by Andrew Lane
Sherlock had a horrible feeling about what they were going to find when they got to the smashed remnants of the carriage. There was no sign of Ambrose Albano getting up unhurt. He must have been injured in the crash, if he wasn’t already dead.
The three of them got to the pile of black-painted wood that was all that remained of the carriage and started pulling at the wood, throwing the fragments over their shoulders in their attempts to uncover the psychic.
But he wasn’t there.
By the time they got down to the flattened grass and scattered gravel underneath where the carriage had been they had to admit that there was no sign of Ambrose Albano. The three of them straightened up and stared around them, looking for some piece of the wreckage large enough to hide his body, but there was nothing. They had moved every fragment of debris without finding him.
‘How many men did you see running away from the carriage after the crash?’ Sherlock asked. He deliberately didn’t name a number himself, as he wanted to hear what the other two men remembered without influencing them with his own memories.
‘The driver ran away first,’ Herr Holtzbrinck said, ‘followed by three men from inside the carriage. They were all wearing scarves across their faces.’
Von Webenau nodded. ‘Three men from inside the carriage, plus the driver.’
‘Apart from the driver, how many men were inside the carriage before Ambrose Albano was kidnapped?’ Sherlock went on. This was the key question. He had seen three – the two men who had taken Albano and the third man inside, but maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe there had only been two men.
‘Three,’ von Webenau said firmly. ‘Two men jumped out of the carriage to take Herr Albano, but I saw a third man inside. I saw him clearly. He never got out.’
Herr Holtzbrinck nodded an emphatic agreement. ‘Three men – one inside and two who got out.’
‘So where is Ambrose Albano? What has happened to him?’
‘Perhaps he was taken across to the Other Side,’ von Webenau said sombrely. ‘Perhaps he was rescued by his spirit friends.’
‘What was he doing outside in the first place?’
‘He said he was worried about the attack on your brother. He wanted to leave, straight away. Sir Shadrach was attempting to calm him down and get him to stay when—’
‘May Ah ask,’ a voice interrupted them, ‘what exactly is goin’ on here? Ah was nearly decapitated by a spinnin’ wheel, then two horses nearly ran me down, then four masked men ran past me. This ain’t exactly the kind of welcome Ah was expectin’.’
The voice – deep and accented – sent a shiver down Sherlock’s spine. He turned towards the road outside the gates. A cart had stopped there. Stepping down from the cart was an impressively large man in a white suit with a wide-brimmed white hat on his head. His face was tanned and creased like leather, and his eyes were a faded blue.
‘Mr Crowe,’ Sherlock said in a voice that he hardly recognized as his own, it was so full of amazement and joy. ‘I wasn’t expecting you here.’
‘Apparently not, otherwise Ah would have expected a calmer introduction.’ He walked towards Sherlock and stuck his hand out. Sherlock did the same, and they shook hands solemnly. ‘When Ah found out that Mycroft Holmes was goin’ to be here, I guessed there was a chance you might be turnin’ up. Glad to see Ah was right.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You’re a clever man. You work it out.’
The bright light of sheer logic flooded Sherlock’s mind, revealing the obvious answer. ‘You are the American representative at the bidding for Mr Albano’s services,’ he said.
‘Exactly. Mah apologies for the late arrival, by the way.’ He indicated the cart behind him with his thumb. ‘We missed the ferry because mah daughter just had to go shoppin’.’
Sherlock stared over Amyus Crowe’s shoulder, at the cart that had brought him up from the town. For a moment all he could see was the driver, the horses, the cart and the luggage piled inside it and strapped down.
And then, from behind the driver, Virginia Crowe leaned forward and looked over at him, and his heart broke all over again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Well,’ Amyus Crowe said as he settled himself into a comfortable armchair, ‘this ain’t exactly the set of circumstances Ah imagined our next meetin’ to take place under.’ The springs creaked beneath his weight.
‘Me neither,’ Sherlock replied.
They were sitting in the castle’s reception room – the same one in which Sherlock had earlier talked to his injured brother. The past twenty minutes had been a bustle of activity as Crowe had presented his credentials to Sir Shadrach Quintillan, introduced his daughter, met the other representatives and overseen the transfer of their luggage to their rooms. Virginia had avoided Sherlock all the while, although he had been painfully aware of her presence. When refreshments were offered Crowe accepted, while Virginia pleaded tiredness after the long journey. Sherlock remembered how sea travel had affected her on the way to and from New York, and wasn’t surprised when she went to her room to lie down.
Or maybe, a rebellious part of his mind said, she just doesn’t want to talk to you.
‘Where’s Holmes Senior?’ Crowe asked.
‘Ah. He’s resting in his room after being attacked this morning in the library.’
‘Attacked?’ Crowe’s face creased in concern, the leathery wrinkles almost hiding his eyes. ‘An’ is this somethin’ to do with this psychic fellow – Albano – or is it just a random attack?’
Sherlock shrugged. ‘Probably the former, but the motive is unclear. Either someone wants to improve their chances at the auction by taking out the likely competition, or someone else wants to force up the price by making it look like Albano is worth fighting for. That means the pool of suspects is pretty much everyone in the house.’
Crowe nodded. ‘That’s a succinct analysis of the situation. Future events will prob’ly tell us which one it is.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, if the attack was designed to get rid of competition then there’re likely to be more attacks on other representatives. If you want to reduce the pool of contenders then you don’t just take out the one.’ He smiled. ‘Of course, you don’t take out all the contenders, because that kind of gives the game away as to who is responsible. Last man standin’, an’ all that.’
‘What if the attack was designed to make Albano a more valuable commodity because he’s worth fighting for?’
‘Then Albano will reappear,’ Crowe pointed out. ‘There ain’t no point in biddin’ for something that’s vanished. He’ll come back with some kind of cockamamie story to make himself look important and powerful.’ He paused for a moment. ‘How is your brother? Will he . . . recover?’
‘He was lucid and talking when he regained consciousness. The injury doesn’t look too serious. Apparently a doctor has been called in to examine him. I don’t know whether he’s attended yet or not – I had to walk down to the town to send a telegram on Mycroft’s behalf.’
‘Knowin’ your brother, the telegram was prob’ly somethin’ along the lines of “Send fine wines and cream cakes: the caterin’ here is not ideal”.’
Sherlock smiled. ‘Actually the catering is very good. Certainly last night’s meal met with Mycroft’s approval.’
‘So you’ve met Ambrose Albano, an’ presumably had the chance to see his act?’
Sherlock was about to answer when he suddenly realized that he wasn’t talking to a friend any more, he was speaking with a potential competitor. He wondered with a flash of concern what Mycroft would have wanted him to do – tell the truth, say nothing or try to make out that Albano was probably a fake in order to reduce the likelihood that Crowe would make a serious offer on behalf of the American Government. He shook his head. This was complicated. What was the best thing to do?
The best thing, he decided, was to tell the truth and damn the consequences. He knew and trusted Amyus Crowe; and, more to the
point, so did his brother. Besides, Crowe might well wonder himself whether Sherlock was telling the truth or telling a lie, in which case Sherlock might as well tell the truth anyway, on the basis that whatever he said might not be believed.
‘Wise move,’ Crowe said softly. ‘Always tell the truth, if you can. It’ll confuse the hell out of your enemies – an’ you know Ah’m not an enemy.’
‘How did you know what I was thinking?’ demanded Sherlock.
‘It’s pretty simple, although it makes for a good parlour trick. You hesitated after Ah asked the question, indicatin’ that you were havin’ doubts about tellin’ me. Your gaze flickered upward, to where Ah presume Mycroft’s rooms are. You were wonderin’ what he would want you to say. You looked back at me, but your eyes weren’t focusin’ on my face – they had that look that people get when they’re rememberin’ somethin’. Ah guessed that you were rememberin’ everythin’ you an’ Ah have been through together. You then glanced down an’ to the right, which is a sign that you were puttin’ your thoughts in order logically before tellin’ them to me. People who are lookin’ to lie often glance down an’ to the left. It’s a strange thing, but worth knowin’. Somethin’ to do with which side of the brain you’re usin’, Ah believe – the analytical side, or the side that we use to construct stories.’
‘Very clever. You’ll have to teach me how to do that.’
‘If we get a chance to have any more lessons,’ Crowe said, and there was a sad tone in his voice that Sherlock didn’t like. ‘Now,’ he continued briskly, ‘your thoughts on Mr Albano.’
‘He’s a fake,’ Sherlock said immediately. ‘I haven’t worked out how he manages his tricks yet, but I’m certain that they are tricks.’
‘What kind of things has he been doin’?’
‘Chalk messages appearing on slates, wooden plaques moving to point to letters in order to spell out other messages, the production of some kind of substance that is apparently called “ectoplasm” that can take the shape of a supposed spirit . . .’
‘The standard repertoire, then. Nothin’ cleverer than that.’
‘Exactly.’
‘An’ your brother concurs?’
‘He does.’
Crowe nodded slowly. ‘Ah suspect that Mycroft an’ Ah are in the same position, bein’ less convinced ourselves than our respective governments are. From what you’ve said Ah can’t imagine Ah’ll be any more convinced when Ah’ve seen him in action mahself.’
‘So how did you get to be the American representative?’ Sherlock asked.
‘You tell me, son.’
Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘The invitation went out late enough that the American Government didn’t have time to send someone over from America; or perhaps they didn’t think the likely reward was worth the expense and effort of such a trip. They looked for people they trusted who were closer geographically. There would be the Embassy staff in London, of course, but for some reason they chose you instead.’ Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, to help himself concentrate. ‘I presume they needed someone whom they trusted and who also had a reputation for not being taken in by trickery, and that led them straight to you.’
‘Precisely.’
Sherlock thought about what they had been talking about for a moment. ‘That kidnapping,’ he said. ‘How was it arranged, do you think?’
‘Ah don’t know, son – Ah wasn’t here. What did you see?’
Sherlock closed his eyes again, recalling the events and putting them into logical order, aware that Crowe had just pointed out that closing the eyes was a sign of remembering. ‘I’d only just arrived back from town myself, so I was looking at events from out near the road. Everybody else was nearer the castle, so between us we had a view from both sides. Albano was outside the castle, apparently leaving. He was having some kind of argument with Sir Shadrach – with the benefit of hindsight I suspect it had something to do with the attack on Mycroft. Perhaps he was scared. Anyway, he had just set off, walking towards where I was, when a carriage raced in from the road. The carriage stopped by Mr Albano. Two men jumped out, but I saw a third man inside. They all had scarves over their faces. And, of course, the driver makes four men in total. The two men knocked Albano over, put a sack on his head and threw him into the carriage. They got back in, and the driver drove off, but the carriage seemed to veer off the path when it got outside the walls, and it crashed. Four men raced away, and they all still had scarves over their faces. I had the carriage in sight the whole time, from before the kidnapping until it crashed, and Mr Albano never got out, but when I and the other two representatives ran over to it he wasn’t there. The carriage was empty.’
Crowe nodded slowly. ‘A fine and succinct account, young man. Your brain hasn’t got slack while you’ve been away. Now, a couple of things occur to me. Coincidences, things that stand out as being different. Firstly, it was lucky for the abductors that Mr Albano was outside the castle just at the moment they drove in. If he’d been inside, what would they have done? Gone lookin’ for him?’
‘Good point,’ Sherlock said. ‘They had to know he was going to be outside at that exact moment, and the only person who knew that was, I suppose, Albano himself.’
‘Precisely. The second point is: it was lucky for us that everyone just happened to be outside watching Mr Albano walkin’ away. Everyone got to see the abduction and, more importantly, the vanishin’ trick. Every trick needs an audience.’
‘Again,’ Sherlock said, ‘that was down to Mr Albano. He was the one who had the argument. If it started inside then people would have taken notice and moved to watch, then followed him and Sir Shadrach outside. They were the perfect audience.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So, it was a trick, and it was arranged by Mr Albano himself, or at least with his knowledge and assistance. Which means that we can expect him to reappear in a little while, as you said.’
‘There’s another point,’ Crowe said.
‘What is it?’
‘You tell me.’
Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘If we’re right, and Albano arranged the kidnapping and the disappearance himself, or at least knew that they were going to happen, then it was important that the crash happened inside the grounds of the castle, because that was the only way those of us who were there would know that he had disappeared. If the crash had happened half a mile down the road then we wouldn’t have been there, and we might, when we finally did get there, have assumed that Mr Albano had just wandered off. The mysterious disappearance only works because it happened in front of our eyes. That means the crash was deliberately arranged to occur exactly where it did. But how?’
‘Oh, many ways.’
‘But what about the disappearance from the carriage? How did he manage that?’
Crowe frowned in disapproval. ‘Ah’m surprised at you, Sherlock. That’s the simplest thing of all. There’s only one answer. Go figure it out yourself.’
‘Oh!’ Sherlock said suddenly, changing the subject. ‘I forgot to tell you. One of the servants died. I don’t know if there’s any connection to anything else, or whether it was just a tragic coincidence, but I found her outside. There wasn’t a mark on her, but she had a horrified expression on her face, and her shoes were missing.’
‘Hmm. Difficult to see how that ties in with anythin’ else. That kind of horrified expression can be a sign of a weak heart givin’ way – Ah’ve seen it before. Let’s park that one for now.’ His gaze softened. ‘But Ah guess there’s a question you’ve been avoiding, all the time we’ve been talkin’. You want to ask it now, or you want to pretend there’s nothin’ wrong?’
Sherlock felt a sudden obstruction in his throat that stopped him from saying anything for a moment. He wanted to ask about Virginia, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Would it be best just to pretend that nothing was wrong, and continue onward with a smile on his face?
No, he decided. It was always better to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt, because that hurt wa
s the kind you got when a wound was beginning to heal.
‘How is Virginia?’ he asked quietly.
‘The short answer is: she’s growin’ up. She ain’t the girl you knew a year or two back. Hell, she ain’t the girl Ah knew a year or two back, an’ Ah’m her papa.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Ah know that you had feelin’s for Virginia, even though Ah wasn’t sure you knew it, an’ Ah know she reciprocated, at least in her way. The trouble is that you were gone for over a year, an’ it happened just as she was growin’ up. She got to thinkin’ about boys, an’ marriage, an’ the future, an’ you just weren’t there. There’s an old saying, Sherlock – “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. It means that something you’ve got is better than something better that you actually haven’t got. Ah think she thought about waitin’ for you. Ah think she thought real hard about that, but in the end she just didn’t know if you were ever comin’ back. She had to make a choice – wait on a promise, or take what was there in front of her.’
‘So she met someone else, just like that?’
Crowe frowned. ‘It wasn’t “just like that”, son. It took a considerable period of time. Travis an’ Virginia met naturally, just like you and she met, at the cottage. He rides like he was born in the saddle, so he an’ Ginnie just got talking straight away. He’s a fine, upstandin’, good lookin’ boy, and she couldn’t help bein’ impressed. She kept him at arm’s length for nearly six months, but eventually she came to me one night an’ asked me if Ah thought you were ever comin’ back.’ He paused, and grimaced. ‘Ah had to be honest, Sherlock. Ah had to tell her that there was a strong chance you might get caught up in some adventure, or decide to stay in one of the countries that you saw, or maybe even go to India to look for your father. You might even have met another girl and fallen for her. An’ even if you did come back, Ah told her that it might be a year or more, and that you’d have changed. She thought about that, an’ Ah guess she made her decision. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. So she an’ Travis got more serious, an’ he proposed to her.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Ah can’t say Ah don’t wish things were different, but hopin’ for what ain’t goin’ to happen is just plain foolishness. We have to accept the world the way it is.’
