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Ledger
did take time aiming now. Then the shot
rang
out and the burning end of the cigarette was no more as Chasseur
turned toward the audience with a triumphant smile. He rejoined the
excited
throng to the tune of hearty
cheers, this time as
much for him as for
Ledger.

Holmes
was exhibiting a sardonic smile. "The
old
reprobate carried it off like a circus ringmas
ter,"
he stated.

"It
was an impressive piece of showmanship,
Holmes."

"I'll
not say you nay on that. Has a thought been
nagging
at you?"

"The
candle in our sitting room?"

"Exactly.
I don't think Ledger would have missed
the
wick."

I
agreed quickly. Actually, that was not the
thought
that had come to my mind at all.

Chapter
13

Watson's
Investigation,
Holmes'
Revelations

THROUGH
THE mass of spectators, all now stand
ing
and discussing the happenings, I noted Claymore Frisbee making his
way purposefully in our
direction. Some
sort of conference with the banker
was
overdue, and I could add little to it. So I took a
bold
step and spoke to Holmes hurriedly.

"I
have an idea. Would it be inconvenient if I took
this
time to pursue it?"

"By
no means," responded my friend. There was
a
faint twinkle in his intense eyes and he cocked
his
head slightly, surveying me. "You know my
methods,
Watson. Do make use of them. In conjunc
tion
with your talents, of course."

"Now
see here, Holmes
. . ."

"I'm
serious. If you're on the scent of something,
by
all means have at it. I'll see you later at Baker Street."

Holmes
turned to wave a greeting at the ap
proaching
Frisbee, then returned his attention to
me.
"Good hunting, old friend."

Well
,
I thought as I made my way inside the
clubhouse,
you've stuck your neck out this time,
Watson. Things will get sticky if
you botch it, so
have your wits
about you.

A
solicitous club attendant readily gave me the
information
I requested and shortly thereafter I
found
myself in the basement of the club, outside a small room which I had
been informed was given
over to the star
performer of the Wellington gun squad.

Richard
Ledger was already within, having re
moved
himself from his many admirers promptly.
But
then it was Alvidon Chasseur who was taking
the
bows, a pleasure he had paid for; and I judged
that
he paid Ledger well.

The
marksman recognized me immediately and invited me to enter his
dressing room. Trying to
emulate Holmes,
I bid my eyes make note of the
surroundings,
hoping to implant them upon a
mental
photographic plate. It was a small place,
partitioned
off like numerous others for the con
venience
of club members, which Ledger certainly
was,
though it was not his money paying the dues. There was a locker for
hanging clothes, since the rifle squad affected costumes bearing the
Welling
ton insignia. A cupboard was
the largest piece of
furniture, the top
section being a rack for rifles with glass doors secured by an
efficient-looking lock. A
drawer
underneath was closed and also sported a
lock.
I suspected that it contained an assortment of
small
arms.

On
a square table there were tools, and I noted
a
bullet
mold and a small but serviceable-looking
vise,
which gave me a thought.

"For
half loads?" I asked, indicating the equipment.

"Sometimes
handy," admitted Ledger. He was
slipping
into his suit coat and shot a sudden look at
me
as though making up his mind.
"You
see how it is, Doctor. There's not just the
shooting
involved."

"A
bit of a side show as well," I hazarded.

The
man's pale blue eyes were disconcerting, but
if
one overlooked them, his manner was forthright and friendly.
Evidently, he sensed a kindred spirit in me.

"I
have to be ready to change the act, you see. If
it's
not long guns, there's naught left but side arms
and
for fancy work, half loads are helpful."

"Less
recoil for greater accuracy."

The
fact that I understood seemed to please him.
"Tricks
of the trade." He shifted subjects. "Can
you
talk about the treasure train matter?"

His
directness was refreshing. Leaning against
the
table, he seemed relaxed; but I knew I was in
the
presence of a coiled spring. The man reflected his profession:
dangerous, certainly ruthless if nec
essary,
but his youth dissipated any suggestion of
malevolence.
I will grant that I rank with the
gullible,
certainly in comparison to Holmes. Yet I felt that Ledger was
sincere, his mood tinged by a
genuine
regret—not for his performance of the day,
but
relative to the matter of the stolen gold.

I
decided to take a chance. My companion of so
many
years had once said that to learn something
one
should tell something, so I became revealing.

"Sherlock
Holmes seems intrigued by this gun
club
competition that has sprung up."

"The
trained seals." There was a twist to Ledger's
mouth.
"I shouldn't complain, for it's what got me my job with the
railroad; and marksmanship competition is nothing new. The other
stuff, like the cigarette bit, is just so much lagniappe to entertain
the people."

I
must have been regarding him rather
intently,
for he shifted position,
possibly a nervous move
ment, and
was now seated on the table.
"Does
Mr. Holmes associate the Wellington Club
with
the robbery?"

I
shook my head promptly. "There's quite a few gun clubs. Holmes
is looking for a lead as to who actually pulled off the robbery. The
soldiers in the
field, as 'twere."

This
struck a chord within Ledger.
"Now
I see it. Ex-military working for business firms, meeting people at
the clubs; they could have
caught wind
of the treasure train." Suddenly he shook his head. "From
what I've heard of Mr.
Holmes, he's not
one for just theorizing. There must
be
something more."

I
decided to plunge in deeper. "A shot was fired at
our
sitting room. Holmes contends that it was not
an
assassination attempt, but it had to be done by a
sharpshooter."

Those
light blue eyes remained devoid of emo
tion,
though a slight smile curled Ledger's lips.
"That
puts me in the front ranks, I suppose?"

"I
think not. Besides, it was a long shot. I doubt if
that
Beals revolving rifle you fancy could have
carried
far enough."

He
was not offended. "You noticed that did you,
Doctor?"
Ledger became silent, and I sensed he was
considering
a thought. Then he continued: "If there's some marksman playing
games, it does
point a finger at the gun
clubs. Does Mr. Holmes
know how the
robbery was executed?"

I
decided not to carry my revelations too far.
"I've
a thought that he's got a pretty good idea."
Had
I said no, it would have been an insult to
Holmes,
and Ledger wouldn't have believed me
anyway.

"I
haven't. Don't feel good about it either. If I'd
done
my job right
. . ."
His voice dwindled away,
and then he
rose from his half-seated position.
"Would
there be something that I could do, Doc
tor?"

"You
could consider Holmes' idea about your marksman colleagues," I
replied with an authorita
tive tone
that startled me.

"I
will," he said.

That
was the end of our meeting but not of my investigations.

———
«»———«»———«»———

The
waning sun had dropped below the horizon,
leaving
a momentary afterglow as I alighted from a
hansom
at 221 B Baker Street.

As
I entered the sitting room, the sleuth was
seated
at his desk, its surface cluttered with cables and penned notations.
Not the cold, thinking ma
chine, he,
but more the general, assaying reports
from
the front. He seemed pleased, for he slapped
the
desktop with an open palm and exhibited a
wide
smile.

"By
George, Watson, I was wagering on you, and
from
your appearance, I know that victory has graced your banners."

"I
do think I've stumbled onto something,
Holmes."

"About
Ledger, of course."

Being
in the process of removing my greatcoat, I
almost
dropped it in surprise.
"A trip to
the Wellington Club competition
sparks
you into action. Who was there connected
with
the treasure train matter? Alvidon Chasseur
and
Claymore Frisbee, but we can dismiss both, for
there
was nothing revelatory regarding them. We have left Richard Ledger,
whose prowess with
firearms astonished
even me."

"It
was his manner, you see."

"Capital,
Watson. It prompted you to suspect
that
the deadly marksman is an imposter and not
Richard
Ledger, formerly of the army of India, at
all."

The
froth of my manner was, frostbitten by
reality.
Confound it, I could never get ahead of the
man.
As I lowered myself into the cane-bottom Restoration chair, my sudden
despondency had to
be apparent and
Holmes seized upon it.

"Come
now, my stab at the truth was ill-con
ceived,
for I do not know that for a fact and suspect
that
you do. Relate the path that your investigation
followed."

I
made a weary gesture with one hand. "What
use?
You already know."

"Suspect.
A far cry from know. A report, good
Watson,
if you please."