PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (13 page)

"The
bullet did not come from across the street or down the block, but
from a more distant point.
Despite the
high-velocity weapon used, the marks
man
had to allow for a curvature of flight and yet he was able to hit the
candle, a slight miscalcula
tion on
his part?"

"Miscalculation?"
I echoed in an alarmed tone.

"He
meant to hit the wick, you see. What a
dramatic
message that would have been."

"Message?
Now see here, Holmes
. . ."

"The
bullet was just that, Watson, and delivered
with
more speed and, indeed, impact that a cable
or
letter. 'See here, Sherlock Holmes, you are but
mortal
and can be snuffed out as easily as this
candle.'"

This
gave me pause, for now I understood
Holmes
'
line of thinking. Whilst I mused, the
sleuth
took the messages he had scrawled and went
again
to the landing to call Billy.
More
cables
, I
thought,
and then another idea hit me. There was
nothing
on my friend's schedule at the moment
save
the matter of the treasure train. As near as I
could
figure, we had learned precious little about it
up
to this point. Yet someone was sufficiently
concerned
about the investigation to indulge in a
striking
gesture indeed. I resolved to try and ferret out the missing pieces
that Holmes must be privy
to but I was
not.

Upon
his return, I took a stern stand.
"See
here, Holmes, I can find no flaw in your
reasoning."

"I'm
relieved about that," was his dry reply.
There
was a twinkle in his eyes, but I did not allow
it
to deter me.

"You
must have learned something today and
I'm
blessed if I can see what it was."

"Because
of the warning, you mean. Good
thinking."

The
sleuth's eyes wandered to the window again
and
back to the floor from which he had extracted
the
spent slug.
"We must instigate some
repairs, Watson, with
out Mrs. Hudson's
knowledge. If the matter of the
shot in
the night ever becomes known to the dear
woman,
I fear her sleep will be disturbed for weeks
to
come."

"The
case, Holmes!" I sputtered with exasperation.

"Ledger
showed us the special freight this morn
ing.
Did something strike you?"

I
shook my head.

"It
did me, but then I was looking for corrobora
tive
evidence for a theory I had already evolved. Let
us
accept two basic assumptions and progress from
there.
First, Ledger was not lying to us. Since we can so easily check his
words, it would not seem
reasonable for
him to fabricate. Therefore, the
robbers
did not gain access to the train in the
freight
yards. Two, the guards on the freight were trustworthy. We shall
certainly confirm this, but if
they were
involved in the theft, no mystery exists."

As
Holmes secured his clay pipe from the mantel,
I
muttered that his assumptions seemed, almost certainly, correct.

"All
right," he continued. "The robbery occurred
during
the trip, in the area of the village of Brent. Considering the speed
of the freight and the position of the riflemen guarding it,
there was no way
the thieves could have
gotten on the train save from above."

Holmes'
careful investigation of the bridge out
side
of Brent had alerted me to this and I merely
nodded.

"A
simple arithmetic calculation proves it. We
secured
the distance from the parapet of the bridge
to
the top of the freight car."

"You
estimated that at twelve feet."

Holmes
continued through a cloud of smoke.
"Let
us assume two men dropped from the bridge
to
the train top. It was a moving target and they
had
to land at just the right spot to shove the smoke
bombs
into the armored cubicle before the guards
recovered
their wits and started shooting. They couldn't just jump at the spot
they hoped to land.
They had to lead
their target, as the expression
goes."

I
must have been regarding Holmes blankly, for
he
explained further.

"Consider
the shot just fired through the window,
Watson.
The marksman didn't aim at the candle,
but
above it—to allow for the effect of gravity on
the
bullet. In a similar manner, the train robbers had to anticipate
their leap to the moving freight
car."

"A
moment," I said with a sudden thought. "The
white
paint on the forward part of the railroad
car."

Holmes
exhibited that small-boy look of delight
that
was reserved for those moments when I
chimed
in with his thinking.
"Exactly. Now
we have a formula. The distance
they
dropped, the rate of descent of a falling object,
the
speed of the train. I paced off the distance from
the
paint mark to the rear of the freight car with
due
consideration for where I thought the robbers landed. My calculations
are rough, but I am satis
fied that
the white line was their signal to leap from
the
bridge."

"You
were looking for something like that since
you'd
already decided that they had come from above." I made haste to
add what was for me a
rather inspired
bit of reasoning. "Oft-times you
have
noted that whenever all else proves impossible, what remains
must be true. They had to come
from
above, no other direction being possible."

"Watson,
you never fail to amaze me." He was joshing, of course, but I
was so enthused that I did
not let it
faze me until a second thought cast
doubts,
as second thoughts so often do.

"Your
recreation is up to your highest standards,
Holmes,
but dashed if I see where it has been
revealing."

"Don't
you? Give it a try, old fellow."

I
certainly did and suddenly, somewhat to my
surprise,
a thought struck me.
"Why, of
course. Whoever robbed the train had to
have
access to the freight cars well in advance."

"Right,
Watson. Ledger said that Alvidon Chas
seur
was responsible for the paint mark and, in the rush, it was not
completely removed. I inspected it
rather
closely and don't choose to agree with him."

"One
moment," I exclaimed, trying to sort out
my
mixed up thoughts. "Chasseur had a rectangle
painted
as a guide to the construction of the
armored
cubicle . . . then it was decided to alter its position and the mark
was partially painted
out."

"That's
what Ledger said. However, I scraped off
some
of the white paint. I think the marking was
completely
painted out."

"Then
someone renewed that particular portion
to
serve as an eye marker for the robbers," I said
breathlessly.

My
friend nodded. "Again we have evidence of
meticulous
planning. However, I dwell on the
obvious.
The robbery succeeded, which speaks well
for
the ingenuity of its architect if not for his moral
code."

Holmes
rose from his armchair and walked
toward
the windows, his chin on his chest. He must
have
noted my instinctive reaction of alarm, for he
reversed
his direction and paced in a circle around the center of the room. He
had once told me that a
coffin would
make a superior place to lie in silence
and
solitude and wrestle with a problem. That was
but
his mood of the moment, for I knew that many
times
he liked to think on his feet.

Events
did not allow him to wear a furrow in our
carpet
as he pondered, nor did I expect them to. My
friend,
no doubt to calm my panic, had made light
of
our leaden intruder that had come at us from the
darkness
of the night, but I knew he took it as a personal affront. The
thought of counterattack had
to be in
his mind and I was not surprised when
there
was the sound of footsteps on the seventeen
steps
leading to the landing and Billy ushered in
the
wise-eyed Slim Gilligan, select member of what
I
chose to call the inside group.

A
cloth cap was at a jaunty angle on his head, and
an
unlit cigarette was tucked behind one ear. A
heavy
black sweater served as his coat, no surprise
since
Slim eschewed clothing of a bulky nature
because
getting in and out of places was his
greatest
talent. His attire always had a streamlined look, devoid of anything
that might catch on a projection or slow him down. His movements had
an oily grace and he never seemed
rushed, though I
knew of only one man
who could, when necessary,
move faster
and that man was not Holmes.

"Evenin',
guv. What's on the slate tonight?"

Holmes
gestured toward the particles of glass still on the rug by the
window. Slim's lips pursed
for a brief
moment. From him, that was akin to a
broad
gesture of astonishment from someone else.
He
cat-footed his way to the window, peering at the
shattered
pane briefly from the side of the drape as
though
he knew what he'd find. When he turned
back,
there was a tightening of his jaw muscles.

"Fired
from a distance. Judging from the shards
of
glass, a smallish bullet, I'd say."

Holmes
retrieved the lead slug from the desktop and tossed it to the
cracksman, whose unusually
long hand
swallowed it in midair. He stood turning
the
lead pellet between his talented fingers for a
moment.
"Not my line, guv, but I'd say it's foreign
make."

"Mauser
is my guess," replied Holmes. Those were the first words he'd
spoken since the former
safecracker had
entered the room. With Slim,
Holmes
seldom had to explain much.

The
man's large brown eyes were now on me.
"Glad
to see you is tip-top, Doc." His jaunty smile was momentary and
from habit. His features had a
grim
quality as he regarded my friend again.

"We
can't 'ave this, you know." It was the first
time
I had actually seen Gilligan angry and one had
to
look closely to come to that conclusion. He
seemed
to consider the shot fired at the sacred
confines
of our dwelling as a personal insult.