Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

Using the four-wheeler that Holmes had secured for his trip to Marley, we were soon heading down a country road with Holmes at the reins. He set the horse at a good pace and it was not long before we pulled up in front of the substantial farmhouse that was our destination. We were met at the door by Agnes Bisbee, a comely girl with the creamlike complexion native to the locale. Her eyes were red from weeping.

"Agnes, we wish a word with your uncle," stated Bennett.

"He is in the barn," said the girl. "Though I don't know in what condition. The past few days have been a nightmare. He was gone all of one night and he's been drinking steadily and is up at all sorts of hours."

The recounting of recent events proved too much and she began to sob. "Now, now," said Holmes with as close to a fatherly tone as he could come. "Things may not be quite as bad as they seem. Charles Trelawney will shortly be released from custody and his name cleared of any complicity in the heinous murder of his stepfather."

The girl's tears ceased at this news and Holmes indicated the barn. "Now, if you will excuse us, I believe we can arrive at the end of this most regrettable chain of events," he said.

Holmes and I followed Bennett, who marched purposefully to the barn but found the door locked. He knocked authoritatively. "Lea' me in peace," said a slurred voice from within.

"It is Bennett, Ledbetter. Open this door in the name of the law."

There was a silence for half a minute and then the sound of a bar being removed. Half of the large barn door slid open, revealing a gnarled man of six feet in height with a weather-beaten face topped by a shock of white hair. He was dressed in work clothes. His callused hands and wide frame bespoke of strength and that durable power produced by hard manual labor.

I'm glad there are three of us , I thought. He looks as if he could be a bit of a handful.

The farmer indicated with a vague gesture for us to enter and turned inside and made his way to an anvil on which rested a depleted bottle and a tin tankard. He poured himself a considerable amount of whiskey and downed it in a gulp.

"'Tis about Staley that I'm here," said Constable Bennett.

"Aye! I've been expectin' ya."

The farmer's eyes were bleary and his speech thick, but his brain appeared to be working. I surmised he had drunk himself sober, a physical peculiarity that has been known to happen.

"I'll no beat the bushes abaht it. 'Twas yesterday of an evening hour. I came out here in search of some bottles that I had hid away from Agnes' eyes. When I opened the door, there was Staley, curse his black heart! He was by the stalls with a club in his hand. I'd surprised him all right and he rushed at me. 'Twas all so fast. I grabbed this here fence rail what I had been workin' on." The farmer indicated a stout piece of oak on the floor of the barn. "Wi' it, I blocked his first blow and swung. 'Twas a lucky hit or I would not be talkin' to ya now. Caught him full on the forehead, I did, and he was dead afore he hit the ground. What went through my poor addled pate then I canna tell ya. Somehow I were plagued with the idea of gettin' his carcass out of here, so I saddled my mare. She was skitterish, I tell ya, for she smelled Staley's blood, but I got him hoisted over her withers and into the saddle meself. Then I rode into Shaw and put the body in his house. I had the idea that if his corpse be found in Shaw, I would not be involved, but 'twon't work. I been livin' wi' the deed and that fierce moment for these hours past and it will nay do. I killed him."

With a groan, Ledbetter sank onto a bale of hay and buried his face in his hands.

"There seems to be ample grounds for a plea of self-defense," stated Holmes. "You said Staley had a club. Is it still here?"

Ledbetter just gestured toward a wall of the barn. Holmes crossed to the indicated spot and secured a stave of seasoned wood, which he studied carefully. "This, gentlemen," he continued, "will prove to be the murder weapon which did away with Ezariah Trelawney. The series of events seems clear. Impelled by blind rage, Vincent Staley stole into the Trelawney house and murdered his enemy. He felt that suspicion would fall on Ledbetter here, as well as himself, but when the authorities moved against young Charles, his plans went awry. Therefore, he left the anonymous message at your door, Bennett, where he knew you would find it, and then came out here with the murder weapon. He was in the process of concealing the weapon in Ledbetter's barn where it could be found without too much difficulty. However, being surprised in the act, he sprang upon Ledbetter with intent to kill."

Holmes turned his attention to the farmer. "The fact that you have made a clean breast of the matter will carry considerable weight in court, my good man. While you do have the death of another human being to weigh on your conscience, the fact remains that Vincent Staley could have faced the same fate from the law, though by different means."

Chapter 4

The Matter of the Missing Gold

ON OUR RETURN trip from bucolic Shaw, Holmes was in excellent spirits, standard at the satisfactory conclusion of a minor case, and especially true if the solution was a rapid one. When a matter dragged on, my friend felt it a slur on his reputation and indulged in self-castigation for not having solved the puzzle sooner. As I have noted on more than one occasion, the life of a perfectionist is seldom tranquil. The matter of Ezariah Trelawney and the blood feud that had festered for so long in Herefordshire was patterned to his liking. A clear set of facts, an appearance on the scene followed by a rapid and satisfactory solution.

I was not prompted to share Holmes' carefree attitude, since the Trelawney affair ranked in my mind as the third in a row in which financial remuneration had not played a part. Not that our life or the machine that my friend had painstakingly constructed would be sore pressed. Holmes could secure an assignment—and at a dazzling fee—in a trice, but such was not his way. He relished the complete freedom to pick and choose among the problems that invariably beat a path to his door. Still, his expenses were enormous. In addition to our quarters, presided over by the ever-patient Mrs. Hudson, there were at least four other domiciles he maintained around London, as a convenience in assuming various identities he had established. Five, if the house next door was included, since he owned it—and a most rewarding investment it had proven in one instance in particular. Then there was the staff at 221 B Baker Street as well as various specialists, mainly from the shadowland of the lawless, that he kept on retainers. If that were not enough, my intimate friend was known as an easy mark for some wayward soul attempting to rejoin the honest segment of society. Though his generosity in this respect was sharp-toothed. Woe be it to the former transgressor if he chose to revert to his previous way of life, for the specter of Holmes would be upon him like a mastiff on a hare.

It crossed my mind that I might curtail my wagers on equines that I fancied and make some moves toward reactivating my dwindling medical practice. The patients that still clung to me were a loyal group, but their ranks had been depleted. It occurred to me that I could well appeal to a more youthful group. Though my friend was most frequently pictured in the deerstalker and Inverness that he wore on our Shaw excursion, he was really a bit of a dandy. With his thin, whipcord frame enhanced by a tail coat and topper, we could have made something of a dashing pair had I possessed the strength of character to minimize my consumption of Mrs. Hudson's excellent fare or withstand the blandishments of the menus at Simpsons or the Café Royale. Along with thoughts of a stringent diet, I was entertaining the distasteful idea of abandoning my occasional billiard playing at Thurston's when we arrived at our chambers and I learned that my thoughts regarding frugality were not necessary after all.