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The Scottish Ploy

Page 32

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro


  “It would be most inconvenient not to, so it must be done. Mister Holmes has much need of Sutton; he relies on him for many skills, and if anything became of Sutton, it is unlikely that Mister Holmes could find such another as he,” said Tyers calmly. “I do not suppose that he will remain missing much longer.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, hoping Tyers had some special information that had not come my way.

  “Because Mister Holmes would rather face the Brotherhood’s inner circle than tread the boards at the Duke of York’s Theatre.” He smiled once, and let himself out.

  I wanted to be amused, but could not rise from the gloom that possessed me. I got up and went to pace in front of the day charts again, hoping to see something I had missed before; I continued to think I had not seen something obvious. I was staring at Friday’s events when a sharp knock on the door at the rear of the flat announced Miss Gatspy’s return. I gathered up my pages and prepared to welcome her back to our efforts.

  “Thank you, Tyers; I’ll admit myself,” her voice declared; I felt a shiver go through me as the door opened. “There you are, Guthrie,” she said. She had taken advantage of her absence to don a new ensemble, this one a walking suit in bottle-green with a heavy silken scarf of the same color wrapped around her throat; her cheeks were pink from the cold and drops of water shone in the wisps of hair around her face where her hat—now most certainly in Tyers’ hands, along with her coat—hadn’t covered them.

  “Is it noon already?” I asked as I glanced at the clock.

  “Twenty minutes past,” she said, a bit ruefully. “I have my sylphide outside in the service alley, under the stairs. I hope no harm will come to it.”

  “Your colleagues are on duty,” I said to reassure her.

  “That may not be enough,” she told me as she went to sit down. “Were there any callers while I was gone?”

  “No,” I said, hoping to make this good news.

  “Nothing from the kidnappers?” She looked closely at me.

  I hated to have to disappoint her. “Nothing,” I said sadly, and then, not wanting to dwell on such unproductive ruminations, asked, “Are you planning to go out again soon? Is that why you have your carriage with you?”

  “I hardly know what I will be doing, but I thought it might be advisable to have more than one vehicle at our disposal, considering the diverse matters we have before us to investigate. Hastings can’t be constantly driving all over London, you know. This way, if more than one excursion is wanted, we need not rely on hire-cabs, or other transport.” She noticed the papers in my hands. “It appears you’ve made progress.”

  “I have done a synopsis. I am not sure yet that it is progress,” I told her with more honesty than I had intended.

  “It is better than having confusion,” she pointed out. “If nothing else, it will help us to eliminate those events that are unconnected to our inquiries.”

  “Did you find out anything useful?” I asked her, trying to find something that would be more rewarding to us both.

  “I may have. Mister Holmes will have to determine if what I have learned is useful, when he can spare us a moment.” She looked about again, as if expecting to find him sitting in the shadows; she turned back to me and held out her hand. “Let me see what you’ve done.”

  “If you wish,” I said, and handed my pages to her; while she read I went to the door to ask Tyers to bring a fresh pot of tea.

  “Already thrilling, sir,” Tyers responded from the kitchen.

  “Oh, yes, please,” said Miss Gatspy. “I am longing for something warm.”

  I could think of nothing to say to that, so I changed the subject. “I suppose your guards are still on duty.”

  “Yes; one in a carriage and two on horseback. They want to be able to follow us and continue to watch the flat.” She made a gesture of helplessness. “I cannot convince my superiors that I can function as a guard as well as an ally in this situation.”

  “You mustn’t mind their concern,” I said, marveling again at how easily this delicate woman faced terrible danger.

  She was about to say something, but changed her mind. “We’ll discuss that later. I want to read through this, to see if what you have coincides with what I have learned.”

  I inclined my head, deferring to her, and I waited for Tyers to come with the tea. I did my best not to stare at Miss Gatspy, or to disturb her in any other way, but I found myself watching her, trying to read her expression; I was eager for her comments, and hoping she would be pleased with my observations.

  “Here is the tea, Mister Guthrie,” said Tyers as he came into the library some ten minutes later.

  I was glad of his arrival. “Thank you, Tyers. Have you seen anything of Mister Holmes yet?”

  “I checked the window not five minutes ago, to put the ladder in place, and I saw no one on the neighbors’ roofs,” he said. “He should be back shortly.”

  “Thank you,” I said again as Tyers left the room.

  “Do you mean that Mister Holmes is not here?” Miss Gatspy spoke sharply; she had put the papers aside at last. “I supposed he was in another room, or resting. When did he leave?”

  “Not long after you proposed the disguise to him,” I said, bemused by her alarm. “He went out a little more than two hours ago; I am sure he was not noticed. You needn’t fret. He left from a building down the way.” I thought these reassurances would ease her mind; I saw by her expression that I was wrong.

  “What on earth made him do anything so foolish?” she demanded. “Now none of my colleagues can watch him, nor do we know what has become of him.”

  “He went with Hastings,” I said, as if that was protection enough. “And, if you recall, it was your recommendation that he use a disguise in order to be away.”

  “Yes, but not for the entire morning; I assumed he would not be gone more than an hour; I should have known he would press his luck,” she said sarcastically. “Do you have any idea where he was going?”

  “To Saint Elizabeth’s, as he said he would,” I replied, a bit sheepishly, for now that she had pointed out the risks Mycroft Holmes had taken, I was inclined to share her indignation.

  “In disguise, you say?” She got up and took a turn about the room. “Disguised how?”

  “He looked ancient, at least seventy. Before he left, he wrapped himself in a hooded duster of oiled canvas, which will keep him from getting wet and will preserve his make-up from damage. He left out the window onto the neighboring roof, then crossed to the building beyond, and went out to the street from there.” I gave a single nod. “Tell me, Miss Gatspy, how do you think he has exposed himself?”

  She shook her head. “At least he has taken some precautions. Let us hope they are enough to keep him from being discovered, for Sutton’s sake. In weather like this, I suppose he might count himself safer than he would have done on a clear day.”

  “So he thought,” I said, wanting to show her that Holmes had not been as reckless as she assumed he was. “He will return the same way. Unless the Brotherhood know of this, and have posted assassins on the roofs of neighboring houses, and can see through mizzle, he must be safe. And why would they do that if they assume they have Holmes as a captive?” I was speaking very fast, as if quickness made my comments more convincing.

  “I see,” said Miss Gatspy, her voice dropping down to a condemning lowness that made me aware I had not yet persuaded her.

  “He had a thought, and he wanted to confirm it, or discover he was in error,” I added.

  “Do you know what he sought to find out?” she asked with asperity.

  “I must admit I do not,” I told her.

  She glared at the tea-service. “He is the most infuriating man. I don’t know how you endure his employ.”

  I was wholly conscious of the concern she reveal
ed, but her manner was rather too much for me to accept without challenge. “Dear Miss Gatspy,” I said with what I hoped was more hauteur than pique, “You may think what you like about Mister Holmes, but you will not berate him to me, if you please. He is the most capable, extraordinary man I have ever known, and I understand that because of his abilities he is not like most men; I am more than willing to make allowances for him if such are necessary.”

  “Don’t get on your high ropes, Guthrie,” Miss Gatspy recommended with a smile. “I am aware of his sterling qualities. And I am aware of yours, as well.”

  I did not know how to respond to this encomium—if encomium it was—so I remained still, saying only, “I am relieved to hear it.”

  “And now I’ve embarrassed you,” she said. “Well, don’t go about in dismay, if you please.” She went back and sat down. “We both will be the better for a cup of tea and a moment’s quiet reflection.” Without waiting for me to agree, she poured out two cups. “Here. Before it gets too strong.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I accepted the cup and added sugar. I sat down opposite her, and did my best to look at anything but her, so as to quieten my thoughts.

  “Guthrie,” she said a bit later, “you and I are both worried on Sutton’s behalf. Let us not take out our apprehension on one another.”

  It was such a sensible remark that I could only nod. “I will try to heed your advice,” I said.

  “Good,” she approved. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to review your—” She stopped as we heard the rattle and scramble of Mycroft Holmes’ return.

  “Tyers,” he cried out. “Come take the ladder. I have brought it in.” He sounded a bit out of breath, but there was no lack of enthusiasm in his voice, which implied his journey had been successful.

  I went to the door and found Holmes stumping down the hallway, his oilskins flapping around him, his wispy white hair in disarray from the hood he had just thrown back; he half-dragged, half-carried a ladder over his shoulder. “It is good to have you back, sir,” I said, prepared to assist him.

  “Good to be back, Guthrie,” he declared in stentorian accents. “Has Miss Gatspy returned?”

  “She has. We are taking tea in the library.” I reached out for the ladder only to have Tyers arrive, ready to tend to all.

  “Excellent,” Holmes approved as he gave the ladder to Tyers. “I will be with you directly.”

  “I take it you have discovered something,” I ventured.

  “Indeed I have. And it is just as I thought: it has been under my nose the whole time, and I failed to see it for what it was,” He pushed past me, and began peeling off his oilskins.

  I went back into the library. “Did you hear?”

  “I certainly did,” Miss Gatspy said. “Well, we must take this as a favorable omen. How long do you think it will take him to change?”

  “Ten minutes,” I said, returning to my seat.

  “Then let us finish our tea,” she recommended. “We cannot learn what he has discovered through contagion or osmosis.”

  In the event, it was more than fifteen minutes until Mycroft Holmes joined us, still toweling his wet hair. He was in his own clothes once more, and he had removed all traces of the make-up he had worn. As he looked toward Miss Gatspy, he said, “I take it you have something to report to me?”

  “That I have,” she said. “I have our records on Inspector Featherstone. You may find them interesting.”

  “If you mean his Irish mother’s alliance with certain self-proclaimed revolutionaries back on the ‘auld sod,’ you needn’t bother,” Holmes said, and chuckled as we stared at him. “I should have realized that her maiden name—Collins—innocuous enough, but with certain associations—revealed ties that are not the ones we would want our policemen to have.” He sat down. “I’m ravenous,” he announced. “It has been a busy morning.”

  “That it has,” I agreed. “And no doubt you have done more than visit Saint Elizabeth’s.”

  “Yes. I called on Inspector Strange, and he was kind enough to allow me to review the records that worked so much against him when he was forced to leave Scotland Yard.” He was almost thrumming with energy now, and he put his hand to his chest in a show of mock humility that made me chuckle. “I was astonished to discover how much he had amassed in his files. Most interesting reading.”

  “Which he did not provide you until now?” I was perplexed by this reticence on Inspector Strange’s part.

  “He considers his information dangerous—and he is right to do so—and would rather offer briefs than the material itself. In a case such as this, however, he was willing to allow me access to the files themselves. I had to give my word to examine only those records that bore on our current cases, and to look at no others.” He looked around. “Is Tyers going to provide us with dinner soon?”

  “I should think so,” I said. “Tell us what you discovered, sir. We have been on tenterhooks.”

  “Oh, I think you can rest assured that we have the key at last.” He rose and went to the day charts. “It is all right here, if only you know how to look.”

  “I am willing to believe that,” I said, mustering my patience. “You say it is obvious, but we have not seen it. The only person we have—” I stopped. “Sir Marmion Hazeltine,” I said.

  “Bravo, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes.

  Miss Gatspy, for once, looked surprised. “What?” She put down her tea-cup and went to stand beside Holmes; she scrutinized the time and events associated with his name. “It is far from obvious.”

  “If you don’t know what you are seeing,” said Mycroft Holmes. “As it was intended we should not.”

  I looked at the charts, trying to make out what Holmes meant.

  “I have made some interesting discoveries in regard to Sir Marmion,” said Holmes in a steely voice. “I am ashamed that it took me so long to realize that he had a role to play in all this.” He made this confession with difficulty. “Had I not so many other—” He broke off. “That is no excuse.”

  “Excuse or not,” I said, “it was the same for all of us.” I went to my summaries and began to skim the pages, looking for mentions of Sir Marmion’s name.

  “That may be,” said Holmes, “but our blindness has cost us dearly.” He went back to his chair. “I dislike being played for a fool.”

  Miss Gatspy shook her head. “No one does; but you should let them believe you haven’t figured this out yet, so they will not be on guard against you. Remember that they do not know you are hunting them. They assume they have stopped you. This is very much to your advantage. Even if they should suspect otherwise, it would be more strategic to let them assume you are unaware of how they have deceived you, so that they may become sloppy, and make it easier for you to find Sutton, and perhaps to bring Braaten and Vickers to justice.”

  “You have a most persuasive argument, Miss Gatspy,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Galling thought it is, I concur. They must still suppose they have captured me, and not Sutton, which is, as you say, also to our advantage. I see the value in not giving up our slightly improved understanding.” He coughed diplomatically. “I have a theory regarding Sutton.”

  “Oh?” said Miss Gatspy; I listened intently.

  “I believe that he was taken in that hospital-van to Hawtrees, Sir Marmion’s asylum. What better place to hide a captive than to lock him away, beyond help? And how like the Brotherhood. No doubt they have locked him up, and no doubt they have isolated him.” Mycroft Holmes gestured impatiently. “I found out at Saint Elizabeth’s that such vans are used to transport patients who have become violently overset from hospital to asylum. No policeman would be likely to stop such a van, nor would they want to examine what it carried, be it corpses, the crippled, or the mad.” He held up his hand. “You may say I have insufficient evidence to make this assumption, but I can thin
k of nothing else, and I must take action on what I have rather than delay in the hope that I will learn more. I would do this under other circumstances, but with Sutton’s life in the balance, I cannot wait any longer.”

  “And why are you so sure you will find him at Hawtrees?” I asked, not wanting to question him too closely, but wanting to be assured on this crucial point. “If we go charging in there, and it turns out he is not there, we will never have such an opportunity again.”

  “Then we must be right,” said Holmes. “And consider. If Sutton claims he is anyone, whether he identifies himself, or says he is Mycroft Holmes, who will believe him, in an asylum. No doubt there are other residents who say they are Napoleon or Caesar or Moses, and they are not believed. The more I consider the possibilities, the more likely it seems to me that that is where he has been taken. Sir Marmion practices galvanic therapy there. He has used it most successfully on the most extreme cases. If he administers such shocks to a healthy brain, who knows what damage it would do?”

  I could hear the anxiety in his voice, and I shared it. “You don’t think he would do such a thing, do you?”

  “I am certain he would,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Out of scientific curiosity, if not out of his desire to show his worth to the Brotherhood.”

  “Then you are satisfied he is a member?” Miss Gatspy asked. “Have you proof, or it is supposition?”

  “I have some minor proof, and every reason to suppose; I know I can lay the death of the courier at his door, beyond cavil,” said Holmes. “I want to have the opportunity to reveal his perfidy to the medical community, but only after I have Sutton back and safe.” He looked at the clock. “It is approaching two. Where is dinner?”

  I started toward the door, hoping Tyers would be there, ready to set out the meal. The corridor was empty. I went down to the kitchen, and discovered Tyers just coming in from the back. “Mister Holmes is eager for his dinner,” I told Tyers, who laughed aloud, not unkindly, and made a gesture of compliance.

 

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