Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

Unlike most of the sleuth's part- and full-time employees, I had no hidden weapon on my person. I was outnumbered, with little chance of overpowering my captors. The silence indicated that they had locked me up and left, possibly on some other nefarious mission. Were this so, they would not have secreted me in a spot where a cry for help would be heard or heeded. I could try a call or two but that might bring back the ruffians, something I did not relish at the moment. The great sleuth on one occasion had mentioned that man was forced to make do with what he had. Besides my clothes, I had my wallet, which had not been taken from me. I had a pocket-handkerchief, clean, and the monocle I carried but seldom used, though it was of occasional assistance in deciphering small print. There were coins and keys in my pockets along with a half-consumed packet of cigarettes and matches. I might attempt to ignite the blanket on the bed, but I doubted if I could get the material to burn and the result, if successful, might just be my own suffocation. In despair, I got atop the bed again to peer through the window. The Severn was broad at this point and there was occasional river traffic. While the water looked deep right up to the river's edge, what vessels were in sight were a good distance offshore and far beyond the range of my voice. It occurred to me that even if I could reach by sound a passing boat, they would be unable to locate me on the shoreline. There was my handkerchief. Might I not tie it to one of the bars as a guide to some observant soul alerted by my cries? I was considering this possibility with a little enthusiasm when there was the sound of the door quietly opening behind me.

I whirled around, ready to face my captors and if possible leave my mark upon them, but to my complete astonishment it was a familiar who glided silently through the door and eased it shut behind him.

I was gazing into the fathomless green eyes of Wakefield Orloff.

Suddenly my despair vanished like a canary from a magician's hat. True, it was not the invincible Holmes who had come to my rescue, but in my friend's absence, it was he who, above all others, I would choose to extract me from a sticky situation. I felt lightheaded, giddy at the thought of what would happen if my captors returned and the deadly security agent with his steel-rimmed hat and arsenal of weapons went to work. Were there ten of the ruffians, Orloff would sweep them aside, and in a lethal manner to boot, for I had seen him in action and there were none that could stand against him. As these thoughts flooded my brain, my mouth must have dropped open but I smothered an utterance at a gesture of warning from that completely frightening man who was, thank God, my friend.

He was at my side in a moment, gazing anxiously into my eyes, which might have been a bit moist in honor of our opportune reunion.

"Are you all right, Doctor? Holmes will never forgive me if harm has come to you."

"Aside from a bruised knee, minor contusions, and a damaged ego, tip-top, old chap." My voice echoed bravado for I was no longer the paunchy doctor but, in my mind's eye, a veritable d'Artagnan. Bravery comes easily when one walks with an armored column.

"Then we'd best be gone. I'll deal with those who took you later." Even I, his ally, felt a chill at the grim finality in the agent's voice, but a greater chill followed this as we both heard a key turn in the lock. Orloff flew to the door, but it withstood even his strength. There was the sound of a chuckle from beyond the portal and then a mocking voice.

"Rest easy, Mr. Holmes. We'll attend to you and your companion later."

Then there was silence as my eyes met with Orloff's. He returned, with a shrug, from the door. My heart sank but then curiosity reared its insistent head. "What does this all mean?" I queried in a hushed voice.

"They baited a trap and sprung it at the wrong time." Orloff amended this. "Actually they had no choice. Even if they knew I was not Holmes, which they did not, they couldn't have me nosing around."

I shook my head in complete confusion and chided myself for being so obtuse. "I'm left at the starting gate, dear chap."

As he explained, Orloff's eyes were surveying our cell, and he moved around it on an inspection tour much like the one I had undertaken.

"They grabbed you outside the inn but made sure that your hat remained as evidence. The moment I realized you were missing, it took little time to find the hat and to learn of a closed carriage that left Fenley by the river road with a whirl of wheels and a cloud of dust. Picking up the trail was no great thing, but when I located this place it seemed deserted, which was their intention."

I had begun to nod at his re-creation. "I was the bait, then, to lure Holmes to this spot and bag us both."

"They did not anticipate my presence and even now think their ruse has succeeded."

"What are you doing here, by the way?"

Atop the bed, looking toward the river, Orloff shot me a glance over his shoulder. "Mr. Holmes always takes care of his own."

His response might have seemed enigmatic but I understood. Tiny and Burlington Bertie, even now, were guarding 221 B Baker Street, and when Holmes left me to my own devices in Fenley, it was with the reassurance that the world's most dangerous man was watching out for my interests.

I discovered a catch in my throat as I thought of my eccentric, bohemian friend who could be a trial to live with but who was always concerned about the well-being of the plodding, phlegmatic companion cast his way by fate and the presence of young Stamford at the Criterion Bar on that certain day that had become so significant to J. H. Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

As I recovered from my momentary emotion, Orloff's death-dealing hands had seized the bars of the windows and the back of his coat tightened as those amazing shoulders, biceps, and wrists were put to work. At first glance, or even second, Orloff was completely misleading in appearance. He was unusually broad, though one did not realize it because of his grace of movement. His width made him seem shorter than he was, while his round, almost moon-shaped face gave the impression of a somewhat overweight man. There was not an ounce of surplus flesh on him, for his bulk was solid muscle augmented by reflexes that defied my medically trained mind. He was Orloff, cast from some unknown mold that no master hand could recreate. Suddenly his swelling muscles relaxed and he turned from the bars without a trace of moisture of his brow and breathing in his regular, even cadence.

As his eyes flashed around our place of confinement, I realized that he had given up on the window and was looking elsewhere for a way out. Concentrating on the single furnishing of this barren place, the security agent elevated the bed from the floor and was gazing at its underpinnings. There might have been a trace of satisfaction in his expression as he cast the blanket and thin pallet in a corner and studied the two angle bars and two smaller crosspieces that formed the rectangular frame.

"You have a thought?" I asked.

The man nodded, gesturing toward the door. "They don't want us out, and for the moment, we don't want them in."

He had the frame separated in a moment and, taking one of the angle bars, he crossed to the door and placed it laterally in the two attachments I had noted previously.

"Not as wide as the original timber bar but 'twill do," he said with satisfaction, crossing back to the window. "We'll need something to signal with, for our rescue will come from the river."

How he knew this I could not guess, but I displayed my pocket-handkerchief. "Will this do?" From his expression I deduced that it would not. "It is all I have save my monocle."

Orloff's green eyes brightened. Seizing the eyepiece, he cast a rapid glance at the sunlight coming through the cell window. "Should work," he stated in a matter-of-fact way. He surveyed my figure with a speculative manner. "Could you balance me on your shoulders, Doctor, for I've got to be at the window level."