by Dick Gillman
Holmes interrupted, asking, “Did you know what was in the boxes?”
Tindall shook his head, saying, “No sir. I could see that it was heavy and must be valuable, so I guessed it might be gold. Anyways, the Station Manager from Norwich comes along and he uses his key and I uses mine to open the safe. The soldiers put all five boxes inside and we locks it again using the two keys. We sets off and after about half an hour, the man from Liverpool Street appears at the door to the carriage. He tells me that he thinks it’s time for me to check some tickets for twenty minutes. He also shows me the pistol that he has tucked into the waistband of his trousers. So off I went, leaving him to his business.”
I was intrigued, asking, “So, you never saw what happened?”
Tindall shook his head, saying, “No, sir. When I got back he had gone and I could see no difference in the carriage. Nothing seemed amiss except my old sweeping brush had been moved from the corner where I keeps it.”
Holmes nodded, asking, “What happened when you arrived at Liverpool Street?”
Tindall seemed now to have perked up a little. “Well sir, when I opened the sliding freight door, the Station Master was waiting on the platform with another platoon of armed soldiers. The Station Master uses his key and I uses mine and I opens the safe. As far as I could see, all was as before. The five boxes were loaded onto a cart by the soldiers and it was wheeled away. A few minutes later the man from the train appears again but this time he had a lady on his arm. They had a porter with them and between us, we loaded the man’s two boxes onto his trolley and they left.”
Holmes sat forwards, asking eagerly, “This lady, can you describe her?”
Tindall thought for a moment. “Well sir, she was aged about forty years and she had striking red hair. She was dressed as a fine lady… but that’s all I can remember.”
Holmes looked directly into the eyes of Tindall and asked, “Can you swear to me that you played no active part in the robbery itself?”
Tindall did not flinch, saying, “Yes, sir, I can!”
Holmes thought for a moment before looking again at Tindall. “I think, Mr Tindall, that I may be able to save you from the gallows but I cannot promise. I need you to cooperate with me in order to help your case and to try and catch the thieves. Are you willing?”
Tindall’s reply was immediate. “Yes, sir. Anything, anything!”
Holmes nodded before shouting loudly, “Constable, we are done here!”
Within moments, the cell door opened and, with a nod to Tindall and the constable, we left.
Chapter 9 - An invitation to Brighton
As we walked down the steps from Bow Street, I said, “So Moriarty was there to meet the train?”
Holmes nodded. “Yes, she wanted to have eyes on her gold. We must make plans, Watson. I must speak to Mycroft so that he might exert a little influence on Lestrade to release Tindall into my custody. At the moment, Moriarty is unaware of his arrest. We must somehow let her think that there is a way to bribe Tindall into silence.”
As we stood and waited for a cab, I thought about what Holmes had said, asking, “Will that not be dangerous for Tindall?”
Holmes had a grim look upon his face as he said, “Perhaps, but not as dangerous as a hangman’s noose, Watson!”
We arrived back in Baker Street in time for a fine dinner of grilled lamb chops followed by a slice from one of Mrs Hudson’s steamed, sponge puddings, which was served with vanilla custard.
Sitting back, replete, with our first pipe of the evening, I thought back to William Tindall and raised a point with Holmes, saying, “As there has been no second explosion, Moriarty will have been to Liverpool Street to search for Tindall. I was wondering whether, perhaps, his absence from work might be accounted for by his going into hiding after he had opened the bag and found the bomb.”
Holmes had his eyes slightly closed and seemed to be considering my suggestion. Blowing out a thin stream of blue tobacco smoke he nodded, saying, “Yes, that would be a plausible explanation, Watson. It is how we make contact with Moriarty that troubles me.” Holmes was silent for perhaps two minutes before continuing, “Perhaps… perhaps a way might be to put a small announcement in ‘The Times’, saying that Tindall had sought my protection. Moriarty would undoubtedly find it irresistible! I must pen my notice with care, Watson.”
Holmes moved to his desk and took up a sheet of writing paper and a pen. He sat and smoked for perhaps some ten minutes whilst making corrections and improvements to the text before finally sitting back, satisfied.
"What do you think of this, Watson?" asked Holmes. "Mr William Tindall is thankfully safe and well, chaperoned by those at 221b. He wishes to discuss an unpaid account and desires a mutually beneficial meeting."
I thought for a moment and, whilst agreeing with the majority of the content, I was still concerned. "That should bring her from her lair, Holmes, but it gives her the choice of venue for the meeting."
Holmes nodded, saying, "That is true… but it has to be somewhere that is agreeable to both parties. If we are not satisfied, we do not have to agree."
Holmes now set about making a clean copy of the text. This he placed in an envelope and then rang the bell for Mrs Hudson.
The following morning I was eager to scan the personal column of 'The Times' but I found that Holmes was already seated in his leather armchair with his head buried in the paper. Hearing my entrance into the room, Holmes called out, "Well, the bait is in the water, Watson. We will have to pay out a little line and see who bites!"
Indeed, we did not have long to wait. In the afternoon our doorbell rang, followed a few moments later by Mrs Hudson entering our rooms holding a letter. She handed it to Holmes, saying, "This was delivered by hand, just now, sir, by some surly brute who would not give a name. He said that you would be expecting it."
Holmes smiled sweetly, saying, "Thank you, Mrs Hudson, indeed I was."
Holmes did not open the letter immediately. Taking out his glass, he examined the envelope minutely. I could see that the name 'Mr Sherlock Holmes' had been written across the front of the envelope in a hand that I was becoming uncomfortably familiar with.
Seeing that there was nothing more to be gleaned from the envelope, Holmes carefully opened it with his fine, Italian, stiletto, a memento from the Cagliari affair. Taking out the single sheet of paper from within, he read its contents. He then removed three, pale blue tickets from the envelope before sitting back in silence for several minutes.
I could stand it no longer and implored Holmes to reveal the contents of the letter. Still somewhat distracted, Holmes held it out before him, saying, "It would seem that we are invited on a train journey to Brighton, Watson!"
"What?" I cried, for I could not believe my own ears! I took the letter from Holmes and read aloud, "Mr Holmes, our paths cross again. Tindall is indeed in my employ and, as you say, requires payment. Knowing your affection for trains, I have reserved seats in the first class carriage of the Brighton train leaving Victoria Station at half-past seven tomorrow evening. You will, of course, be watched at the station and, whilst you are an honourable man, Mr Holmes, Tindall is to sit in a position such that I may be sure that it is truly he. No police must board or be present on the train. Payment will be made during the journey." The letter was signed with the initials, 'J M'.
"Impossible!" I raged. "It must be a trap! We cannot go!"
Holmes was clearly intrigued. "Of course it is, Watson, but of what kind? That is what we have to determine! The key issue is, of course, the seating arrangements. Why would she want us in a particular carriage and, perhaps, in a particular compartment?” Holmes held his forefinger to his lips, saying, “I see the reason why she must confirm Tindall’s identity but... another bomb!"
Chapter 10 - Travelling First Class
I almost dropped my pipe as Holmes said the word ‘bomb’ and could only splutter, "What?"
Holmes looked almost gleeful and was rubbing his hands together in anticipat
ion, saying, "Well, Watson. What better way of disposing of not only Tindall, but you and me also?"
Holmes’ thoughts now turned to the mechanics of the plot. "I think, Watson, I might invite Lestrade's colleagues from Special Branch to examine that particular item of the rolling stock before we join the train!"
Holmes reached for his silver pencil and notepad and quickly dashed off a telegram to Lestrade before ringing for Mrs Hudson.
The following day my nerves were in tatters. I had cleaned, checked and loaded my service revolver at least twice before I sat down for tea. Holmes had seemed quite calm, simply taking his pistol from his top drawer and dropping it into his coat pocket. During the afternoon Holmes had received a telegram from Lestrade. All was in place for the railway carriage to be thoroughly examined by Special Branch before we arrived and police would also be waiting for the train in Brighton.
In my worried state, I had failed to ask how we were to meet Tindall. "Holmes, where is Tindall now?"
Holmes was relaxing with his newspaper, seemingly totally unmoved by events. Taking out his pocket watch, he consulted it, saying, "I believe that he will arrive here in about ten minutes. He has been spirited out of Bow Street Police Station and is being transported in a closed carriage to the rear entrance of Baker Street."
"Here?" I gasped.
Holmes nodded, saying, "Where else would a person under our protection travel from, Watson?"
I could see the logic of what Holmes had said but it did not sit well with me. I felt that I was now even more of a target for Moriarty whilst travelling with the man.
At approximately six o'clock there was a slight knock at the door to our sitting room, followed a few moments later by Mrs Hudson, accompanied by William Tindall.
Holmes extended his hand to Tindall and invited him to sit. Tindall nodded in my direction and Holmes began to explain what was to happen, omitting to mention, I noticed, the possibility of there being a bomb on the train!
Tindall seemed eager to help and asked, "So, you think somebody will come to our compartment during the journey, Mr Holmes?"
Holmes replied, saying, "Yes, I believe that may be so." Holmes paused for a moment before adding, ominously, "You do realise, that should you attempt to escape, you would be signing your own death warrant?"
As I watched, Tindall nodded sombrely. Holmes gave a single nod in return before we gathered our coats and, together, we descended to the street below.
The journey to Victoria Station was uneventful but, as we drew up, the thin figure of Inspector Lestrade could be seen waiting for us at the entrance. He beckoned to Holmes and together they were to be seen huddled in conversation. Lestrade called over a constable who was carrying a small package which was shown to Holmes. It felt like ice-water was now flowing through my veins as I realised what the package might very well contain. When Holmes re-joined us, I raised an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. He, in return, nodded in confirmation. With this knowledge, I did not know whether to feel relief or even greater concern.
Lestrade accompanied us as far as the ticket barrier but no further. Holmes shook his hand and we walked towards the waiting train. Holmes soon found the first class carriage and our compartment. Inside, the seats were arranged facing each other. Three of them had small cards that read 'Reserved' placed above the seat number. Holmes and I sat at one side whilst Tindall sat opposite us, alone and in plain view.
A few minutes before the train was due to depart, there were still a few passengers milling around on the platform, together with railway staff urging them to board. It was then that I noticed a man who seemed to be loitering not far from our compartment. I gently nudged Holmes and inclined my head slightly. Holmes peered out of the window, and as we watched, the man touched his cap and was gone.
With a shrill blast from the guard's whistle and an answering one from the engine, we moved slowly out of the station. The evening was drawing in and the gas lamps on the platform had been lit. I always found it fascinating to travel through the city in the evenings, seeing the streets of London illuminated as so many tiny pearls threaded on a spiders web. As we travelled, we passed a stationary train which had halted at a signal. The train’s compartments appeared brightly lit against the growing darkness although to us, our carriage lighting seemed really quite dim.
It was after some twenty minutes into our journey that a guard came to our compartment to inspect our tickets. As he slid open the compartment door, the tension was intense. I felt frustrated that I could not both ready my service revolver and produce my ticket for inspection at the same time. However, it was a false alarm. The guard was simply doing his duty, clipping our tickets and then moving on, down the train.
I turned towards Holmes and I could see by his manner that he was becoming increasingly concerned. Seeing that Tindall was engaged in watching the darkening countryside roll by, Holmes said, in a quiet voice, "Something is not right, Watson. It is all too simple. I believe now that she had intended us to find the bomb in order to lower our guard... but why? We must be vigilant!"
I shook my head for I did not have an answer. Holmes sat back, his brows furrowed, deep in thought. I leant forwards and returned to looking out of the window but there was little enough to see. As I watched, the engine approached a signal with its semaphore arm raised and displaying a yellow light. As we passed it, I noticed that the train had begun to slow down. I turned to Holmes, asking, "What does that signal indicate, Holmes?"
Holmes replied, "I believe that it is called the 'distant' signal and is placed a little over five hundred and fifty yards before the next one, the 'home' signal. The yellow light is to warn the driver to proceed with caution as he may have to stop at the ‘home’ signal if it is showing red. The large distance between the pair of signals gives the train sufficient time to brake and stop safely."
As I watched, a slight curve in the railway line allowed me to see the red glow of the 'home' signal now some hundred or so yards ahead. Obeying the signal, the train gradually slowed to a stop, the engine coming to rest beside it. The signal box, with its row of huge levers which controlled the points and signals, was lit and was now directly opposite our compartment. One of the windows of the signal box had been slid open and a figure could be seen leaning out of it slightly.
Chapter 11 - A personal crusade
Suddenly, our compartment window shattered and we were showered with broken glass. I fell instinctively to the floor, as did Holmes. Looking towards him I could see that his face and clothes were spattered with blood and something more.
"Holmes!" I cried and moved to tend to my friend. Holmes sat up slowly, saying, "I am all right, Watson." It was then that I turned to Tindall. His lifeless body lay sideways across the seat, the whole of one side of his head was missing. I was immediately reminded of my army days, seeing the bodies of soldiers killed by a rifle bullet to the head. My initial reaction was to stand and reach for the communication cord to summon the guard and so stop the train.
As I tried to rise, Holmes held onto me tightly, preventing me from moving, saying, "No, Watson. Nothing can be done here." Keeping my head down, I saw that Holmes had drawn his revolver, saying ominously, "Neither do we know their intentions."
With a jolt, the train began to move off. After travelling a few yards, Holmes and I warily raised our heads to look towards the illuminated signal box. There, against the light, the silhouetted figure of a slender woman raised her hand in salutation and defiance.
As the train gathered speed, I looked about the compartment in despair. Both Holmes and I had sustained some minor cuts from the shattered window glass but other than that, we were unharmed. Holmes, I could see, was beside himself with rage. His blood spattered face was white with anger. The wind from the broken window now howled around us and Holmes began to shout, "Why, Watson? Why did I not see this? It is my fault... and my negligence has cost this man his life!"
I could do little to calm my friend. The intensity of his feelings of guilt
and his hatred of Julia Moriarty were, indeed, most frightening. Opening the compartment door and stepping into the corridor, I found that the adjoining compartment was empty and I led my friend to it. Leaving Holmes for a few moments, I went in search of the guard. On my return, I was able to cover Tindall's body with a rough, hessian mail sack from the guards van. It was indeed a sobering sight and I was glad when the train finally pulled into Brighton Station.
The guard had provided me with a towel and I had used it to clean Holmes as best I could. Despite my best efforts, his appearance was still frightening, with angry, blazing eyes and a blood streaked face.
At Brighton Station, Holmes managed to control his anger sufficiently to be able to send two telegrams, one to Lestrade and the other to Mycroft. The police, waiting at the station, removed Tindall's body from the train and we, in turn, caught the next train back to London, arriving in Baker Street a little before midnight.
Although I retired immediately, I could not rest. I could hear through the walls of my bedroom the terrible shouting from Holmes and the crash of furniture as it was dashed against the wall in anger and frustration. I slept, perhaps, for barely two hours. Finally, dawn broke and, on entering our sitting room, I found Holmes hunched in his chair, wrapped tightly in his old dressing gown. His anger now appeared spent but he had descended into that most dark place and I feared for my friend's sanity.
At nine o'clock there was the sound of a familiar tread upon our stairs and Mycroft entered our rooms. I moved swiftly to welcome him and also to express my concern regarding his brother.
Holmes’ head came up, saying, "Do not talk about me in my presence, I am still alive... which is more than can be said for that poor wretch, Tindall."