Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

The inspector was shaking his head. "I've a thought that I'm going to look like a fool, but there's one wee matter, Mr. Holmes. If Folks did not leave the house around five, how was it that the hansom that brought him departed?"

"But that's the whole key to the matter. I can reconstruct what happened but how can you prove it in court? Folks hired the cab and instructed its driver to leave when he slammed the front door. He gave the man a sizeable fee, no doubt. The hansom driver is the tool to force a confession from Folks. Just locate him and you have your witness to the fact that the artist did not leave the Michael mansion at five o'clock."

At last MacDonald seemed satisfied. "That artist fellow will learn that it doesn't pay to have a temper that matches his hair."

Holmes' self-satisfied expression vanished. "Let us run that last statement by again, Mr. Mac. You imply that Folks is redheaded?"

"You don't know him?"

"Never set eyes on the fellow."

"Well I suspect there's some Irish in his background, for he is a carrot top and that's a fact."

MacDonald had risen from his chair and I helped him on with his topcoat. "You've tied him up in a knot, Mr. Holmes, and I'm grateful," continued the Scot, his normally dour expression erased by grim satisfaction.

Holmes did not share his enthusiasm. "The third caller at the Michael mansion is your murderer, Mr. Mac, but his identity is still to be proven."

"Come now, Mr. Holmes. You always were one for dotting the i s and crossing the t s but I've got my man, thanks to you."

Holmes shrugged. "Cedric Folks will certainly have to be questioned, but if there is any problem relative to him, we shall speak again on the matter."

It was after Inspector MacDonald left that Holmes turned toward me with a lazy smile. "At first glance, this matter seemed bizarre indeed. An outré affair. But it was all quite simple, really."

Surely his words wrote finis to the matter, but his manner did not.

"Please don't say elementary ," I replied. "You surely solved MacDonald's problem, and mine as well since our departure into the night was not necessary at all."

"In a short while MacDonald may not be as satisfied with the resolution of the Michael death as he is right now. However, we did exonerate Miss Vanessa Claremont, which was the matter of immediate importance. The so-called Cedric Folks is a sticky wicket, I fear."

"You say so-called?" My query was automatic, for this had to be the fly in Holmes' ointment.

"A redheaded man presented himself at the Michael abode and called himself Cedric Folks. I have doubts about his being the irate painter."

"But why? Folks had a motive for wishing to do Michael in."

"Agreed. Injured pride and rage, fueled by an artistic temperament, can cause feelings to run high, but not often to the white heat required for murder. Then we have the matter of Trelawney to consider."

"Surely there is no connection."

"Possibly not. However young Charles Trelawney was the prime suspect because the stationmaster at Shaw saw him get off the six o'clock special. He testified, as I recall, that there were but two arrivals. Charles and a redheaded stranger."

"Dear me," I mouthed with a frown. "I'd quite forgotten about that. Do you think the same redheaded man . . ."

Holmes rose briskly to his feet and began pacing the length of our sitting room. "Let us not jump to assumptions, but just consider this as a possibility. We have two murders, with a redheaded man on the scene of both. Not necessarily the same person, but it does give one pause. One way to disguise identity is to alter one's appearance, presenting to the unobservant eye an inconspicuous and false figure. Another is to adopt a striking characteristic."

"Like red hair," I cried suddenly. "You envision an assassin using a wig so that anyone noting his presence would identify him as being redheaded. Which, of course, he is not," I added, and was rather pleased with my understanding of Holmes' idea.

"We are in agreement on that last point," said the sleuth, returning to his favorite chair beside the fire.

"But wait. Holmes, are you not running far afield? Could not the banker Trelawney have been killed by Horace Ledbetter? Mightn't Michael have been shot by the real Cedric Folks in the manner you outlined to MacDonald?"

"Agreed on both points," replied Holmes with a prompt acceptance that made me suspicious.

"Yet something got your hackles up," I continued. "Some clue perhaps?" My voice dwindled away as I racked my brains to no avail.

There was a mischievous twinkle in Holmes' sharp eyes. "The third caller on the departed Michael made a singular statement to the butler, Herndon."

"A message from Shadrach?" I said, dredging words from my memory. "You suggested a code."

"Sounds like one." Holmes' relaxed thoughtful mood vanished and his expression sharpened. "But I have played you false, good fellow. I do have certain information that you are not privy to. Evidently MacDonald as well, since he made no mention of it."

Holmes was gazing into the fireplace. A silence fell between us which I did not break, knowing well that he was considering a theory.

Finally he spoke and I imagined a trace of approval in his tone, as though his analysis had withstood the tests he placed upon it. "Ramsey Michael on several occasions has flitted on the periphery of investigations that came our way. There was the Bishopegate Jewel Case, for one. *But no matter. The point is that he maintained a considerable establishment, was able to gather a collection of costly objects, and enjoyed a certain reputation as an art critic, an occupation not noteworthy for its direct remuneration."

* Spelling used by Watson. Was there another Bishopgate case?

"You suspect that he had a concealed source of income?"

"Especially since I took the trouble to establish that he was not blessed with inherited wealth. Michael could well have been a member of a small and clandestine group known as expediters."

Holmes shot a quick glance at me but received a blank stare for his trouble, so he continued. "A necessary strut in the framework of illegal activities. A man who can grease the machinery and, on occasion, set up a certain situation."

"A go-between. As, for instance, one who arranges for the disposition of stolen property. Sometimes before the theft is committed," I added, my mind going back to the Bishopegate case and how Holmes had lectured the force upon it.

"Stout fellow," said Holmes approvingly.

"But now new vistas beckon," I stated with some excitement. "If Ramsey Michael had a shadowy background, his murder could well have stemmed from it. You did rather hold out on MacDonald, Holmes."

"Not at all," was his swift reply. "The matter of Cedric Folks has to be explored. If the former soldier turned artist is indeed the culprit, my thought does not pass muster."

Holmes seemed about to continue and then his lips compressed in a thin line and his eyes reverted to the fireplace, taking on an opaque look they sometimes did when his mind was churning with a new thought.

"That is an interesting statement I just made," he continued after a moment.

Of a sudden, I felt in tune with his thinking. "Ledger is a former soldier," I exclaimed.

"So was Trelawney," said the sleuth, as though talking to himself. "Though of much older vintage. It crosses my mind that the late Ramsey Michael was reputed to have served in the Crimea as well."

"Ah hah. You have established a possible connection between Michael and Ezariah Trelawney."

Holmes' predatory features swiveled in my direction. "Michael and Ezariah, you say, Watson? Not for the first time, you have come up with a seemingly commonplace remark that suggests fascinating overtones."