepherd’s cheese warming, and diced potatoes browning with the bacon. They will be ready shortly.” He offered a quick smile, handing out plates to each of us. “This will serve as breakfast.”

  “Excellently,” said Edmund Sutton, and turned to Holmes. “Come. You’ll feel more the thing when you’ve had something to eat. You’re tired and hungry. Nothing ever puts me so off my performance as being tired and hungry.”

  Mycroft Holmes was about to shake his head in refusal, then saw the sharp look in Tyers’ eyes. “Oh, very well. You’re probably right.” He came back to his chair and tugged the occasional table around to a more convenient angle. “Tea first. I must wake up and clear my thoughts.”

  “Very good,” said Tyers, beginning to prepare a plate for our employer. Edmund Sutton motioned to me to sit down; I complied at once, and not because I was hungry. When Tyers poured tea for me, he put in sugar but no milk, as I liked it in the morning. “If there is anything more you want?”

  “Not just at present, thanks,” I said, my attention more on Mycroft Holmes than on Tyers.

  “It is a very troubling development,” said Mycroft Holmes after his first sip of tea. “I cannot but wonder how deep the rot goes.”

  “And who can root it out,” added Edmund Sutton. “You do not want to trust anyone who might be in the other camp.” He took his cup of tea with a nod of acknowledgment.

  “Precisely,” said Mycroft Holmes, some of his usual purpose returning to his visage.

  “You will have to learn who the turncoat is,” I said. “If he has accomplices, you will have to unearth them as well.”

  “Very true, and without putting Prince Oscar at any more risk than we already have,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Which means we must have not one but two doubles, sent on two different ships, with two different sets of guards. And it all must be arranged today.”

  I sat bolt upright so quickly I very nearly overset my tea. “Today? Why today?”

  “Because tomorrow, dear boy, you and I and the Prince are leaving for Scotland by rail.” He must have read incomprehension in my face, for he chuckled. “Well, what is more sensible? I am going to call upon the Directors of the North Eastern today, to arrange for—”

  “The Flying Scotsman!” I burst out. “Of course.”

  “If the Directors of the railroad can be made to agree to a few ... stipulations. They have accommodated unusual situations before—not often, but often enough to give me hope.” He smiled at me, an expression a crocodile might want to imitate.

  “Those are the Directors you intend to address,” I said, relieved to know his purpose. “You want their support for your plan.”

  “Bravo, old boy. Astute as always, although I want rather more than that,” said Mycroft Holmes. He sipped his tea. “We will have to be very careful what we vouchsafe them.”

  “Naturally. The Prince’s safety is paramount,” I said, warming to the whole plan.

  “The disadvantage is, of course, if the Brotherhood or any of the other enemies of Britain or Prince Oscar learn of this plan, in which case we all become sitting ducks, as the saying has it.” He finished his tea, retreating into thoughtful preparation.

  “I’ll stay here, to cover,” said Edmund Sutton, his assurance welcome though it was obvious. “All day and all night, so that anyone watching will not have reason to think there has been a substitution.”

  I had another sip of tea. “Just so,” I said, having trouble swallowing as the potential dangers were borne in on me. If the police could not be trusted, how were we to maintain the ruse that had been successful for years?

  “Cecil has already sent a memorandum,” said Mycroft Holmes suddenly. “He reminds me that Prince Oscar’s protection is my responsibility, and that the Swedes have washed their hands of the problem. If anything happens to His Highness, then I may present my resignation at once, and Cecil will do the rest.” He frowned and looked up toward the ceiling. “Spare me the wiles of politicians.”

  It was rare for Mycroft Holmes to refer to the Prime Minister by his title, and rarer still by his name. I realized that Holmes was as angry as he was irked by the man’s interference. “You will yet have his apology, sir,” I said.

  “From Robert Arthur Talbot Gascoyne-Cecil, third Marquis of Salisbury?” Holmes asked incredulously. “He would rather have leprosy than apologize—to anyone. Apology is worse than scandal to him, and he abhors the necessity of it; I would have had a better chance with Primrose.” His reference to the current Prime Minister’s immediate predecessor brought another purse of his lips. “When Cecil has made concessions, he has always exacted a price for it. No, no, Guthrie. Better to get out of this neatly and unnoticed, and hope Cecil forgets about it until he’s out of office again.”

  “Whatever is most appropriate,” I said, still mildly disconcerted. The half-hour chimed from the clock in the hall, recalling me to our purpose. “What time is our appointment with the Directors of the North Eastern? Do we have that set?”

  “Ten this morning. In the Strangers’ Room at the club. It’s all settled. We will have it to ourselves until noon. That’s all arranged,” said Mycroft Holmes as if such an arrangement were obvious.

  “Do you intend to have me present?” I asked, aware that this meeting was a most unusual one and possibly intended to be wholly clandestine.

  “Certainly, my dear Guthrie. I would not attempt this without you.” Holmes was regaining his unflappability before my eyes. “Not only do I want a written record, but a second set of eyes and ears, the better to discern anything and everything that might be amiss.”

  “Not unlike dealing with the Japanese,” I said, “or the Imam.”

  “Exactly,” said Holmes, and poured more tea into his cup, adding three teaspoons of sugar and a bit of milk. “There is so much that is hidden, and that we must conceal. It will take careful going to negotiate these waters.” He became more brisk, with stronger intent in every word and action. “Come afternoon, I will have memoranda for you to copy and file; for this morning I have the dreary duty of talking with Superintendent Spencer and Chief Inspector Somerford about the murdered constable.”

  “Don’t you want me to accompany you?” I asked, startled that he would not want me present.

  “Not this time, Guthrie. If our appointment were not so early with the Directors, then I might say otherwise; but as this is largely pro forma, by necessity, you will be well-advised to remain here.” He rolled one of the slices of sirloin and bit it in half. When he swallowed, he added, “Until we know more about the extent of the corruption in the police, I will say nothing of substance to either of those men.”

  “You surely don’t think they could be involved?” I asked, dismayed afresh.

  “I
think we cannot afford to ignore that possibility no matter how remote it may be. And it is possible that if we reveal too much, one or the other may inadvertently warn the real culprits of our scrutiny.” He ate the rest of the roast beef slice and reached for another, rolling it as he had the first. “This will be another long day, my friends. And tomorrow will be more so, if we accomplish our purpose today.”

  “God willing,” said Edmund Sutton.

  “Amen,” said Mycroft Holmes in such a tone of voice that I could not tell whether or not he was joking. He drank down all his tea and took a scone from the basket.

  “Tomorrow?” I said as the full import of it sank in on me. “You do mean to go to Scotland tomorrow?”

  “I’d do it today if it could be managed,” said Holmes as if this was not an outrageous suggestion. “The longer Prince Oscar remains in London, the greater the chance of his discovery, which none of us want. With two doubles leaving, one this morning, one in the evening, we will, I hope, confuse our enemies long enough to get the Prince aboard the train without exposing him to any more trouble. If we can keep our enemies busy watching the ports here in the South, his departure from Scotland should be successful.” He looked up as Tyers returned with the potatoes and bacon. “Thank goodness. My last indulgence until day’s end, I fear.”

  Sutton poured himself more tea then helped make more room on the butler’s tray for the small, oval platter Tyers had brought. “I will go along to my flat for my portfolio as soon as you leave to meet with the police,” he said, clearly confirming some agreement they had made before I returned to the flat at dawn.

  “Um. Thanks,” said Holmes as he helped himself to potatoes and bacon. “This is the very thing that will hold me through the day, Tyers.”

  Tyers nodded to show his acknowledgment of this praise. “You are good to say so.” He checked the teapot. “More hot water.”

  Sutton suddenly stifled a yawn. “Oh, I beg your pardon. It’s being up all night after a performance.” He looked a bit like a schoolboy caught out after hours. “I’ll need a lie-down after I come back from my flat. Sorry, it’s beginning to catch up with me.”

  Mycroft Holmes regarded him indulgently. “Whatever you must do, do it while it does not compromise with your impersonation.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He leaned back and yawned again. “More tea.”

  “It’s coming,” said Tyers, who took up the pot and left the study.

  “Guthrie,” Holmes said to me, “you might be well-advised to take a nap yourself. You have no duties so urgent that they cannot be postponed for an hour or two. Once we attend our meeting with the Directors, we may have to move very quickly, and I will need you alert and rested.”

  I was about to say it was not necessary, but I knew that was pride, not good sense talking, so I responded, ‘Thank you, sir. I will do just that.”

  “Use the day-bed in the sitting room. You won’t muss your clothes too badly on it.” He began to eat the potatoes and bacon with gusto, as if the very act itself increased his appetite. I had seen him this way before—in Constantinople especially—and I recognized it for the preparation it was. “You may excuse yourself if you like, Guthrie. I will not impose upon you until you’re needed. Sutton can manage to take a few notes for me, and Tyers will make sure you are awake and presentable for the meeting this morning.”

  I put my plate aside, and put my cup and saucer on it. Six years ago I might have been offended by this suggestion, but I understood it now in the most pragmatic terms: Mycroft Holmes would need me refreshed and vigilant for at least thirty-six hours to come. “Thank you, sir,” I said as I turned and left the room.

  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  Sutton is off to fetch his portfolio and G is still asleep on the daybed. MH has gone to have his discussion with the police. I have dispatched the memorandum MH prepared for the Swedish Ambassador, giving his assurance that every possible means of protecting HHPO was being employed, the details of which he would furnish upon the Prince’s arrival in Stockholm. The flat is quiet but for an occasional shout from the street below. I know what these hours of preparation can mean to the success of an operation, and one of this moment must demand a standard above that used for common occurrences.

  Word came from Baker Street, brought by the landlady who was about her shopping, that HHPO is occupying his time there reading some of the more obscure texts. He is well and has obeyed our instructions to the letter. He has not gone near windows, nor spoken above a low voice and always in English. He says he enjoys this chance at invisibility, something that he rarely achieves. It would be as well if his enjoyment of this should last through the journey to Scotland. He has asked for a paper and a notebook, both of which I have supplied, along with MH’s instructions that he will come to this flat after dark, and that he should be prepared to leave tomorrow morning early in such clothes as will be provided for him.

  The first of the doubles of HHPO has left the Diogenes Club under naval escort, not a lavish one, but sufficient to put our enemies on guard. The killing of that young constable has made the doubles far more chary about their work, but they will do as they must for their country.

  It is unfortunate that the young constable should be murdered, but it is a far greater tragedy that the police should have been so much corrupted that this death was possible. I share MH’s anguish at the implications of it, and I am determined to do all that I can to aid in eradicating the corruption. Politicians are often venal, and advocates are equivocal: but police must preserve integrity or justice is unattainable. I have seen for myself how swiftly a compromised police erode all the workings of a society. It must not happen here.

  “ROUSE yourself, Guthrie. Sid Hastings will be here in half an hour, and we must be ready to go across to the club while he makes himself busy.” Mycroft Holmes’ voice penetrated my dozing state as if it had been a clap of thunder, jolting me awake and disorienting me at the same instant. “Tea is coming.”

  I was very groggy but I was able to sit up. “Just a moment, sir,” I said, and felt as if my tongue were sticking to the roof of my mouth. “Sorry. I was—”

  “Making up for lost sleep; yes, that is apparent,” said Holmes, sitting in the chair directly across from me. “I do regret that this is probably the last real sleep you will have until we arrive in Scotland, but it can’t be helped and at least this is not Constantinople, or the Alsace. Or the Duke of York’s Theatre, come to that.”

  “For which we can only be grateful.” I was more alert now, and I sat straighter. “Another five minutes and I should be ready for our work.”

  “Not until you reknot that tie,” said Mycroft Holmes in a critical tone of voice. “You have your leather-bound notebook here, don’t you? It wouldn’t do to appear before the Directors with anything less. The notations must be made in ink. Tyers will supply you an inkwell and a pen, one of those fine Italian glass ones. You’ve used them before, as I recall.”

  “That I have,” I said, gathering my thoughts. “How much do you want me to write?”

  “Whatever seems pertinent.” He stood up, clearly restless. “This police matter does not set well with me, Guthrie. The more I think of it, the more troubling its implications become. It smacks of deeper intrigue. If I knew who was the man in the force who has taken the side of our foes—and which foes those are— I would know how to plan to thwart him. But as it is ...”

  “As it is, the Prince’s safety must be our first concern,” I said for him. “Truly. And if the police are in any way implicated, I own myself appalled.” I heard the horror in my voice and saw it reflected in Mycroft Holmes’ visage.

  “And if this diversion fails to work, I dread to think what will come of it. Not for myself, oh, no. That will be a minor matter should the assassin succeed. What is the greatest calamity here would be the loss of mutual support between Bri
tain and Scandinavia, for German influence would expand to the North as sure as eggs are eggs.” He coughed once. “With the Brotherhood supporting Karl Gustav, we must make every effort to preserve Prince Oscar.”

  “Isn’t that a bit self-serving? We support this Prince because he is inclined to deal well with us, and we oppose the advancement of his brother because he is more sympathetic to German interests?” I had never asked such a question so bluntly, but the matter had concerned me increasingly.

  “Well, naturally, my dear boy. No one gives support without some benefit accruing to himself as result, and anyone who claims otherwise is a liar or mad.” He squared his shoulders and began, “The unification of Germany thirty years ago changed European diplomacy forever. Since the Peace of Westphalia—”

  “In 1648,” I supplied.

  “Precisely,” he agreed, continuing, “the German States, which had not conceived of themselves as a German totality, even when trying to sustain the fiction of the Holy Roman Empire, were principalities, duchies, palatinates, bishoprics, margravates, electorates, and kingdoms, with varying degrees of autonomy from the Emperor. For more than two centuries the cobbled amalgam limped along. But as Austria’s power waned after their many defeats by Napoleon, this changed. At the start of this century these states had a taste of unity when forced to join the French Emperor’s confederation of the Rhine. Rather than break up this composite, Prussian leaders encouraged it. The problem was that Saxony or Bavaria had no desire to be part of Württenberg or anything else. Each strove to maintain its separate place in the world. But the pressure of a resurrecting France and the industrialization of the Continent forced all the Teutonic mosaic closer together. The revolution in France in 1848 and Napoleon III’s efforts to regain his grandfather’s Empire a few years later effectively drove the German-speaking princes to seek unity.”

  “With excellent reason,” I agreed, wondering what the purpose of this review might be, for surely Mycroft Holmes was thinking aloud to some purpose I had not yet discerned.