PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (32 page)

There
was a philosophical acceptance in his eyes
along
with a tinge of sadness. "Ledger's dead and
I'm
alive."

Holmes
had strolled in the direction of the rock-
clogged
entrance to the abandoned mine. I sur
mised
that the pseudo-soldier appreciated the ab
sence
of further questions regarding his, shall we
say,
colorful background. He now posed a question
of
his own.

"What
were they doing here, Mr. Holmes?" He
gestured
toward the hilltop, and I winced at the
thought
of the three corpses growing cold in the
afternoon
sun.

"They
were sent to remove evidence," replied the
sleuth.
"We'd best get started on the job at hand,
for
we can do some of it at least."

Holmes
leaned the Beals rifle against a rock and
began
to remove his coat. I judged what he was
about
and started to do the same, as did our
companion,
but Holmes had another thought.

"Sir,"
he said, "and for want of another name, I
must
call you that; in a short time there will be
others
present. It might be expedient if you are not here."

The
imposter could not suppress an exclamation
of
surprise. "You're letting me go? What of the gold
robbery?"

"You
were no part of that," said Holmes.
"Though
it is my thought that you might put some
distance
between yourself and England."

Holmes
overrode a half-formed interruption of
mine.
"Not that I'll be after you, but it is
possible that
someone else knows of your
masquerade. Had the
robbery gone amiss,
you would have made a
splendid cat's-paw
and might still serve as a red
herring
in the matter."

The
gunfighter was nodding in agreement with
Holmes'
words, as was I.

"What
about the bodies?" persisted the man.

This
time he did not gesture toward the hill, which
was
throwing a first shadow on the three of us.

"The
idea of a trade suggests itself," replied the detective, and
despite the seriousness, nay grim
ness,
of the moment, there was a flicker of humor
about
him. "That gun of yours Watson seems so familiar with. You might
give it, with its spent
cartridges, to
my medical friend." His long fingers
extracted
the revolver he had in his ulster pocket; and Holmes extended it,
butt-first, to the marks
man. "This
may not suit your fancy, but it is
loaded.
I seldom carry firearms anyway."

Our
youthful-looking companion seemed uncom
fortable.
"There's not many that hands me a loaded
gun,
Mr. Holmes."

"I'm
sure you'd feel naked without one," said my
friend
in a brusque tone. Then his manner was
relieved
by a smile. "You understand that Watson,
by
virtue of this arrangement, will gain consider
able
notoriety not really his due."

Holmes'
eyes swiveled toward me. "I picture
you,
good chap, as going down in history as the
fastest
gun on Baker Street."

"I
say now, Holmes," was all I could come up
with
because of a wave of pride—not prompted by
the
ridiculous situation that Holmes was joshing about, but for my
friend. He was not always the
relentless
man-hunter that the journals pictured with such ghoulish glee.

The
former employee of the B & N Railroad
released
the bolstered gun, affixed with a clip to his
belt,
and passed it to me. Holmes looked at him for
a
long moment and then said, simply, "Good
bye."

The
sleuth turned with an abrupt movement and
began
to push at one of the sizeable rocks blocking
the
entrance to the mine. I stepped closer to the
American,
lowering my voice. Possibly Holmes did
not
hear me.

"Goodbye,
McCarty."

For
the first time since our paths had crossed,
there
was genuine humor on the man's face.
"I
had a mind you knew." He clasped my out
stretched
hand, and I was surprised. He had spent
his
life in the outdoors and riding back trails at
that,
yet his palm and the inside of his fingers were
as
soft as a baby's or a safecracker's.
"Thank
you, Doctor."

Retrieving
the Beals rifle, he strode into the
surrounding
woods without a backward glance.
His
shoulders might have been slightly bent from the thought of the
twisted trail behind him and the
rocky
road ahead.
He can make it
,
I thought,
if he
but
gets free. A legend does not die with ease.

Tossing
my topcoat on the ground, I joined
Holmes
in pushing and tugging at obstructing
rocks.

Chapter
16

All
Fools Together

NOT
LONG thereafter we heard the sound of Dandy
Jack's
four-wheeler. Holmes flicked perspiration from his brow, for we had
made a fair start at the
job. Retrieving
his coat and donning it, he indi
cated
for me to do the same. When the bay horse drew up in the clearing,
there was no obvious
indication as to
what we had been about.

Dandy
Jack's eyebrows were raised and he threw
a
patient glance heavenward, for the poor man
obviously
wondered if he was working for a circus.
Burlington
Bertie hopped from the carriage with a
welcoming
smile on his lips and a wise look in his eyes. He was a wedge of a
man and brawny, but
destined to be
recorded in the eyes of an observer as
nondescript
in size, for with him was his younger brother. Tiny's broad face had
a childlike serenity
about it, with wide
and innocent eyes and an
anxious smile
that seemed painted on. His smallish
head
topped a short but massive neck that disap
peared
into anthropoidal shoulders and a chest
that
could have modeled for a sculpture of Her
cules.
His short legs had to be like steel girders to
support
his bulk, and he removed himself from the
carriage
with dainty grace. Tiny was forced to maneuver with care, for if he
unwittingly leaned against a tree, it might become uprooted. The bay
horse threw a backward glance of relief
when Tiny
was supported by mother earth,
and it whinnied
and flicked its tail as
though eager to depart.

The
horse's wish was granted by Holmes, and his
driver
must have thought he was in charge of a shuttle service.

"It
is back to Brent, Dandy Jack," said Holmes.
"Locate
that constable you mentioned."

"Sindelar,"
replied the worthy, as though life
held
no more surprises.

"Tell
him a hearse is needed, but there is a doctor
present
who will sign the death certificates."

Dandy
Jack's lethargic acceptance of all things was jostled by this, and he
glanced around hastily
in search of the
bodies suggested by Holmes'
words. He
seemed relieved when he did not locate
them.

"Tell
Constable Sindelar that I will explain the matter to him. Best give
him my card," Holmes
added, passing
one to the startled driver. "Since my
party
will be returning to London shortly, I will
inform
Scotland Yard, for they have an interest in
what
has transpired."

Thrusting
the card into a patched pocket, Dandy
Jack
reined his steed around and departed with
more
alacrity than he had on his last return trip.

The
sleuth now indicated the mine entrance to
his
two associates. "We have to get inside there," he
stated,
and that is all he had to say.

Tiny,
with Burlington Bertie in his wake, moved
toward
the hill like an ocean liner, giving the impression that he might
just walk through it. It
occurred to me
that I had never heard this goliath
speak,
though he certainly understood Holmes' words and had some private
method of communication with his brother, who frequently interpreted
his thoughts.

If
Bertie did all the talking for the twosome, the former
smash-and-grabber and wharfside brawler
did
not have to do much work. Tiny went at the mine entrance like a
construction machine, and
Holmes had to
step lively to avoid flying rocks as he
supervised
the effort. I withdrew to a safe distance,
for
my energies, obviously, were not needed.

Holmes
and I, without the boys from Limehouse,
would
have been unable to force our way into the
mine;
and I wondered how the bodies on the hilltop
had
intended to perform that task, for surely that
had
been their idea before our arrival. I also
wondered
why Holmes had been so sure that the
gold
in the vaults of the Bank of England had come
from
the treasure train, for now it was obvious,
even
to me, where his mind was leading him.

A
cessation of activity within the mine prompted
me
to rejoin the threesome. The entrance was now
clear
enough, and ahead yawned the dark abyss of
the
main shaft.

"We've
need of light on the scene," said Holmes.

Tiny
turned, gently maneuvering his bulk around
me,
and disappeared through the entrance. He
treated
a statement from Holmes like an excerpt from the graven tablets of
the divine commandments. His "'Tis said, 'tis done,"
philosophy was
certainly helpful in
matters like the one we were
involved
in.

Within
the dim mine interior I saw Holmes
looking
at Bertie questioningly and there was a
flash
of the man's teeth in response. In the distance,
we
all heard the rending protest of timber savagely
being
torn asunder. Then Tiny was at the mine
entrance,
his hair so blond as to be almost white. In
his
hand was the end of a limb, which I judged he had wrenched from a
fallen and dead tree. Its butt
was
coated with a resinous jellylike substance.

"Good
thought, lad," exclaimed Bertie. Quickly
gathering
some dead leaves that had blown into the
mine,
he crumpled them in his hand, igniting them
with
a sulfur match that he flicked against a stubby
and
dirty thumbnail.

Breathing
on the small fire he had produced,
Bertie
thrust the limb into it and, in a moment the
viscous
sap burst into flame.