Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

"In dealings with whatever investigatory means you choose, I suggest accuracy in your reports."

Chasseur's eyes grew even larger with a combination of amazement and anger. "I am scrupulous in that regard," he said, and would have said more if given the chance.

"A statement made in haste, sir. But a moment ago you referred to Mr. Ledger as the finest big-game hunter in the world. The gentleman would, I'm sure, agree that Colonel Sebastian Moran occupies that niche."

Ledger rapidly confirmed the sleuth's contention. "Moran, of course, is unique," he stated with a deferential nod of his head toward Holmes.

"Was," corrected the sleuth. "May I remind you that the infamous colonel some time back abandoned big game for different prey. I was his target, which is why he now languishes behind bars, where I put him."

Holmes must have felt that this dramatic announcement was as good an exit line as any, for he rose to his feet and I hastened to match his movements. There was a humorous touch to the moment. The directors of the railroad and their president resembled a school of guppies, every man regarding us with a slack jaw.

"Now, gentlemen, my associate and I bid you good day."

Chasseur almost choked trying to find words. No fool, he knew what was happening but still didn't quite accept it.

"Mr. Holmes, do you expect me to believe that you are refusing to act on behalf of the B & N Railroad?"

"I expect nothing from you," stated my friend, making for the door. Suddenly Holmes came to a halt, and I almost stumbled on his heels. He fixed the financier with his steely glance and the strength of his commanding personality was a tangible thing in the great room.

"You are forced," he continued in a measured tone, "to accept the fact that I have no intention of investigating the gold robbery for you."

As the sleuth opened the oak door for our departure, leaving the group of astonished men in his wake, Chasseur rallied with a parting shot. "A moment, sir," he called. I turned, as did my friend, and noted that the rail magnate was now standing, a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Subconsciously, I interpreted it as a gesture of defeat.

"I pride myself on accuracy, Mr. Holmes. If Ledger here does not fill the bill and Moran is incarcerated, then who is the leading big-game hunter?"

Holmes replied in a lighter tone. "I care not a fig for who is the finest heavy game shot or most wily shikari our eastern empire has produced, for man is the most dangerous game. If you ask me who is the greatest man-hunter, the answer is simple. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street."

As he strode from the room and I hastened after him, my concern regarding our financial state fled like the dreams of yesteryears. Never could I recall an interview that came to such a gratifying conclusion. In the field of accomplishment, the entire incident contributed not one whit of good, but it had been so delightfully satisfying to that childish ego that lurks in all of us. If the boost to my morale proved costly, so be it. Such are the feelings of one living in reflected glory. A rebuff to Holmes was a slight to me, for I shared in his triumphs and defeats.

As we strode from the Birmingham and Northern building and into the brilliantly gas-lit station bar nearby for a libation, I was ready to wager five against one that the pompous Alvidon Chasseur would not try and play fast and loose with the likes of Sherlock Holmes again.

Chapter 2

An Interesting Puzzle in Rural Surroundings

AFTER HIS JOUST with the world of high finance, Holmes was not inclined to hail a hansom and return to Baker Street. Instead, the underground took us as far as Aldersgate. From there we walked to a vegetarian restaurant close by Saxe-Coburg Square, where we enjoyed a light lunch. By now I realized what he had in mind and was not surprised when we then made for St. James's Hall. Sure enough, there was a Sarasate concert and I spent the greater part of the afternoon wrapped in the subtle rhythms of the great Spanish musician.

It was still daylight when we descended from the hansom that had brought us back to Baker Street. I had my latch key ready but was not allowed to use it for the front door burst open at our approach, revealing Billy. The page boy had evidently been watching for our arrival from within. His face mirrored concern as he extended a telegram toward the great detective.

"Mr. 'Olmes—I'm that put out."

"About a telegram, Billy? We receive lots of those, goodness knows." Holmes' voice was soothing.

And send a few as well , I thought.

"But, sir, I don't know when this 'ere missive came," responded Billy, closing the outer door behind us. "Mrs. 'Udson didn't 'ear the bell, bein' in back cleanin' the 'ole bleeding arfternoon and I was not on ta premises."

Billy fancied words like missive and premises , which he had acquired via his close contact with Holmes.

Our concerned page boy now picked up a bulky package from the hall table. "Then, just afore you come, this package arrived. The bloke wot brought it said it 'ad been sent by train from Shaw wiv instructions to be delivered by special messenger on arrival."

"Perhaps the telegram will explain the package," said Holmes, mounting the stairs. "Best come up with us, Billy, as fast action may be called for."

Within our sitting room, Holmes opened the telegram, which his eyes devoured rapidly. "No mystery here," he said. "Billy, have a hansom downstairs in fifteen minutes. Then hustle over to the cable office and send a message to Constable Bennett, Police Station, Shaw. 'Leaving five-thirty from Paddington. Holmes.'" The detective looked at Billy keenly. "You can remember that, I'm sure."

Billy tapped his head with a forefinger. "Word fer word, Mr. 'Olmes. I'm on me way."

Billy took what he called "the detectin' business" seriously.

As the door closed behind our page boy, Holmes posed a question. "Can you throw some things in a bag quickly, Watson? I have had previous dealings with one John Bennett, who is the constable in Shaw. It is a little country town in Herefordshire. Bennett is experiencing difficulties relative to the Trelawney matter and requests assistance."

I needed no urging. My army experience with the Northumberland Fusiliers had made me a prompt traveler and Holmes was certainly used to what sea-goers call "the pierhead jump." It was but a short time later that we were aboard the five-thirty at Paddington. Holmes, with his long gray traveling cloak and cloth cap, disposed of a small valise and placed the bulky package, which had just made the same trip in reverse, alongside him on the seat. I put a larger bag in the luggage rack, and we settled down for our trip to Herefordshire. Soon we were traveling westward at fifty miles an hour and far removed from familiar surroundings.

"Perhaps you will explain the Trelawney matter," I suggested, "as well as that package evidently sent to us in some haste."

"Fortunately, I have a grip on the essential facts of the Trelawney case," replied Holmes. "This parcel contains the recent papers from the area, which we can study on the way down. The London press made very brief reference to the affair. I can tell you that Ezariah Trelawney, a banker by trade, was murdered while alone in his house in Shaw. The cause of death was a severe blow by a blunt weapon on the back of his head. As I understand it, an adopted son, Charles Trelawney, is in custody now on suspicion of murder. Bennett's telegram made reference to the Silver Blaze affair but did not explain the connection. Since we are fortunate in having this carriage to ourselves, I suggest we go through these country journals and see what additional facts we can uncover. In the bucolic surroundings of Herefordshire, a murder is bound to capture a major portion of the newsprint."