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Holed
up at Charing Cross during the Blitz in
London,
Frank Thomas discovered a battered
tin
dispatch box crammed with papers. Here
were
Dr. Watson's records of unpublished
cases
by the world-famous detective, Sherlock
Holmes.
After years of legal battles, Frank
Thomas
has now brought to light.

SHER
LOCK
HOLMES AND THE TREASURE
TRAIN,
adapted from the memoirs of John H.
Watson,
M.D.

Chapter
1

The
Refusal

WHEN
MY FRIEND Sherlock Holmes and I were
finally
ushered into the conference room of the Birmingham and Northern
Railroad, I must have shown surprise. The building that housed the
great
transportation company shared the
yellow-brick
sameness of its neighbors
in the Waterloo area
.
Its
nerve center was, however, a far cry
from early nineteenth-century architecture, being reminiscent of the
great hall of an ancient feudal keep. Stucco
walls
soared better than two stories to a curved
ceiling
of stout timbers joined by cast-iron straps.
The
door to this impressive chamber was of carved oak. A massive
fireplace into which I could have
stepped
without bending my head dominated one
wall.
Around it, flintlock muskets and swords of
various
ages hung vertically. In their midst, on a
short
staff, was a regimental banner, which I
judged
to be Russian, a captured memento of the Crimea. In front of the
fireplace was a long trestle table flanked by benches. A large
Jacobean arm
chair was positioned at
each end. The oak gleamed of oil and the flickering light of burning
logs threw
dancing shadows on the table
and adjacent arti
facts. Twin lighting
fixtures hung from chain hoists
over
each end of the table and provided the only
modern
touch to a scene that provoked an im
mediate
impression of solidity and grandeur.

Under
different circumstances I might have been
prompted
to pose questions regarding the many
obviously
authentic mementos that were the warp
and
woof of the room's character, as might Holmes,
as
he had indulged in a flirtation with medieval architecture at one
time. However this was not to
be, for
things took a different turn—and not one for
the
better, I should add.

The
whole affair had gotten off to a bad start,
beginning
with the somewhat peremptory sum
mons to
the B & N building. At the time I had been
surprised
when the master sleuth abandoned our
chambers
at 221B Baker Street to come to the
headquarters
of the rail empire, though its president, Alvidon Daniel
Chasseur, was a potential client of acknowledged solvency. Upon
arrival at
the formerly select
residential neighborhood, now destroyed by the coming of the
railways, we had
been allowed to cool
our heels in a drafty outer
office while
news of our arrival was relayed
through
a chain of command. Holmes, accustomed
to
being welcomed with red-carpet gratitude,
adopted
an imperious attitude toward the entire
proceedings,
which was not soothed by the manner
of
Mr. Chasseur or his board of directors, for such is
what
I judged the others seated at the table to be.

The
rail tycoon, hunched in one of the armchairs,
waved
us toward a free space on the bench at his left while concluding some
words with a grizzled
man on his
immediate right. Facing him, at the
other
end of the long table, was a fair and youngish-
looking
chap who had the grace to rise at our
arrival.
His face was clean-shaven and rugged. I judged him to be in his early
thirties, which made
him the youngest
man in the room.

Having
concluded his comments to his nearest
employee,
Chasseur now deigned to devote his
attention
to Holmes.

As
he brushed back an errant wisp of white hair,
the
tycoon fastened large, rather myopic eyes on
Holmes
in an abrupt manner, which I was sure had
struck
terror in friends and adversaries as well on numerous occasions.
Holmes, his face impassive,
returned the
stare without a flicker of emotion. The
financier
never so much as favored me with a
glance.
I was part of the furniture, as were his
associates
around the table, though he did single
one
out at this point.

"Mr.
Holmes, we wish to discuss the matter of the
gold
shipment stolen from the Birmingham and
Northern's
special flyer but a short time ago. It was
our
security chief, Richard Ledger, who brought
your
name to my attention."

A
flick of a bony forefinger indicated the youngish
man
I had noted at the other end of the table.
Chasseur
paused as though expecting an expression
of
gratitude from Holmes and, when none was forthcoming, continued, his
voice dry and rather grating.

"My
first impulse was to enlist the aid of the world's foremost
detective, Monsieur Alphonse
Bertillon,
since the French have some involvement in this matter. My second
thought was one of our
Scotland Yard
inspectors, like Lestrade, who do involve themselves in problems
other than their official activities on occasion."

Chasseur
again paused to allow the fact to sink in
that
Sherlock Holmes was but a third choice
foisted
on him. I took the moment to bid an adieu
to
the matter of the B & N Railroad. This despite
the
fact that we had not been involved in a
profitable
case for some time. Neither the pursuit
of
the Golden Bird nor the adventure involving the Sacred Sword had
resulted in a fee, while incurring
considerable
expense. However, Chasseur had effectively shunted my friend from the
gold robbery
and he might better have
been occupied waving a red flag in a bullring in Toledo. Had we been
in some earlier time, when men were prone to vent
their
spleen with violent action, I could easily
picture
Holmes tearing one of the swords from the
wall
and carving Chasseur up like a Christmas
goose.
Instead, he placidly viewed the aged financier. The silence
became nerve-racking and those
around
the table stirred uneasily. Finally Chasseur
had
to give in to the mood of the moment and
added
to his comments, though in a slightly more
conciliatory
tone.

"Ledger
has considerable faith in your ability, Mr. Holmes. He was formerly
with the army of
India and is the finest
big-game hunter in the
world."

By
this time, I was as nervous as a cat and
denied,
with effort, the impulse to cross my legs or
make
some movement that would relieve the tense
ness
that had crept, nay galloped, into the scene. To my relief, Holmes
finally contributed to the conver
sation,
and in an even tone of voice, which must
have
cost him dearly.

"It
has been said that one should follow first
impulses,
and relative to that, I shall make some mention of matters which
might prove helpful.
Gratis, of course."

Unable
to divine the direction of the wind, the financier was now gazing at
Holmes with the first
shadow of surprise
infiltrating his large eyes.

"The
esteemed Bertillon's forte is identification based on his
Bertillonage system. He is not an 'in the field' operative. Lestrade
is no doubt already
involved in your
affair since he seems to have a way
of
getting assigned to the most newsworthy cases.
If
you consider additional Scotland Yard assis
tance,
you might think of Hopkins or Gregson or
Alec
MacDonald, who gives evidence of becoming
the
best of the lot. I know of all their work, being a
consulting
detective."

"I
am not familiar with that title," said Chasseur
quickly.

"No
surprise since I am the only one in the world.
A
consulting detective has his services solicited by
other
professionals when they arrive at dead ends. I
have
but recently solved a little matter for Francis
le
Villard, a compatriot of Bertillon. A matter, I might add, which the
S
û
ret
é
Nationale was com
pletely incapable
of dealing with."

Chasseur
made as though to comment, but
Holmes
was in full stride now and I relaxed,
somewhat
gleefully, anticipating the chips to fall
from
the tycoon's oak under the blows of Holmes'
verbal
ax.

"In
dealings with whatever investigatory means
you
choose, I suggest accuracy in your reports."

Chasseur's
eyes grew even larger with a combina
tion
of amazement and anger. "I am scrupulous in that regard,"
he said, and would have said more if
given
the chance.

"A
statement made in haste, sir. But a moment
ago
you referred to Mr. Ledger as the finest big-game hunter in the
world. The gentleman would,
I'm sure,
agree that Colonel Sebastian Moran occupies that niche."

Ledger
rapidly confirmed the sleuth's contention.
"Moran,
of course, is unique," he stated with a
deferential
nod of his head toward Holmes.

"Was,"
corrected the sleuth. "May I remind you
that
the infamous colonel some time back aban
doned
big game for different prey. I was his target,
which
is why he now languishes behind bars,
where
I put him."

Holmes
must have felt that this dramatic an
nouncement
was as good an exit line as any, for he
rose
to his feet and I hastened to match his
movements.
There was a humorous touch to the moment. The directors of the
railroad and their
president resembled a
school of guppies, every man
regarding
us with a slack jaw.

"Now,
gentlemen, my associate and I bid you
good
day."