Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

I informed Deets of the contents of the cable and he finally expressed curiosity, reasonable under the circumstances.

"I wonder what he has learned?" It was a general question, but I sensed he expected an answer and might be a little suspicious if he didn't get one.

Well, ol' boy, I thought, you'd better make this good. Holmes has remarked often that subtlety is not one of your talents. Let's prove him wrong. Holmes was not a fabricator; he did not have to be. But I had noted that when he found it expedient to lay a false scent, he employed as much of the truth as possible. I determined to follow this principle in my first attempt at flim-flammery.

"I seldom know all of Holmes's moves until after the checkmate." Well, that was certainly true. "As he mentioned," I continued, "the fact that the intruder used a bolo-type device alerted him to a South American as a possibility. I can give you a guess."

Deets indicated this would be appreciated. "Holmes's knowledge of the criminal classes is extensive, and in addition he has access to the files of Scotland Yard and the Sureté as well, if need be." I didn't dwell on the Kriminal Archiv of the Berlin police. No sense in overdoing it.

"I think he has selected possibilities from known second-story men who are agile, strong, but small."

"Why small?" The wary look in Deets's eyes was fading away.

"He pulled himself up to the balcony in short order and descended in a trice; otherwise you would have seen him. That's not easy for a weighty man. Holmes pictures a type like a tumbler or acrobat, who is also adept with a weighted line. He has been narrowing down the list, and his cable indicates that he now has a prime suspect."

"But how does this tie in with your presence here? Not that your company hasn't been welcome," Deets hastened to add, with the true instincts of a proper host. "Your stories of Mr. Holmes's cases have been of great interest."

I hope I exhibited a magnanimous air. For safety's sake, I resorted to the oft-used device of a Socratical response.

"Would you think it possible that a man of that description might have been seen in this area?"

He nodded, of course. What else could he do?

"In fact, the culprit might still be in the vicinity planning a second attempt. If so," I stated with a touch of bravado, "my presence on the scene might deter such an idea."

Deets's boyish smile had returned.

"You detectives really have to touch all the wickets, don't you?"

"Detail. Painstaking detail. The sifting of all the facts and, finally, the forming of the relevant elements into a mosaic, a design that throws the harsh light of truth on what happened or, possibly of more importance, what might happen."

As well to be hung for a sheep as a goat, I thought. Deets didn't really know what I was talking about, for I didn't know myself. But it had a good sound to it and obviously played a pleasant tune in his ears. I resolved to attend future discussions between Holmes and our client lest some of my words come back at me.

I was present, but not at all in the manner that I had anticipated.

Chapter Eight

A Harrowing Night

I had no sooner retired to my bedroom, the footsteps of the attentive Dooley fading down the hall, when I was so startled that I must have jumped a foot. Out of nowhere came a voice, and it took a moment to realize that it was a familiar one.

"Is the coast clear, Guv?"

As I stood petrified, Slim Gilligan assumed that my silence indicated an affirmative and rolled out from under my bed.

"Good Heavens, Gilligan, what brings you here?"

"Mr. 'Olmes wants you ready to move, Guv. 'E's got a nose fer such things, 'e 'as, and tonight's the night."

I did not bother asking the cracksman how he had gained my room. With his record, a country estate presented no problems. To my credit, I acted in a businesslike manner. "What's the plan?"

"If yuh waits a bit, till the master of the 'ouse 'as folded up shop, you're to go downstairs. Tell the butler that you want to take another turn 'round and then nip out to the stables and saddle a couple of ridin' 'orses. Then you come back, see, and the butler—"

"Dooley."

"—'ll lock the place up fer the night. You get inter your ridin' togs and stand by. Mr. 'Olmes figures there's goin' to be a real hullabaloo durin' the night with a lot o' runnin' 'round, and you slips out in the confusion and gets the 'orses. Ride round back and make fer the main road, stayin' away from the tree line."

"Then what?"

"Just keep goin' away from the 'ouse. Mr. 'Olmes'll hail yuh."

"Is he here?"

"'As been fer a while. Good luck!"

Gilligan listened for a moment at the door and then slipped through it and was gone.

I sat on the bed for a moment, my thoughts awhirl. Holmes had said that I would play an important part in the drama to unfold, and suddenly it seemed that I would. It struck me that this was the greatest miscasting of all times. Night alarms with a somewhat overweight medical man riding over the countryside like a supporter of the ill-fated Stuarts fleeing from a company of roundheads? Holmes's drama might be played out like a farce comedy!

But the Watson spirit rose within me, and I banished such thoughts as self-defeating. Holmes had dressed me in the clothes of an adventurer, ready to take center stage, and I resolved to play the part with conviction, though I felt more like assuming Gilligan's hiding place under the bed, with a blanket over my head.

After a suitable period, I walked jauntily down the great stairs of the mansion and made for the rear. In the butler's pantry adjacent to the huge kitchen I found Dooley, who slipped a copy of La vie Parisienne out of sight and took me to the rear door, which he unlocked for me. Outside in the bracing night air, I walked casually and apparently aimlessly until well removed from the house and then made a beeline for the stables. None of the grooms were about, and I was able to secure the riding equipment from the tack room.

Locating Fandango's stall, I spoke to the horse in a low tone and allowed her to get used to the idea of my presence before slipping a bridle on her. I then led her from the stall and arranged the saddle. There were sounds from the other horses but I ignored them. Either I was going to pull this off undetected, or I was not. With the girth cinched tight around the mare, I secured her bridle in front of the next stall, figuring that the horse within, conscious of Fandango ready for action, would get the idea and accept the bit from my unfamiliar hands. Such proved the case, and with the two horses saddled, I returned them to their stalls to await their moment. I don't think my foray took more than fifteen minutes, and when I tapped on the back door, Dooley opened it for me, indicating no suspicion. Feeling considerably the better for having accomplished the first part of my task, I returned to my bedroom and wondered what the signal for the second act would be. Seated in an armchair, I steeled myself for the waiting, always the most difficult period in a situation like this. It had been such a short time ago that I had thought of the peaceful atmosphere in our snug quarters on Baker Street, and here I was in a Surrey mansion waiting for who-knew-what in connection with the Deets affair. It had begun like such, a pedestrian matter. The introduction of our client's deceased father into the list of dramatis personae had added the fillip of dark and sinister motives.

And what about the agent of Mycroft who had died in our presence? This bizarre occurrence combined with the invasion of our quarters had been momentarily jettisoned it would seem, though I knew Holmes's manner too well not to accept the fact that the two cases had connective tissue. The association of all this with one John H. Watson in Surrey was remote indeed. But if Sherlock Holmes's nostrils had quivered, there was a scent in the air.