PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (21 page)

He
was at my side in a moment, gazing anxiously
into
my eyes, which might have been a bit moist in
honor
of our opportune reunion.

"Are
you all right, Doctor? Holmes will never
forgive
me if harm has come to you."

"Aside
from a bruised knee, minor contusions, and a damaged ego, tip-top,
old chap." My voice echoed bravado for I was no longer the
paunchy doctor but, in my mind's eye, a veritable d'Artagnan
.
Bravery comes easily when one walks with an
armored
column.

"Then
we'd best be gone. I'll deal with those who
took
you later." Even I, his ally, felt a chill at the
grim
finality in the agent's voice, but a greater chill
followed
this as we both heard a key turn in the
lock.
Orloff flew to the door, but it withstood even
his
strength. There was the sound of a chuckle from
beyond
the portal and then a mocking voice.

"Rest
easy, Mr. Holmes. We'll attend to you and
your
companion later."

Then
there was silence as my eyes met with
Orloff's.
He returned, with a shrug, from the door.
My
heart sank but then curiosity reared its insis
tent
head.
"What does this all mean?"
I queried in a hushed
voice.

"They
baited a trap and sprung it at the wrong
time."
Orloff amended this. "Actually they had no
choice.
Even if they knew I was not Holmes, which
they
did not, they couldn't have me nosing
around."

I
shook my head in complete confusion and
chided
myself for being so obtuse.
"I'm
left at the starting gate, dear chap."

As
he explained, Orloff's eyes were surveying our
cell,
and he moved around it on an inspection tour
much
like the one I had undertaken.

"They
grabbed you outside the inn but made sure
that
your hat remained as evidence. The moment I
realized
you were missing, it took little time to find
the
hat and to learn of a closed carriage that left
Fenley
by the river road with a whirl of wheels and
a
cloud of dust. Picking up the trail was no great
thing,
but when I located this place it seemed
deserted,
which was their intention."

I
had begun to nod at his re-creation. "I was the bait, then, to
lure Holmes to this spot and bag us both."

"They
did not anticipate my presence and even
now
think their ruse has succeeded."

"What
are you doing here, by the way?"

Atop
the bed, looking toward the river, Orloff
shot
me a glance over his shoulder. "Mr. Holmes
always
takes care of his own."

His
response might have seemed enigmatic but I understood. Tiny and
Burlington Bertie, even now,
were
guarding 221 B Baker Street, and when
Holmes
left me to my own devices in Fenley, it was
with
the reassurance that the world's most danger
ous
man was watching out for my interests.

I
discovered a catch in my throat as I thought of
my
eccentric, bohemian friend who could be a trial
to
live with but who was always concerned about the well-being of the
plodding, phlegmatic companion cast his way by fate and the
presence of young Stamford at the Criterion Bar on that certain
day that had become so significant to J. H.
Watson
and Sherlock Holmes.

As
I recovered from my momentary emotion, Orloff's death-dealing hands
had seized the bars of
the windows and
the back of his coat tightened as those amazing shoulders, biceps,
and wrists were
put to work. At first
glance, or even second, Orloff
was
completely misleading in appearance. He was
unusually
broad, though one did not realize it
because
of his grace of movement. His width made
him
seem shorter than he was, while his round,
almost
moon-shaped face gave the impression of a
somewhat
overweight man. There was not an
ounce
of surplus flesh on him, for his bulk was solid
muscle
augmented by reflexes that defied my med
ically
trained mind. He was Orloff, cast from some
unknown
mold that no master hand could recreate.
Suddenly
his swelling muscles relaxed and he
turned
from the bars without a trace of moisture
of
his brow and breathing in his regular, even
cadence.

As
his eyes flashed around our place of confine
ment,
I realized that he had given up on the
window
and was looking elsewhere for a way out.
Concentrating
on the single furnishing of this
barren
place, the security agent elevated the bed
from
the floor and was gazing at its underpinnings. There might have been
a trace of satisfaction in his
expression
as he cast the blanket and thin pallet in
a
corner and studied the two angle bars and two
smaller
crosspieces that formed the rectangular
frame.

"You
have a thought?" I asked.

The
man nodded, gesturing toward the door.
"They
don't want us out, and for the moment, we
don't
want them in."

He
had the frame separated in a moment and,
taking
one of the angle bars, he crossed to the door
and
placed it laterally in the two attachments I had noted previously.

"Not
as wide as the original timber bar but 'twill do," he said with
satisfaction, crossing back to the
window.
"We'll need something to signal with, for
our
rescue will come from the river."

How
he knew this I could not guess, but I
displayed
my pocket-handkerchief. "Will this do?"
From
his expression I deduced that it would not. "It
is
all I have save my monocle."

Orloff's
green eyes brightened. Seizing the eye
piece,
he cast a rapid glance at the sunlight coming
through
the cell window.
"Should work,"
he stated in a matter-of-fact way. He surveyed my figure with a
speculative manner.
"Could you
balance me on your shoulders, Doctor,
for
I've got to be at the window level."

Doubt
was dominant in my mind, and expression
as
well, for muscle weighs more than fat and I
judged
that Orloff tipped the scales at fifteen stone.
Sensing
my thought, he nodded.
"There's
another way." Suddenly he sprang for
the
window, one hand grasping a bar. Orloff never
jumped,
for in motion, he always resembled a
ballet
star. With part of his weight supported by
one
hand, I sensed what he had in mind and got his
legs
around my shoulders, standing beneath him to
provide
some support. Even with Orloff taking
most
of his weight on his arm of steel, my leg
muscles
began to tremble after a while and I was
forced
to let my rescuer down several times so that
I
could recover. I knew what he was doing, of
course.
Using the lens of my monocle to reflect
sunlight,
he was sending intermittent signals to
ward
passing boats in hopes of attracting some
one's
eye. Finally, our efforts were rewarded.

"We've
been spotted," he said. "A boat is swerv
ing
in toward shore."

"Thank
heavens for that," I said, my shirt soaked
with
perspiration and my breath coming in gasps.

Orloff
signaled for me to allow him to drop to the
floor.
"Providence has been doubly generous since
it is
Holmes," he stated, returning
my monocle. Again he sprang upward but this time he had two hands
free and was able to hold himself at
window-height
with ease.

While
I wondered what had alerted the sleuth to
use
the river, Orloff kept me informed as to hap
penings.
"Evidently he commandeered a river tug and
she's fast closing on us." The
throb of powerful
engines was an
accompaniment to his words but they suddenly diminished and I sensed
the river
boat was near to shore.

"Holmes,
it is Orloff," called the security agent.

"What
of Watson?" Though from a distance, I
thought
I sensed a tremor in my friend's voice.

"With
me and all right."

"Anyone
else around?"

"Don't
know. If they are hidden out front, this
noise
must have alerted them. I'd keep an eye
cocked."

After
a short pause, Holmes spoke again. "I'll
work
my way around to the road and try and
release
you."

"Wait,"
I cried. "There could be too many of
them."

"I've
another thought," called the security agent to Holmes, "if
you've a stout line available and the
means
of getting it to us."

There
was a mumble of voices from the river and
then
Holmes replied.
"That can be done.
You've a mind to try the
window."

Orloff
did not answer but motioned for me to
stand
clear of the aperture, though I was well
below
it. Perhaps my nerves were playing me
tricks,
but I thought I sensed movement from
beyond
the door to our place of confinement.
Suddenly
Orloff pulled himself as close to the
window
as possible and his right hand snaked
between
the bars, reaching outward. In a moment
it
reappeared with a round object clutched in his
fingers.
I recognized it as the weighted end of a heaving line as Orloff
dropped to the floor, reeling
in the
light line. Motioning toward the other angle bar of the demolished
bed frame, Orloff pulled in the end of a hawser to which the heaving
line had
been attached with a running
hitch. He took the
piece of the bed
frame from me, running the hawser
around
it. The sound of the tug's engines had
picked
up tempo and I sensed that she was being
maneuvered
around to present her stern to the shoreline. Orloff had the hawser
secured around
the angle bar with an
anchor bend and he pulled himself up to the window, placing the bar
across
the width of the opening. There
was the sound of a
key turning a lock
and the door behind us opened slightly but the crossbar held it
firmly and there
was a muffled curse and
then a crash as a body
tried to force it
inward.

"Full
speed," shouted Orloff. There was a deep-
throated
roar from the tug's engines and the haw
ser
tightened, pulling the frame piece of the bed
against
the window bars. Outside, the boat's en
gines
were protesting with wheezes and clankings,
trying
with twin screws to force the tug into
motion.
Orloff, hanging from the window by one hand, reached down and grasped
me under the arm
with his other.
Suddenly I was in the air.