PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK

by Unknown

  Lord Balmoral was in evidence, of course, since his Bagatelle Club team were the challengers. I nodded to Lady Windemere and the duchess of Paisley, present with their usual entourage, and exchanged pleasantries with Baroness Jeurdon and Lady Lind-Mead.

  When the competition finally got under way, I was at a bit of a loss to understand how they managed the whole thing. There were a number of events, and the paper targets, with circled bull's-eyes, were gradually moved farther and farther from the riflemen. There was much measuring of distances from bullet hole to target center, and the endeavors of various contestants were accompanied by suitable ooohs and ahhhs. If asked point-blank, I would have stated that they seemed to be making a mountain out of a molehill. Then I noted the exchange of currency between top-hatted gentlemen and realized that the number of matches was to accommodate the spectators' urge to wager.

  The shooting took place in a sizeable fenced area at the rear of the Wellington Club building. Chairs were arranged on the brick-paved terrace, and the back wall was sandbagged to a considerable height. Due to the position of the property in conjunction with the Deptford Reach, there were no buildings immediately adjacent and a fortuitous breeze off the river served to disperse the fumes of the gunpowder. With a gay crowd sipping tea or other more potent libations, and the marksmen in uniforms of paramilitary design banging away at targets, it made for a colorful scene. Holmes seemed to understand what was going on and informed me that the results of the match now depended on the final encounter between the ace of the Bagatelle Club, one Gerald Stolte, and our acquaintance Richard Ledger.

  The groundswell of conversation interspersed with tinkles of laughter faded out as the two contestants made for their firing positions. Lord Arthur Seville was acting as an announcer, and he informed the multitude that this would be the penultimate event, since the victor would then entertain his audience with an individual display. This deciding match would be five shots per contestant with no time limit. A two-by-four timber was placed on the ground to serve as the marker for the shootists, they being allowed to change position as long as they remained behind the length of wood.

  Holmes and I were standing at the rear of the seated crowd, on the four steps leading from the clubhouse to the terrace and the rifle range beyond. A well-dressed though somewhat sly-looking citizen standing next to me advanced some inside news for no reason that I could fathom.

  "That bit about changing positions was introduced into the procedural rules by Chasseur, you can bet," he whispered to me.

  I noted an oversized diamond on one of his fingers that struck me as gauche, though I judged the gem to be real. My questioning look prompted him to continue in a conspiratorial tone.

  "Chasseur has more than a few bob wagered on this contest, and Ledger is his hole card." My eyebrows must have escalated, for he elaborated. "His sleeve ace, but the bloke is a nervous type, as you shall shortly see."

  As though in fear that he had been too revealing, my unknown ally changed his position. I found out later from Holmes that he was Odds-On Olderman, London's leading bookmaker, though he was surely present under an alias.

  Representing the challengers, Gerald Stolte was first to take position and proved to be a textbook marksman, as immobile as a block of stone. Once positioned in a widespread stance, with the butt of the stock against his shoulder, he might as well have been a statue. I noted that his right thumb was not curved over the throat of the butt but rested parallel to the barrel, close to the bolt of the army-issue rifle he was using. His right eye glued to the rear sight, he remained stationary for a nerve-racking time before loosing his first shot. I could barely see the target, but Stolte obviously could, and the bull's-eye as well. He did not move other than a quick back-and-forth of the bolt with his thumb and index finger. Then, with a gentle caress of the trigger, he sent off his second shot. With the same approximate period between, his final three bullets spun down the barrel's rifling and boomed their way to the target.

  With no expression on his face, Stolte lowered his weapon and retreated toward a group of his Bagatelle teammates, to discuss his efforts no doubt. A club attendant raced out to retrieve the target, bringing it to Lord Arthur Seville after affixing a new one.

  I must say the large gathering was suitably quiet, and I felt caught up by the suspense myself. Seville inspected the target, conferred with two other gentlemen, and then made an announcement.

  "Mr. Stolte's five shots were all within the inner three rings, and two are judged to be bull's-eyes."

  There were cheers from the Bagatelle Club supporters and I noted Alvidon Chasseur, standing with a group of men, looking confident, nay somewhat smug.

  When Richard Ledger advanced to the shooting position, I was surprised to see that he carried a lever-action rifle loosely in his hand. I would have thought that the contestants would use similar pieces of ordinance, but some words between two men slightly to our rear informed me that the marksmen had their choice of guns, providing the caliber was within the specified limits allowed.

  Whereas Stolte had been pedantic in his actions, Richard Ledger was not, and his style was as far from that of his opponent as could be imagined. He stood with his gun held in his right hand, barrel to the sky, surveying the target. Then he ran his left thumb across his mouth and passed that finger across the front sight, lowering the barrel to make this action possible. Suddenly the butt was against his shoulder and he fired almost without pause. His right hand levered the empty cartridge from the firing chamber as his legs moved him a step or two to his right and he got off another quick shot. Then his stance shifted to his left and the next three bullets were fired in rapid succession as Ledger continued to change position.

  Throughout the crowd there was an exchange of looks and shrugs, and I surmised that most of those present could not quite believe the marksman's unusual methods. There were some who did not register surprise, Chasseur among them, and I judged that Ledger's unorthodox approach was normal to him. The crowd obviously felt that Stolte had triumphed for the Bagatelle Club, since the Wellington man, because of his speed, had seemed not to care about the result and had almost given the impression that he was throwing the match.

  With the thought that the result was obvious, small talk started up again, but when the target was brought to Lord Seville, there was something about his manner and that of the two other judges that stilled eager tongues. Finally, Seville addressed the gathering.

  "Mr. Ledger's target has no bull's-eye, since it has been blown away. The Wellington Club retains its championship of the London Rifle League."

  His lordship's words were greeted by a stunned silence, and then a series of cheers arose from the amazed gallery and there was a babble of sound. It took Seville some time to quiet the spectators, which he finally did by removing his topper and waving it as an attention-getter.

  "Now, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Ledger will give a demonstration of trick-shooting as the final event of the day."

  His skill a recognized thing, the audience was riveted on the champion and there was a respectful silence indeed.

  As he took his stance before the crowd, I was much surprised to note that he had changed weapons. Having done so well with his lever-action gun, I would have thought that he would stay with it; but instead, he now carried a different-looking rifle, with an elongated barrel. It was an unusual weapon with a stock decorated by ornate checkering. I had seen similar carving on sporting rifles and understood it had a grip-aiding purpose.

  "Note that he is using a Beals revolving rifle," whispered Holmes in my ear. "They haven't made those since seventy-two."

  While I mused over this information, Ledger put on a show that had the crowd breathless. Lord Seville stood to one side of the marksman with another judge, and both men alternated in spinning coins into the air. Ledger knocked four out of the sky and then added a fillip by drilling two more, firing from the hip. As he paused to reload, I realized why his repeating rifle had seemed strange. Its firing chambe
r was similar to a revolver in its action, hence the name that Holmes had given the gun.

  While I watched openmouthed as Ledger ran through his bag of trick-shooting feats, a thought came to my mind, spurred by the fact that the man and his gun moved as one. It was further stimulated by his speed in firing and the so brief time that he took to aim.

  The climax to Ledger's performance should have been clear to me before the fact. The afternoon had been a singular triumph for Alvidon Chasseur, and if I judged him correctly, he must have derived great joy from forcing Lord Balmoral to take a back seat. Would he let the matter come to an end without interjecting himself into the proceedings? Certainly not; though I had to admit that he displayed remarkable nerve in the manner in which he did it.

  Ledger now completed what proved to be his next-to-closing bit of rifle legerdemain. With his weapon held by Lord Seville, he faced the audience, two small wooden balls in hand. Tossing them over his shoulder, he snatched the Beals repeater from his lordship's hands and whirled, again firing from the hip, and smashed his targets with twin shots that rang out almost as one. As he acknowledged the applause, a look passed between the president of the Birmingham and Northern and Ledger. The marksman reloaded his weapon as Chasseur, without an announcement, strode out onto the firing range. From a silver case he extracted a cigarette as a puzzled hush spread over the crowd. Igniting an Egyptian cigarette, which I identified from its length, the rail tycoon stood with his profile toward Ledger, the smoking cigarette in his mouth. By now everyone realized what was going on, and there was a low rumble of protest and several of the ladies present grew quite pale. I have mentioned that the cigarette was long, and I noted that Chasseur held it between his teeth at the very end; but still, it was a sporty exhibition of faith in his employee's ability.

  Ledger did take time aiming now. Then the shot rang out and the burning end of the cigarette was no more as Chasseur turned toward the audience with a triumphant smile. He rejoined the excited throng to the tune of hearty cheers, this time as much for him as for Ledger.

  Holmes was exhibiting a sardonic smile. "The old reprobate carried it off like a circus ringmaster," he stated.

  "It was an impressive piece of showmanship, Holmes."

  "I'll not say you nay on that. Has a thought been nagging at you?"

  "The candle in our sitting room?"

  "Exactly. I don't think Ledger would have missed the wick."

  I agreed quickly. Actually, that was not the thought that had come to my mind at all.

  Chapter 13

  Watson's Investigation, Holmes' Revelations

  THROUGH THE mass of spectators, all now standing and discussing the happenings, I noted Claymore Frisbee making his way purposefully in our direction. Some sort of conference with the banker was overdue, and I could add little to it. So I took a bold step and spoke to Holmes hurriedly.

  "I have an idea. Would it be inconvenient if I took this time to pursue it?"

  "By no means," responded my friend. There was a faint twinkle in his intense eyes and he cocked his head slightly, surveying me. "You know my methods, Watson. Do make use of them. In conjunction with your talents, of course."

  "Now see here, Holmes . . ."

  "I'm serious. If you're on the scent of something, by all means have at it. I'll see you later at Baker Street."

  Holmes turned to wave a greeting at the approaching Frisbee, then returned his attention to me. "Good hunting, old friend."

  Well, I thought as I made my way inside the clubhouse, you've stuck your neck out this time, Watson. Things will get sticky if you botch it, so have your wits about you.

  A solicitous club attendant readily gave me the information I requested and shortly thereafter I found myself in the basement of the club, outside a small room which I had been informed was given over to the star performer of the Wellington gun squad.

  Richard Ledger was already within, having removed himself from his many admirers promptly. But then it was Alvidon Chasseur who was taking the bows, a pleasure he had paid for; and I judged that he paid Ledger well.

  The marksman recognized me immediately and invited me to enter his dressing room. Trying to emulate Holmes, I bid my eyes make note of the surroundings, hoping to implant them upon a mental photographic plate. It was a small place, partitioned off like numerous others for the convenience of club members, which Ledger certainly was, though it was not his money paying the dues. There was a locker for hanging clothes, since the rifle squad affected costumes bearing the Wellington insignia. A cupboard was the largest piece of furniture, the top section being a rack for rifles with glass doors secured by an efficient-looking lock. A drawer underneath was closed and also sported a lock. I suspected that it contained an assortment of small arms.

  On a square table there were tools, and I noted a bullet mold and a small but serviceable-looking vise, which gave me a thought.

  "For half loads?" I asked, indicating the equipment.

  "Sometimes handy," admitted Ledger. He was slipping into his suit coat and shot a sudden look at me as though making up his mind. "You see how it is, Doctor. There's not just the shooting involved."

  "A bit of a side show as well," I hazarded.

  The man's pale blue eyes were disconcerting, but if one overlooked them, his manner was forthright and friendly. Evidently, he sensed a kindred spirit in me.

  "I have to be ready to change the act, you see. If it's not long guns, there's naught left but side arms and for fancy work, half loads are helpful."

  "Less recoil for greater accuracy."

  The fact that I understood seemed to please him. "Tricks of the trade." He shifted subjects. "Can you talk about the treasure train matter?"

  His directness was refreshing. Leaning against the table, he seemed relaxed; but I knew I was in the presence of a coiled spring. The man reflected his profession: dangerous, certainly ruthless if necessary, but his youth dissipated any suggestion of malevolence. I will grant that I rank with the gullible, certainly in comparison to Holmes. Yet I felt that Ledger was sincere, his mood tinged by a genuine regret—not for his performance of the day, but relative to the matter of the stolen gold.

  I decided to take a chance. My companion of so many years had once said that to learn something one should tell something, so I became revealing.

  "Sherlock Holmes seems intrigued by this gun club competition that has sprung up."

  "The trained seals." There was a twist to Ledger's mouth. "I shouldn't complain, for it's what got me my job with the railroad; and marksmanship competition is nothing new. The other stuff, like the cigarette bit, is just so much lagniappe to entertain the people."

  I must have been regarding him rather intently, for he shifted position, possibly a nervous movement, and was now seated on the table. "Does Mr. Holmes associate the Wellington Club with the robbery?"

  I shook my head promptly. "There's quite a few gun clubs. Holmes is looking for a lead as to who actually pulled off the robbery. The soldiers in the field, as 'twere."

  This struck a chord within Ledger. "Now I see it. Ex-military working for business firms, meeting people at the clubs; they could have caught wind of the treasure train." Suddenly he shook his head. "From what I've heard of Mr. Holmes, he's not one for just theorizing. There must be something more."

  I decided to plunge in deeper. "A shot was fired at our sitting room. Holmes contends that it was not an assassination attempt, but it had to be done by a sharpshooter."

  Those light blue eyes remained devoid of emotion, though a slight smile curled Ledger's lips. "That puts me in the front ranks, I suppose?"

  "I think not. Besides, it was a long shot. I doubt if that Beals revolving rifle you fancy could have carried far enough."

  He was not offended. "You noticed that did you, Doctor?" Ledger became silent, and I sensed he was considering a thought. Then he continued: "If there's some marksman playing games, it does point a finger at the gun clubs. Does Mr. Holmes know how the robbery was executed
?"

  I decided not to carry my revelations too far. "I've a thought that he's got a pretty good idea." Had I said no, it would have been an insult to Holmes, and Ledger wouldn't have believed me anyway.

  "I haven't. Don't feel good about it either. If I'd done my job right . . ." His voice dwindled away, and then he rose from his half-seated position. "Would there be something that I could do, Doctor?"

  "You could consider Holmes' idea about your marksman colleagues," I replied with an authoritative tone that startled me.

  "I will," he said.

  That was the end of our meeting but not of my investigations.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  The waning sun had dropped below the horizon, leaving a momentary afterglow as I alighted from a hansom at 221 B Baker Street.

  As I entered the sitting room, the sleuth was seated at his desk, its surface cluttered with cables and penned notations. Not the cold, thinking machine, he, but more the general, assaying reports from the front. He seemed pleased, for he slapped the desktop with an open palm and exhibited a wide smile.

  "By George, Watson, I was wagering on you, and from your appearance, I know that victory has graced your banners."

  "I do think I've stumbled onto something, Holmes."

  "About Ledger, of course."

  Being in the process of removing my greatcoat, I almost dropped it in surprise. "A trip to the Wellington Club competition sparks you into action. Who was there connected with the treasure train matter? Alvidon Chasseur and Claymore Frisbee, but we can dismiss both, for there was nothing revelatory regarding them. We have left Richard Ledger, whose prowess with firearms astonished even me."