Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

"Gentlemen," he said, indicating the two vacant chairs available.

"Watson, this is Wally," said Sherlock Holmes.

As I took the proffered seat, I reflected that our greetings were both limited and unusual. Holmes did not refer to people by their first names, but he did not choose to elaborate. Wally evidently knew of us both, though his face was not familiar to me. His hair was sandy and cut short and his cheeks glowed from a very close shave. There was an aroma of toilet water about him and I judged it to be expensive. He was close to six feet, slim, and certainly would be judged handsome by the fairer sex. His manner was even more pleasing. I realized that while we had just met and barely that, there was a feeling that we were on the threshold of a pleasant association. I could not explain this aura other than that it emanated from Wally like the aftershave I had noted.

There were no preambles to the conversation, and it took no genius to realize that the youngish fellow was present for a purpose with which he was already well acquainted. I got the feeling that Wally and the sleuth did not know each other, though their words did not indicate this.

"How goes it?" asked Holmes.

"Up and up so far, Mr. Holmes. The man in question has a reputation that you might call . . . like Gibraltar." His searching for a phrase jogged me into the realization that his speech pattern was non-revealing. He sounded like a university man, though I could not guess which one and, indeed, would have been hard-pressed to figure out his point of origin. I assumed he was British, but there was no revealing patois or accent.

"Hananish has an international reputation as well," said Holmes. "I'm rather interested in that aspect of his career."

The barman appeared at this moment and we all ordered stout.

"It is a mite early in the game," continued Holmes, "but do you anticipate problems?"

"No, sir," replied Wally. "With the assistance you've made available, I can get a surface check in a short while. As to how deep I can dig . . ." He let a shrug complete his sentence.

"It would be better if I had something specific for you to look for," said the sleuth. "Perhaps I can come up with something."

"You're going to see him?"

Holmes nodded.

"He's got a rather spiffy estate on the river road. Bit of the local baronet, though without title."

"I know," said Holmes. "Have we learned anything particular about him? Personal life, I mean."

"His raft of servants seem to walk in dread of the old boy. There's a similar feeling among his bank employees, I judge. Cripple, you know."

"I didn't," admitted Holmes.

"Riding accident some time back. He's limited to a wheelchair, which is handled by a brute of a fellow of local origin who is a mute."

"Little to be learned from him." There was a period of silence and then Holmes shoved his half-consumed tankard to one side. "We will use the regular contact, and if that is not convenient, the post office will do. Sorry to have to put you on to this with such short notice."

"Yours to command, Mr. Holmes. I'm much convenienced by your associate being on the scene."

I thought this was a very sporty remark for Wally to make and wondered how I was of assistance to him. It was when we left the barroom of the Red Grouse that it occurred to me that I might not be the associate the young man referred to.

Holmes secured a carriage near the depot and we traveled but a short distance down the river road to the home of Burton Hananish. It was an Elizabethan mansion and as we drew up in front of the hall door, I noted the gleaming waters of the Severn on our right. Our coming had been observed and servants were already waiting. No doubt one of Holmes' innumerable cables had been sent to the establishment, which was obviously forewarned of our arrival.

A staid and proper butler greeted us at the main entry and accepted Holmes' card, though he scarcely glanced at it. Securing our outer apparel, he led us to a spacious and lofty room and the presence of his master.

Perhaps it was my imagination but there seemed to be an unusual silence about the place, as though everyone walked on tiptoe and in fear and trembling. Certainly Hananish, seated in the wheelchair we had been told of, was not an awe-inspiring figure. His aquiline face was kindly, nay quite beautiful, though touched by the inevitable ravages of time. I judged the results of his accident to be in his legs, which were concealed by a rug drawn closely across his waist. The man's hair was completely white, his complexion parchment-like, pallid, entirely colorless. His features were so finely cut and chiseled that they resembled a piece of statuary. As the butler announced us and then disappeared and we walked slowly toward him, Hananish smiled in a welcoming fashion that was marred by the bloodless quality of his lips. There was in the twist of his mouth a touch of the spider-to-the-fly quality that destroyed the classic perfection of his features, revealing a tinge of the sadist. I could well imagine him as a backcountry despot.

Beautifully shaped hands maneuvered his wheelchair closer to a desk of fruitwood and he indicated adjacent chairs with delicate fingers.

"Do be seated, Mr. Holmes . . . Dr. Watson. I am honored by your presence." As we mumbled suitable greetings, a gentle bewilderment segued into his tone. "Knowing of the busy and active life you gentlemen lead, I'm at a loss as to how I can assist you. However, there must be something I can do which will become most apparent after Mr. Holmes explains it." His mask-like elderly face, singularly devoid of wrinkles, favored me with another tight smile. "I rather lean on your words, Dr. Watson, for you frequently write that all is clear after one of your friend's explanations."

There was a suggestion of Oriental exaggeration in Hananish's loquaciousness, which Holmes chose to cut through. "I must disappoint you," he said. "Regarding the policy issued by Inter-Ocean on the missing gold shipment, there are some quite ordinary formalities. You know I am investigating the matter for the insurance group."

Hananish nodded. "We are—and I speak for the other financial institutions involved as well as myself—grateful for the policy with Inter-Ocean."

"In what way?"

One white eyebrow, so perfect it might have been plucked, rose questioningly and Holmes continued. "The gold was turned over to the Birmingham and Northern by your people and was their responsibility until it was delivered to the French."

"Until it was delivered to the French vessel in Great Yarmouth harbor," responded the financier.

There was the suggestion of a "tut-tut" in his voice, which Holmes chose to ignore.

"My point being that if the stolen gold shipment had not been covered by insurance, the railroad would have been responsible."

"It still is. I'm being overly technical, of course. Our banks are to be reimbursed for the worth of the gold by the Birmingham and Northern. If the gold is not found, they will secure the face value of their insurance policy and transfer the money to us. In effect, the money might just as well come to us from Inter-Ocean."

Holmes had been nodding through this rather detailed explanation and I sensed impatience in his manner. "I am interested in the mechanics of this financial transaction. 'If you would learn, consult the expert' is a worthwhile philosophy," my friend added.

Hananish acknowledged this diplomatic quote with another tight smile that did not reach his eyes. He's a self-styled Caesar , I thought, and it will become common knowledge how he instructed the famous Sherlock Holmes on finance. At least that was how I read the situation then. I learned later I was wrong, no new experience.

"You know of the gold bonds of the Credit Lyonnais?" asked Hananish.