Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

"My thought of using grappling hooks was not amiss, Watson," whispered Holmes as the shadowy figures tested their lines and then swarmed up them hand over hand.

"What are they after, Holmes?"

"Regard the balcony. What do you see?"

"Five French windows . . . then there—"

"Enough. It is so true that one looks but does not see. That American, Poe's, concept of the purloined letter was accurate."

"Holmes, what are you—?"

"Think back to when we were within the gallery before walking out on the balcony. What is the picture that comes to your mind's eye, Watson?"

"Well, we walked towards the four French windows and made our way—" I stopped abruptly, shafted by a thought "Four windows! But five are staring me in the face."

"The fifth is a dummy. Look, they are making for it even now. In but a moment they will have the aperture open."

The figures that had gained the balcony were doing as my friend said. Huddled round the fifth opening, there was a pause in their feverish activity, which allowed me to protest, to give vent to my mental rebellion.

"I assume it is a door to a secret chamber, Holmes, but why not have it concealed?"

"Because someone's eye wandering over the face of the building would note an unusual distance from the real window on the end to the windows of adjacent rooms. They would wonder where all that space was, how it was used. As it is, you see a charming exterior in proportion and note the openings but do not count them. From the inside, things have a different perspective. You cannot consider a room you occupy in conjunction with adjacent ones."

"But when we went out on the balcony?"

"Did you notice anything unusual? Your eye was captured by the view. There were windows behind you, how many you did not count. You walked right past the false one, never conscious of the fact that you were passing an entry to a vault, a hiding place for whatever treasures Captain Spaulding brought back from his expeditions."

"You noticed it, of course."

"Ah, Watson, I have trained myself to look and to see as well. Ah ha! They've forced the door."

Two of the figures on the balcony suddenly disappeared within the house. The third posted himself by the real windows. The remaining one went to the edge of the area at the side of the building nearest the fire as a lookout should anyone note something amiss. Apparently confident that their arrival was undiscovered, as it certainly was, both men on the balcony then moved to the balustrade. Loosening the grappling hooks, they passed each one over the railing and dropped it to the ground. It was a re-creation of Holmes's suppositions several days before.

Suddenly I tightened my hold on the reins, lifting Fandango's head as though in preparation for a charge.

"This, then, is what Deets feared. That his uninvited visitor would suspect the location of the family vault. We must stop them, Holmes."

My friend's lean and sinewy arm reached out to grasp me by the shoulder and pull me back in my saddle.

"Hold tight, Watson. We have not planned this so carefully to stop them. We want to see what they do."

"Do? They're after that sword. You were right about that, of course. If left to their devices, they will spirit it away."

"Not so easily, good chap."

I noted flashes of light from the interior of what we assumed was the Deets' family vault.

"Gilligan and Styles are waiting on the Follonsbee Road, which is the only direct thoroughfare back to London."

Holmes gestured to our left. "Now there's a path in that direction, is there not? For I think the Chinese came from there."

"Oh, they are Chinese, are they? Let me see." My mind raced back over my journeys round Mayswood, and fortunately the mental pictures meshed in my mind.

"Yes, there is a good-sized lane running in a half-moon direction that way," I stated, pointing towards our left and rear. "It splits at a fork; one branch continues round by a bluff and curves back to the road to Litchfield, the other terminates at a railway assembly point down in a valley. Actually, there's a path down the bluff that reaches the same point much quicker. I chanced upon it."

"Good show, Watson! In former times that Confederate cavalry genius, Jeb Stuart, might have grown fond of you. The junction you mention must be for making up freight trains for the run into the city. I suspect that is the key to the Chinaman's plan."

His musings were interrupted by the reappearance of the men on the balcony of the Deets mansion. They were carrying something with them, though I could not make out its form. Had I to hazard a guess, I would have said it was a crated object. Holmes suddenly lost interest in the nocturnal attack squad. I noted they were securing the door they had forced, no doubt seeking to delay the discovery of their thievery.

Holmes swung Mystique to his left.

"Take my horse's tail in your hand, Watson, and let us be as silent as possible."

With some reservations, I secured the end of Mystique's tail in my right hand and, leaning low in the saddle, let Holmes choose our route through the trees. The arrangement was efficient since Holmes had uncanny night vision, which served him well on this occasion as it had many times in the past. My position was an uncomfortable one, but it saved me from being brushed from my saddle by tree branches on at least two occasions.

After a period of swerving round trunks, Holmes drew to a stop. I heard a cautionary "shush" from him, and then he was out of his saddle. Passing Mystique's reins to me, he was gone into Stygian darkness, for the trees blocked out the high-flying moon. My heart was pounding, half in reaction to what had been and half in anticipation of what was to come, and I cannot say how long he was gone. Suddenly I was conscious of another presence and felt Holmes retrieve his horse's bridle. I could make out his form dimly now, and he patted Mystique encouragingly on the muzzle, then took Fandango by the bit and led both animals in what I assumed was the general direction of Litchfleld, though my directional sense was nonexistent at this point.

After another short period, we came out of the woods. Standing by Fandango's forequarters, my friend posed a question.

"Is this the lane you referred to?"

In the added light of the clearing, I looked up and down the country road and nodded. "That path would be . . ."

I suddenly regained my confidence. A little light and visibility does have that effect on one.

"Here, I'll show you."

I urged Fandango forward as Holmes remounted and followed. Hopeful of recognizing landmarks I had noted previously, I kept a sharp eye and even then passed my objective. But the gleam of railroad tracks from the bluff reoriented me and I backtracked to the opening by the roadside and the narrow trail that my mount and I had traversed before. Holmes's hawk-like eyes had been sizing up the situation.

"I may call you 'pathfinder' in the future, Watson."

Forced by the trail to ride single file, I was unable to dazzle him with a retort, but then I could not think of one either. We had our hands full negotiating our passage, much more treacherous by night, I soon realized.

At last we reached level ground, and the shadows of freight cars dotted the scene. But there was sound as well. A stationary locomotive puffed in readiness, and there was movement and sporadic conversation. I realized that a train was being built up, probably carrying agricultural produce for early morning delivery to the hungry metropolis. Holmes kept us in the shadows, and since we had come from a heavily wooded hillside by a thin and tortuous trail, I had no doubt that our presence was unsuspected. The locomotive suddenly sprang to life, moving backwards, and there was a clang of metal as other freight cars were hooked onto a growing line.