PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (11 page)

"How
far up the grade is the bridge?"

Since
no such feat of engineering was visible as
yet,
I well understood the expression of surprise on
Jack's
face.

"You've
been here before," he said with sudden
understanding.

"Never
to my knowledge," replied Holmes.

"Then
'owd' you know . . ." Our driver's voice
dwindled
out and he shot another glance over his
shoulder.
There was a shrewd look in his eye.
"Guess
you're as good as they say, all right. There
is
a bridge, sir, as you shall shortly see. I take it
that's
what you're interested in."

"For
the moment." The matter dropped there. I
felt
prompted to inquire of Holmes but chose to
follow
the driver's example. My friend would have
probably
responded with one of his pet phrases
like,
"It had to be, old fellow," which seemed to
explain
everything to him but was of scant use to
me.

Dandy
Jack guided his four-wheeler in a zigzag
course
through country lanes and soon we were riding adjacent to the rails
and around the curve.
Ahead loomed a
vehicular bridge necessitated by a
main
road stretching south to Colchester, I as
sumed.

When
we reached that point in the lane closest to
the
bridge, our driver reined in the bay and helped
us
down from our seats. Holmes requested Dandy
Jack
to accompany us, and he secured the horse's
reins
to a tree and caught up quick enough as we
made
our way across pastureland to the bridge.
Holmes
followed the roadbed under the overpass, his eyes surveying the span
above us, and then we were on the other side. My friend seemed to be
measuring the distance from the tracks
to the top of
the overpass and then he
cast his eye around the
open ground
surrounding us on both sides. In the
season
this portion was tilled and for this reason
Holmes
spied what he was looking for. It was a
straight
length of wood that was quite dead and
tapered
at one end. Formerly a beanpole, no doubt,
that
had been thrown aside because of the brittleness
of the old wood. Evidently it would serve
Holmes'
purpose, for he secured it and brought
it
to the point of the roadbed directly under the
edge
of the overpass. Measuring with his eyes, he
whipped
a handkerchief from the pocket of his
traveling
ulster and tied it to the pole. Needless to
say,
Dandy Jack and I were regarding him with
some
mystification.

As
he righted the pole under the bridge, he did
offer
an explanation. "From here to the handkerchief represents
the height of the boxcar from the
ground."

"What
about the armored cubicle?" I exclaimed,
with
a sudden idea as to what he was about.

"That
does not figure in my calculations."
Holmes
indicated for Dandy Jack to hold the pole in the position he had
placed it and stepped back,
his eye
swiveling from the handkerchief to the top
of
the bridge. "Hmmmm, about seven feet to the under portion of the
span and another five feet to the parapet of the bridge. A bit more
distance than
I had figured, but it
could be done."

Positioning
himself directly underneath the edge
of
the bridge, he marched down the track with his
measured
stride for a short distance. He then
stopped,
turned, and gazed at the top of the bridge,
nodding
in seeming satisfaction. Returning,
Holmes
gestured for Dandy Jack to lower the pole,
and
he retrieved his handkerchief from it.

"Is
that the shortest way to the bridge?" he
asked,
indicating a sharp slope to the south of the
tracks.

Openmouthed,
our driver nodded.

"But
a moment, gentlemen, and I will rejoin
you,"
said the sleuth, making for the hillside. As he swarmed up the
incline with no apparent difficulty,
Dandy
Jack sidled over toward me, all the while
watching
Holmes' figure with a somewhat
alarmed
expression.

"'E
don't say much, does 'e?"

"On
the contrary, he can be quite loquacious," I replied with, I
fear, the smugness of one dealing
with a
familiar subject. "It's just that he's a bit hard
to
understand," I added.

"That
I can believe," the man growled.

"It
is all very plain to him," I exclaimed some
what
defensively.

Dandy
Jack's grin came to the rescue of his
bafflement.
"'Tis glad I am, sir, that it's plain to
someone."

This
seemed to cover the subject and we re
mained
silent until Holmes returned shortly thereafter. I noted, with envy,
that he was not even breathing deeply.

"Back
to the carriage, lads," he ordered, and
there
was a pleased expression on his usually
inscrutable
features. Dandy Jack and I followed the
sleuth's
long strides. When we reached the four-
wheeler,
Holmes had a question.
"How close
can you get us to the spur line?"

"Iffen
I goes 'round by the old mine, I can drive
right
to the end of it," was Dandy Jack's reply.

"Capital.
The junction of the feeder line with the
main
track has little to tell us," said Holmes.

"First
time I knew rail track could tell me
anythin',"
said Jack, and promptly lapsed into
silence.
I sensed there was something about
Holmes
that made him nervous.

Our
route involved a number of turns and the gentle curves that country
roads are prone to have,
and I
completely lost any sense of direction. When
we
arrived at a cleared area with several boarded-
up
and dilapidated wooden buildings, a rail bed
that
ended at a sizeable pile of boulders relocated
my
directional bug. The spur line went in a straight
northeast
direction, placing the main line in my mind. The clearing had been
hewn from a heavily timbered area, and already second growth was
making a considerable showing. A small
hill close
to the end of tracks was
studded with rocky outcroppings and there was a sizeable opening in
its side, now shielded by loose rock.
This had to be
the abandoned tin mine.

While
Holmes was busy scrutinizing the ground
around
the termination point of the spur line, I
walked
closer to the mine entrance. It seemed that wooden supports within
had finally given up the
ghost. Action
of rain and weather had resulted in a
cave-in
at the mouth of the digging. A small boy
might
have worked his way within, but I certainly
could
not, nor did I wish to, for another shifting of
the
hillside might have entombed me. I was glad to
rejoin
Holmes, who had straightened from the semi-crouch in which he had
been inspecting the
area. Words were
unnecessary. His manner told me
that any
clue that might have been seduced by his
uncanny
powers of observation into a thin thread
of
revelation and thence into fabric for a garment of
truth
had been taken or trampled by the heavy-
footed
minions of the law who preceded us to this
spot.

Never
at a loss in finding other avenues of investigation, Holmes brought
his attention to bear
on Dandy Jack, he
being the expert on the locale.
"The
boxcar was found right at the end of track?"
he
asked that worthy.

An
affirmative nod was the reply.

"An
uncanny bit of figuring," said the sleuth, and
then
chose to confide in our driver.
"The
boxcar with the gold was separated from
the
rest of the train on the upgrade. Gravity caused
it
to roll backward, picking up enough speed to carry it to the spur
line and then right here. How far would you say?" he asked,
regarding Dandy Jack intently.

"Good
half mile." Drawn into the recreation, the
man
contributed another thought after a moment.
"If
the freight carrier was goin' a mite fast, those
rocks
would have stopped it." He indicated the boulders I had noted
earlier. "Though I don't recall
a
mention of one end bein' bunged in. There's a
slight
downgrade in the spur line, which you've
noticed."

Holmes
indicated that he had.

"They
could ha' levered her here had they
wished.
A coupla stout timbers would ha' done it."

"And
stout backs." My friend seemed dissatisfied.
"But
why when they could just as well have driven the wagon to wherever it
stopped? It was a wagon,
wasn't it?"

His
keen eyes had never left Dandy Jack.

"Aye.
Iron-tired wheels. The tracks was plain
when
the railroad police and Constable Sindelar
got
here from Brent."

"You
heard about it." Holmes' statement had the overtones of a
question.

"I
come later to 'ave a peek. 'Twas but one
wagon,
two horses."

"It
was a heavy load. All right, Jack, what would
you
have done with half a million in gold ingots?"

"Different
from them, it would have been. A wagonload of hay outward-bound in
one direction.
Some feed bags in
another. The safest of the lot, a
load
of manure, taking a third route."

"With
gold ingots riding under the loads," said
the
sleuth, nodding as if in agreement with this
idea.
"Might they not have done that? Divided
the
booty further along the line?"
Holmes then sug
gested.

Dandy
Jack's denial was firm. "There was not
that
much traffic at the time. I know pretty much everybody hereabout.
Iffen it was outsiders, some
body
would have noticed them."

"There
were no locals involved. You're sure of
that?"

"Very
sure, Mr. Holmes." This was the only time Dandy Jack used my
friend's name and a flicker in
his
guarded eyes showed that he regretted it. There
was
no reaction from my friend at this breech of
etiquette.
Rather, he seemed prepared to accept
Dandy
Jack's statement.

"Then
how did they do it with but one wagon?"

Our
driver shrugged. "'Tis a point that's puzzled
me."

"From
a professional standpoint," said Holmes
dryly.

Suddenly
the sleuth whirled and set out toward
the
main line, his long strides eating up distance.
Dandy
Jack and I looked at each other for a
moment
questioningly, and then I shrugged and
followed
in Holmes' footsteps with our driver by
my
side. My judgment of distance is faulty, but it
seemed
like less than a quarter of a mile hike to the
main
line, where we found Holmes inspecting the junction point with his
magnifying glass. Arising,
he brushed
off his knees. A look at Dandy Jack
evidently
carried a message and the man secured a
metal
bar from a wooden box beside the track. Using it, he activated the
switching mechanism
and I noted the iron
tracks shift. Holmes reached
down with a
finger and straightened to rub it
against
his thumb.