“They are places to be proud of,” I agreed, feeling a trifle apprehensive as I would soon have to report to Mycroft Holmes and Miss Gatspy had not come back to her post. I could not help but worry on her behalf.
“One day we will do as well in Scandinavia,” the Prince said, making his assertion sound like a vow.
“No doubt; and this treaty will help to make it all possible,” I said just as a knock sounded on the door. I very nearly jumped at the sound and went quickly to answer. “Miss Gatspy?”
“Whomelse were you expecting?” She sounded vaguely annoyed, and I opened the door at once, relieved to discover she was unharmed. “I am sorry I took so long,” she said before I could speak. “I had a minor matter to attend to.”
“Well, you are back and no harm done,” I said, adding, as I retrieved my portfolio, “I must go along to compartment two—”
“Your employer must have work for you to do in Sheffield,” Miss Gatspy agreed, and let me step past her into the corridor. As she closed the door, she said, “Do not fret, Guthrie. We’ll get through this. We’ve survived worse.”
“That we have,” I said as the door closed.
The train was now moving quite slowly, and the station was not far ahead. I hurried along to Mycroft Holmes’ compartment and knocked my identifying pattern as swiftly as I could.
“I was beginning to worry where you had got to,” said Holmes, as he admitted me. “How is Herr Schere?”
“He says he is bored. He would like a paper to read and a deck of cards.” I saw a sheaf of papers on the pullout table. “Are those for me to send?”
“Yes, Guthrie, and I am afraid you will have to rush to get them all on their way.” He picked up the sheets and handed them to me. “Read them carefully and make sure the telegraph operator does his work well.”
I made a sign of agreement that had the intention of showing I would waste neither words nor time. “And I will fetch Tyers’ messages for you.”
“I expect no less,” said Mycroft Holmes. “We will be in the station directly.”
As if to confirm this, the train lurched as brakes became more imperative. I steadied myself before tucking the sheets Holmes had given me into my portfolio. I turned and went toward the rear of the car so I would not have to pass Sir Cameron’s compartment, for surely this energetic slowing would disturb even his slumbers. The platform was just coming into sight as I reached the steps that would be allow me to descend. Glancing down the train, I saw that Mister Burley had taken up a similar position at the end of the second-class car.
Steaming like a monster of legends, the Flying Scotsman halted at last in Sheffield amid a flurry of activity to which I contributed in my rapid sprint through the slanting sunlight of late afternoon to the telegraph office in the station-house, only to discover a salesman from Harrogate was ahead of me with three telegrams to send. All my chafing did nothing to hurry this genial gent, who spent a good five minutes gossiping with the telegraph operator; apparently the two were somewhat acquainted. As if to add to my complaint, the old wound on my hip began to ache, making me less patient than I ought to have been.
“Damned awkward, missing the 3:27 out of Leeds, but it can’t be helped,” the salesman said at last. “I’ll have to hope the Red Ram will hold a room for me when my telegram is delivered.”
“I should think they would do,” said the telegraph operator. “Mind how you go along, now.” He very nearly waved as the salesman stepped away. “What can I do for you then?”
“Do you have any messages for Guthrie? Paterson Guthrie?” I asked as I handed him the various sheets of messages Mycroft Holmes had entrusted to me. “These are for immediate dispatching.”
“Guthrie, Guthrie,” said the telegraph operator, speaking slowly as if to shame me for my demand for prompt action. He leaned toward his receipt boxes and pulled half a dozen of them from the pigeon-holes behind him. “There you are, sir. If you’ll just sign for them.”
I took them and handed him a shilling. “For your trouble,” I said as I scrawled my name on the line he indicated on his telegram register. “And there is another for you if you will hasten to send these.” I put the telegrams in my portfolio, unread.
The telegraph operator glanced at the sheets. “We heard you’d had a murder on board,” he said as he began to tap out the first message; I knew the more I told him, the faster he would send the texts.
“Two of them. The first was a man who had sought to escape the men with whom he had undertaken a crime, which is what brought the police into the matter. Then, once they were apprehended, the leader of the criminals killed one of his accomplices,” I said, hoping the police would not regard any of this as compromising, although I was convinced it would be in every Midlands paper by tomorrow.
“They say one of them escaped,” the telegraph operator said, encouraging me to explain more.
“He certainly threw himself out of a moving train, if you can call that escaping,” I said, trying to make it sound as if the whole issue were settled.
“That’s criminals for you,” said the telegraph operator. “You want this sent to the Russian Embassy in London? Is that right?”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “My traveling companions and I are all employed by Satchel’s Guides, “I confided as if this would account for the contact with the Russians.
“Oh, Satchel’s,” the operator said wisely, willing to accept this without cavil. In a matter of a minute, that had been sent. There were three more to go. I saw the activity on the platform increase, and I knew I had very little time to complete my errand. I handed payment to the operator, saying, “All the telegrams will have to be delivered. This should cover the amount, and any left over is yours for swift service.” With that, I turned away and went to purchase a paper and deck of cards for Prince Oscar, striding hastily back to the train as the warning whistle sounded. I was mildly surprised, thinking that the time had been very short. Swinging myself aboard the train, I noticed that Sir Cameron’s valet was doing much the same thing at the other end of the car. There was still sufficient light for me to be confident of my identification of the man; in another twenty minutes it would be too dark for easy recognition. It struck me as odd that he should have left the train for he held nothing in his hands and had not sent a telegram. I wondered if he might have been disposing of something—but what? I frowned as the conductor closed the door and signaled the engineer to begin moving. Taking this as my cue as well, I went along to compartment two, aware that the valet had already ducked back into Sir Cameron’s compartment.
“What do you have for me?” Mycroft Holmes asked as I entered his compartment; the first powerful strokes of the train’s great pistons began, and, jerking a bit, the train inched forward.
“Telegrams, sir,” I said, drawing them out of my portfolio and handing them to him. “Two from Tyers, one from Superintendent Spencer, one from Commander Winslowe, one from the Admiralty—I think the latter may be giving you a report on the shooting of the double.”
“That’s five, and as you can see, there are six,” said Holmes, continuing before I had a chance to speak, “Well, let me have a half an hour to study these. We’ll review what we can glean from them when I know what that may be.”
“Very good, sir,” I said. “They should be starting the first seating in the dining room shortly.”
He looked toward the window. “Oh, yes. It is getting late, isn’t it?” He sighed heavily. “And we have to wait until we’re through Leeds, I suppose.”
“That should be about the right time, providing we have no other impediments to our travel.” I was about to go to my own compartment when I decided I would do well to mention seeing Sir Cameron’s valet on the platform.
“He sent no telegram?” Holmes asked when I was through.
“Not that I saw. I reckon he was disposing of something,
or posting a note perhaps, but I cannot say so as fact.” I shrugged. “I just thought you should know.”
“Very true, Guthrie, whether or not it comes to anything, you’re right—I should know of it.” His heavy brows drew downward. “Keep an eye on him, if you will. Nothing too obvious, and nothing that will prevent you from attending to our primary purpose. He may be doing nothing but sending gossip to a crony, or there could be something sinister in his activities. It would relieve me if we were just jumping at shadows.”
“And I, too, sir,” I told him before leaving him to peruse his telegrams.
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS
Sutton is putting the finishing touches on his ensemble for his walk over to the Diogenes Club, and I am waiting for the next telegrams to arrive. This uncertainty is nerve-racking. I know it must take a toll on Sutton as well, but he expresses himself by other means than I do ...
I cannot rid myself of the fear that the information that ought to remain confidential has been spread about in a most dangerous way. Far too many of those who should know little or nothing about the destination of HHPO appear to have not only the general plan but some of the particulars as well. The only consolation I have is that once the source of the information is identified, it will be possible to root out the corruption that has so compromised the police.
I have had some dismaying news come my way through an old friend at the Admiralty—that an Admiralty agent has been placed aboard the Flying Scotsman to “lend support” to MH and G. This is the very kind of well-meaning interference that MH will find most unwelcome. I cannot help but think it is my duty to notify him of this action taken by the Admiralty, although I realize it will make the work MH does much more difficult. I must prepare a report to reach him at Leeds and hope that nothing untoward happens because of this rash decision made by someone at the Admiralty with more hair than wit ...
May the Flying Scotsman not become a moving cage, trapping MH, G, and HHPO as surely as any snare made for game.
Not more than half an hour ago, Sutton reiterated his concern that there may be more than one assassin in this plot, in which case I should warn MH to continue on his guard no matter what the Admiralty may tell him. I was pleased to inform him that I had already sent such a warning to MH, and that when next he retrieved his messages—at Sheffield, we must anticipate—he would find that supposition numbered among the various inferences that might be made when their potential risks are assessed ...
“I LOOK forward to Tschersky’s response to my telegram; given our current speed, he should have more than enough time to send it,” Mycroft Holmes said as he came into my compartment; his tone reflected his exasperation with still more delays. The train was once again proceeding more slowly than usual due to other trains ahead of us on the track. “I cannot but hope he will be able to fit a few more pieces of the puzzle for us.” He was looking a trifle tired, and his voice was a bit rough. I decided that his heartiness with the other passengers was catching up with him.
“Why should he know what you cannot discover for yourself?” I had not yet reached a point where I felt I could repose any real trust in the handsome Russian in spite of his usefulness in past years.
“Because he has knowledge of parts of the world where our inquiries would be conspicuous. His experiences have given him access to certain persons and organizations that are beyond our reach. He has made it a point to learn the activities of many rogues—not of the same cut as those my brother pursues, for Tschersky’s interests are more political, which suits my purpose admirably. Fortunately, I have served much the same function for him from time to time, and he is sufficiently in my debt to be inclined to extend himself on our behalf.” He held out three of the telegrams. “Read these, Guthrie, and tell me what you think when you have done.”
I took the flimsy sheets and stared down at them. “Which shall I start with?”
“The first is from Tyers. Read that one, if you will.” He managed to pace, while the train rattled on through the gathering dusk.
I adjusted the lamp over my settee, squinting to make out the faint letters. I had to remind myself of our code phrases, but once I had done that, I was able to get through the message without difficulty. “Two assassins? Is that likely? Could the Brotherhood have sent more than one, anticipating just such a play as we have undertaken?”
“I have thought it possible that we had to deal with more than one foe, but I did not allow for the possibility that they would be acting in concert. It is bad enough to have two men wanting to harm Herr Schere—that they have coordinated their efforts is far worse. That is most distressing in its ramifications.” He waited while I read the next, from Commander Winslowe, informing MH of the disaster with Prince Oscar’s double. “What perturbs me most in regard to Commander Winslowe’s message is not just the shooting, but the fact that he knew our ploy and was well enough to be able to reach us means that someone is talking about this tactic of ours far more than he ought. By all rights, he should have notified Tyers and allowed him to pass such news on to us.” He clapped his big hands and locked them together. “If I could discover who told him, then we might be in a fair way to unmasking the traitor.”
“Traitor? Isn’t that rather strong language?” I had been thinking of external opposition and enemies, not foes within.
“What else can I call it?” He looked distressed. “Read on, dear boy. There is more for you to see.”
Dutifully I examined the telegram from Superintendent Spencer, and I noticed that he was aware of the delays of the train, seeing sinister intent in this as well as what he represented as conclusive proof that his police were beyond suspicion in the danger to Prince Oscar, whom he insisted on calling “the foreigner,” as if such a designation were a sufficient disguise. “Not very encouraging,” I said when I put it down. “If he will not look to his men, where are we?”
“We will find a way,” said Holmes with great determination. “And late though we are, it may prove to our benefit if our enemies are not wholly aware of our new schedule, which may yet be subject to change again.”
“Do you suppose such a thing will happen?” I asked. “Why should we be delayed?”
“There might be any number of causes, all perfectly natural: there has been considerable rain in the last few weeks; as a result I would not be surprised if there are numerous washouts under tracks, which continue to appear solid but bend or give when the locomotive passes over them. There is also the chance of a tree down, or mudslide blocking the track farther up the line. I was once delayed because a bull had gotten loose and chose to try its horns on the locomotive engine itself. The train might have continued on without delay, but pride and concern for the good opinion of the passengers required most of the carnage be removed before the next station. And, of course, there is always the possibility that someone left a gate open for a large herd of sheep to amble slowly across the tracks in front of another train farther ahead of us. As to wrecks and other mischance, we are rather more familiar with the possibilities, from a crash to a sleeping switchman. The companies rarely choose to announce their mistakes.”
“I take it you have no plans of informing either Superintendent Spencer or Commander Winslowe of any changes of arrival times?” I handed him the telegrams.
“No. I will leave it to the Director of the North Eastern to do that, or so I shall say if I am questioned in this regard. They are the ones responsible for the safety of their passengers, and they have stated they place safety above speed.” He rubbed his chin. “These are the places where we must be diligent. If we are to assume that we were undiscovered until we boarded, then the run to the first station must be safe because there is no way to board before then. I anticipate the locations where we stop may be hazardous, Leeds and Sheffield the more so as we will be taking on water, sand, and coal, which will lengthen our halt.”
“We will
be hard-put to observe all who come aboard, or leave,” I remarked.
Mycroft Holmes nodded. “In addition, there are those curves where the train must slow dramatically. One is very close to Edinburgh and Waverly Station; that may be turned to our advantage. But there are a series of curves after Leicester and more some distance before Edinburgh that will force a reduction in speed that could allow access to the train by anyone waiting nearby and determined enough to risk the jump.”
“That would be a desperate act, sir,” I said.
“Our enemies are desperate men, Guthrie.” He went on, as if thinking aloud. “We must assume that at some point we will be faced with opposition in the train itself. That is, if there is not already an assassin on board. Within the confines of the train we must be alert to any disturbance or distraction. There is no way to know what ruse may be employed to distract us and allow the killer to reach his quarry.”
I did not want to remind him that in the person of Miss Gatspy we already had an assassin on board. “I hope it will not come to that,” I said as I touched my stick-pin to be sure it was properly in place.
“No more than I,” Mycroft Holmes admitted with a hard sigh. “And there is supper, as well. We must be careful when we dine.”
“If you think we must, we shall be,” I said, sorry not to have any opportunity to enjoy the meal waiting for us. “I should think that given Jardine’s murder, poison would not be the method of choice for killing us.”
“Ah, but Guthrie, consider: the poisoner was another passenger, not one of the staff, and poison can be subtle as a knife or a gun cannot; often the victim of poisoning is unaware of what has happened until it is too late, which danger increases when a physician is not available. That is a consideration we must acknowledge. Between Leeds and Carlisle there are precious few stops where first-class medical care may be found; after Carlisle the possibilities are fewer still, and often what care is available must be summoned from a distance, all of which means the victim has a high likelihood of death. Poison is what we must guard against, although we must be alert to all means of attack.” Mycroft Holmes went to stand by the window. “At this speed, reduced as it is, we have little to worry about from an assassin on the ground.”
The Flying Scotsman Page 25
