PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (14 page)

"It
was a warning, Slim, relative to a matter I'm
now
involved in," said Holmes soothingly.

Gilligan's
manner remained hostile toward persons unknown. "I know you
got some ideas, Mr.
'Olmes, but why
don't you let Slim take a pass at
this?"

Oh
dear
, I thought,
if
Holmes allows his number-one lieutenant in the underworld to go
unchecked,
Limehouse and Soho are
due for an uncomfortable time.

"Let's
play a different tune, Slim," said the
sleuth.
"I'll not tolerate Mrs. Hudson or Billy being
placed
in jeopardy, so Bertie and Tiny are on their
way
here now."

The
muscles in Gilligan's jaw relaxed. The great
detective's
remark was not the non sequitur it
might
seem at first glance. He never displayed the
slightest
concern about his personal safety, but any
thought
of harm befalling our kindly landlady or
loyal
page boy filled him with alarm.

Holmes
continued. "You might have a word with
the
boys about what to do and arrange a backup for
them."

Gilligan
nodded, and I knew the reason for the sudden humor in his eyes. With
Burlington Bertie and his brother Tiny on the job, the Coldstream
Guards would have a difficult time
forcing their
way into our domicile.

"Then,"
said Holmes, "you could take a look
around,
Slim. It rather had to be a rooftop. The
bird
has long since flown, but there might be something to find."

"I'll
know where to look, guv," was the cracks
man's
brief reply.

"We
want our ears to the ground, and the
whisper
is gold. Half a million pounds' worth."

Gilligan
nodded. "The bullion heist. There's
naught
in the streets 'bout it save a lot of envious
boyos
who's wishin' they'd pulled the caper."

"See
what you can learn. We'll use the usual contact."

"Righto,
guv. Rest easy. Slim's on ta job."

Gilligan
was gone. The imagination plays one
tricks
and mine was stimulated by Slim's reputa
tion
as the greatest cracksman of his day, but he
never
seemed to arrive and depart like normal folk.
Rather,
he materialized and then vanished in true
genie
fashion. Whatever his peculiarities, I knew
I
could enjoy a night's rest without worry. Slim
and
the boys from Limehouse would throw a net
around
221 B Baker Street. Even as exacting a
tactician
as our former client General Sternways
would
have been forced to concede that the com
mand
post was secure.

Chapter
8

A
Message from Shadrach

THE
FOLLOWING morning I descended to our sit
ting
room somewhat earlier than usual, spurred no
doubt
by the new problem that faced the master
man-hunter.
I had left my friend the night before
musing
while writing cables that would be sent via
Billy
the page boy. I doubted that the sleuth had spent the entire night on
the matter at hand since,
at this point,
he had so little to work with.

Holmes
was absent, which meant that he had
breakfasted
early and gone about certain investiga
tions
that he wished to pursue alone. Mrs. Hudson
informed
me that he had left no message, so I
decided
to brave the outside world myself, there
being
some matters relative to my practice that
required
attention.

Visits
to the offices of Vernier and Goodbody
resulted
in certain patient calls that involved more time than I had
anticipated. Darkness had fallen
when I
returned to 221 B Baker Street. A storm was
brewing
over the great city. Low scud clouds, like
celestial
dragon boats of ghostly Viking raiders,
sailed
majestically overhead. Riding in the teeth of
a
high wind that blew from the direction of Scapa Flow, they were
ponderously bypassing London
to, no
doubt, disgorge their contents on the Cornish
coast
and Land
'
s
End. The air was thick with
moisture and
I assumed the great metropolis was
due
for a washing down before the night was over.
As
I climbed to the door of our first-floor sitting
room,
it crossed my mind that it was a splendid
night
to sit by the fire and work on a recent bit of research. It related
to the possibility of genetic information being passed from one
generation to
the next. While the idea
had come to me relative to
a participant
in the Sacred Sword matter, I had
clung
to it as a possible explanation for some of the
amazing
abilities of Sherlock Holmes.

When
I opened our hall door, I found the fire
crackling
merrily in the hearth. Holmes was seated
at
the desk, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.
"Ah,
Watson, you precede the rain to our chambers."

"Good
thing, too," I muttered, placing my medical bag beside the
cane rack and shrugging myself out of my greatcoat. "The night
gives every indica
tion of being a
rouser."

"A
good time to be within." Holmes indicated a cable open on the
desk. "Especially with material
on
hand to feed that ravenous mechanism called
the
mind."

"
Quid
novi?
"
I asked, making for the bottles on
our sideboard.

Holmes'
eyebrows elevated at my root language
query.
"The news is considerable," he
replied. "With our
lines in the
water, some pedestrian investigation
was
called for, hence my early departure this
morning.
I've interviewed two of the railroad
guards
on the bullion train. Their statements confirmed our thoughts on the
matter. They both recall
sounds that
alerted them."

"The
robbers alighting on the boxcar roof."

"Exactly.
But before they could make note of anything, the smoke bombs were
inside their van
tage point and their
recollections ceased to be of any use."

"Could
the smoke have had a narcotic effect?" I
asked
suddenly.

Holmes
shook his head. "Doubtful. Last night I was attempting to
discover what chemical combination might have been used. To no
avail, I might
add."

"Something
else happened then, for you seem well pleased."

"Have
I become obvious through the years?" The
sleuth
indicated the cable I had noted. "A con
siderable
report from our friend John Bennett,
constable
of Shaw, on the late Ezariah Trelawney."

"
Quid
pro quo
,"
I said without meaning to.

"My,
you are of a scholarly turn this evening," commented Holmes. "A
working arrangement be
tween
elements of law and order is beneficial, as
I'm
sure you agree. Bennett has unearthed inter
esting
possibilities." He indicated the letter again. "I'm trying
to decipher
quid hoc sibi vult
."
There was a twinkle in his eye and I
wished that I had never resorted to the few scraps of Latin patient
instructors had pounded into me.

"What
does that mean?" I asked registering
defeat.

"'What
does
this
mean'
is the exact translation, old chap. Bennett's report might mean a
lot. When
we investigated the death of
Ezariah Trelawney, all
we knew about his
background was his trade,
banking."

"Along
with the blood feud that played such an
important
part in the matter."

"Agreed.
You do recall that Trelawney's asso
ciation
with the bullion matter decided me on ac
cepting
the case?"

"I've
wondered about that."

Holmes
took a cigarette from the desk container.
"I
am too much of a pragmatist to dwell on
thoughts
of a predetermined destiny. However,
oft-times
fate does enter the picture and I chose to
follow
its beckoning finger this time."

I
placed a whiskey and water on the desk for
Holmes
and retreated with my own to the armchair
beside
the fire, my brain awhirl. Despite our long
association,
I had seldom been able to anticipate
his
unerring logic, but the years had made me
conscious
of certain signposts that occasionally
pointed
me down the right path.

"You
think that Trelawney's death is tied up with
the
bullion matter." I took a sip and then rejected
this
idea. "But we solved the banker's murder."

"Did
we?" questioned Holmes. "We discovered
that
Vincent Staley attempted to plant the Trelawney
murder weapon on Horace Ledbetter. He then attacked Ledbetter and was
killed by him. Because of the circumstances, we assumed Staley killed
the
banker, but that fact was never
proven."

"I
doubt if it can be now."

"I'm
forced to agree with that, Watson. However, Ezariah Trelawney was
involved in the shipment of
gold to the
Credit Lyonnais, so I had Constable
Bennett
instigate additional inquiries. Trelawney
was
miserly. As a young man he was with the army
in
the Crimea." Suddenly the sleuth's keen gaze shifted to the
door. Then I heard footfalls on the landing.

"Come
in, Billy," said Holmes as there was a gentle knock.

"'Tis
Inspector MacDonald, sir," said the page
boy
from the half-open door.

"Show
him up, by all means," replied the detec
tive.

I
was amazed at this turn of events. The antici
pated
storm had broken while Holmes and I had
talked
and the wind was blowing at near-gale proportions. Wailing gusts
served as an eerie chorus for the timpani of rain spattering against
the glass
of our Baker Street windows.

It
was a wet and disheveled Inspector Alec MacDonald who entered our
sitting room. As I helped him out of his coat, Holmes stirred up the
hearth fire so that it radiated a
welcome warmth
for the dour Scot. A
comfortable chair and an extra
tumbler
from the sideboard erased MacDonald's scowl, but there was still
considerable dissatisfaction on his rough-hewn face as he
toasted us both
and took a sizeable
draft.

Holmes'
eyes twinkled as he regarded our visi
tor.
"If we've driven the chill from your
bones, old
fellow, possibly we can also
relieve your inner stress. It is obvious your coming tonight was no
idle whim. A troublesome case, perhaps?"