Sherlock Holmes (38 page)

Seeing that there was nothing
more to be gleaned from the envelope, Holmes carefully opened it
with his fine, Italian, stiletto, a memento from the Cagliari
affair. Taking out the single sheet of paper from within, he read
its contents. He then removed three, pale blue tickets from the
envelope before sitting back in silence for several minutes.

I could stand it no longer and
implored Holmes to reveal the contents of the letter. Still
somewhat distracted, Holmes held it out before him, saying, "It
would seem that we are invited on a train journey to Brighton,
Watson!"

"What?" I cried, for I could not
believe my own ears! I took the letter from Holmes and read aloud,
"Mr Holmes, our paths cross again. Tindall is indeed in my employ
and, as you say, requires payment. Knowing your affection for
trains, I have reserved seats in the first class carriage of the
Brighton train leaving Victoria Station at half-past seven tomorrow
evening. You will, of course, be watched at the station and, whilst
you are an honourable man, Mr Holmes, Tindall is to sit in a
position such that I may be sure that it is truly he. No police
must board or be present on the train. Payment will be made during
the journey." The letter was signed with the initials, 'J M'.

"Impossible!" I raged. "It must
be a trap! We cannot go!"

Holmes was clearly intrigued.
"Of course it is, Watson, but of what kind? That is what we have to
determine! The key issue is, of course, the seating arrangements.
Why would she want us in a particular carriage and, perhaps, in a
particular compartment?” Holmes held his forefinger to his lips,
saying, “I see the reason why she must confirm Tindall’s identity
but... another bomb!"

I almost dropped my pipe as
Holmes said the word ‘bomb’ and could only splutter, "What?"

Holmes looked almost gleeful and
was rubbing his hands together in anticipation, saying, "Well,
Watson. What better way of disposing of not only Tindall, but you
and me also?"

Holmes’ thoughts now turned to
the mechanics of the plot. "I think, Watson, I might invite
Lestrade's colleagues from Special Branch to examine that
particular item of the rolling stock before we join the train!"

Holmes reached for his silver
pencil and notepad and quickly dashed off a telegram to Lestrade
before ringing for Mrs Hudson.

The following day my nerves were
in tatters. I had cleaned, checked and loaded my service revolver
at least twice before I sat down for tea. Holmes had seemed quite
calm, simply taking his pistol from his top drawer and dropping it
into his coat pocket. During the afternoon Holmes had received a
telegram from Lestrade. All was in place for the railway carriage
to be thoroughly examined by Special Branch before we arrived and
police would also be waiting for the train in Brighton.

In my worried state, I had
failed to ask how we were to meet Tindall. "Holmes, where is
Tindall now?"

Holmes was relaxing with his
newspaper, seemingly totally unmoved by events. Taking out his
pocket watch, he consulted it, saying, "I believe that he will
arrive here in about ten minutes. He has been spirited out of Bow
Street Police Station and is being transported in a closed carriage
to the rear entrance of Baker Street."

"Here?" I gasped.

Holmes nodded, saying, "Where
else would a person under our protection travel from, Watson?"

I could see the logic of what
Holmes had said but it did not sit well with me. I felt that I was
now even more of a target for Moriarty whilst travelling with the
man.

At approximately six o'clock
there was a slight knock at the door to our sitting room, followed
a few moments later by Mrs Hudson, accompanied by William
Tindall.

Holmes extended his hand to
Tindall and invited him to sit. Tindall nodded in my direction and
Holmes began to explain what was to happen, omitting to mention, I
noticed, the possibility of there being a bomb on the train!

Tindall seemed eager to help and
asked, "So, you think somebody will come to our compartment during
the journey, Mr Holmes?"

Holmes replied, saying, "Yes, I
believe that may be so." Holmes paused for a moment before adding,
ominously, "You do realise, that should you attempt to escape, you
would be signing your own death warrant?"

As I watched, Tindall nodded
sombrely. Holmes gave a single nod in return before we gathered our
coats and, together, we descended to the street below.

The journey to Victoria Station
was uneventful but, as we drew up, the thin figure of Inspector
Lestrade could be seen waiting for us at the entrance. He beckoned
to Holmes and together they were to be seen huddled in
conversation. Lestrade called over a constable who was carrying a
small package which was shown to Holmes. It felt like ice-water was
now flowing through my veins as I realised what the package might
very well contain. When Holmes re-joined us, I raised an eyebrow,
giving him a questioning look. He, in return, nodded in
confirmation. With this knowledge, I did not know whether to feel
relief or even greater concern.

Lestrade accompanied us as far
as the ticket barrier but no further. Holmes shook his hand and we
walked towards the waiting train. Holmes soon found the first class
carriage and our compartment. Inside, the seats were arranged
facing each other. Three of them had small cards that read
'Reserved' placed above the seat number. Holmes and I sat at one
side whilst Tindall sat opposite us, alone and in plain view.

A few minutes before the train
was due to depart, there were still a few passengers milling around
on the platform, together with railway staff urging them to board.
It was then that I noticed a man who seemed to be loitering not far
from our compartment. I gently nudged Holmes and inclined my head
slightly. Holmes peered out of the window, and as we watched, the
man touched his cap and was gone.

With a shrill blast from the
guard's whistle and an answering one from the engine, we moved
slowly out of the station. The evening was drawing in and the gas
lamps on the platform had been lit. I always found it fascinating
to travel through the city in the evenings, seeing the streets of
London illuminated as so many tiny pearls threaded on a spiders
web. As we travelled, we passed a stationary train which had halted
at a signal. The train’s compartments appeared brightly lit against
the growing darkness although to us, our carriage lighting seemed
really quite dim.

It was after some twenty minutes
into our journey that a guard came to our compartment to inspect
our tickets. As he slid open the compartment door, the tension was
intense. I felt frustrated that I could not both ready my service
revolver and produce my ticket for inspection at the same time.
However, it was a false alarm. The guard was simply doing his duty,
clipping our tickets and then moving on, down the train.

I turned towards Holmes and I
could see by his manner that he was becoming increasingly
concerned. Seeing that Tindall was engaged in watching the
darkening countryside roll by, Holmes said, in a quiet voice,
"Something is not right, Watson. It is all too simple. I believe
now that she had intended us to find the bomb in order to lower our
guard... but why? We must be vigilant!"

I shook my head for I did not
have an answer. Holmes sat back, his brows furrowed, deep in
thought. I leant forwards and returned to looking out of the window
but there was little enough to see. As I watched, the engine
approached a signal with its semaphore arm raised and displaying a
yellow light. As we passed it, I noticed that the train had begun
to slow down. I turned to Holmes, asking, "What does that signal
indicate, Holmes?"

Holmes replied, "I believe that
it is called the 'distant' signal and is placed a little over five
hundred and fifty yards before the next one, the 'home' signal. The
yellow light is to warn the driver to proceed with caution as he
may have to stop at the ‘home’ signal if it is showing red. The
large distance between the pair of signals gives the train
sufficient time to brake and stop safely."

As I watched, a slight curve in
the railway line allowed me to see the red glow of the 'home'
signal now some hundred or so yards ahead. Obeying the signal, the
train gradually slowed to a stop, the engine coming to rest beside
it. The signal box, with its row of huge levers which controlled
the points and signals, was lit and was now directly opposite our
compartment. One of the windows of the signal box had been slid
open and a figure could be seen leaning out of it slightly.

Suddenly, our compartment window
shattered and we were showered with broken glass. I fell
instinctively to the floor, as did Holmes. Looking towards him I
could see that his face and clothes were spattered with blood and
something more.

"Holmes!" I cried and moved to
tend to my friend. Holmes sat up slowly, saying, "I am all right,
Watson." It was then that I turned to Tindall. His lifeless body
lay sideways across the seat, the whole of one side of his head was
missing. I was immediately reminded of my army days, seeing the
bodies of soldiers killed by a rifle bullet to the head. My initial
reaction was to stand and reach for the communication cord to
summon the guard and so stop the train.

As I tried to rise, Holmes held
onto me tightly, preventing me from moving, saying, "No, Watson.
Nothing can be done here." Keeping my head down, I saw that Holmes
had drawn his revolver, saying ominously, "Neither do we know their
intentions."

With a jolt, the train began to
move off. After travelling a few yards, Holmes and I warily raised
our heads to look towards the illuminated signal box. There,
against the light, the silhouetted figure of a slender woman raised
her hand in salutation and defiance.

As the train gathered speed, I
looked about the compartment in despair. Both Holmes and I had
sustained some minor cuts from the shattered window glass but other
than that, we were unharmed. Holmes, I could see, was beside
himself with rage. His blood spattered face was white with anger.
The wind from the broken window now howled around us and Holmes
began to shout, "Why, Watson? Why did I not see this? It is my
fault... and my negligence has cost this man his life!"

I could do little to calm my
friend. The intensity of his feelings of guilt and his hatred of
Julia Moriarty were, indeed, most frightening. Opening the
compartment door and stepping into the corridor, I found that the
adjoining compartment was empty and I led my friend to it. Leaving
Holmes for a few moments, I went in search of the guard. On my
return, I was able to cover Tindall's body with a rough, hessian
mail sack from the guards van. It was indeed a sobering sight and I
was glad when the train finally pulled into Brighton Station.

The guard had provided me with a
towel and I had used it to clean Holmes as best I could. Despite my
best efforts, his appearance was still frightening, with angry,
blazing eyes and a blood streaked face.

At Brighton Station, Holmes
managed to control his anger sufficiently to be able to send two
telegrams, one to Lestrade and the other to Mycroft. The police,
waiting at the station, removed Tindall's body from the train and
we, in turn, caught the next train back to London, arriving in
Baker Street a little before midnight.

Although I retired immediately,
I could not rest. I could hear through the walls of my bedroom the
terrible shouting from Holmes and the crash of furniture as it was
dashed against the wall in anger and frustration. I slept, perhaps,
for barely two hours. Finally, dawn broke and, on entering our
sitting room, I found Holmes hunched in his chair, wrapped tightly
in his old dressing gown. His anger now appeared spent but he had
descended into that most dark place and I feared for my friend's
sanity.

At nine o'clock there was the
sound of a familiar tread upon our stairs and Mycroft entered our
rooms. I moved swiftly to welcome him and also to express my
concern regarding his brother.

Holmes’ head came up, saying,
"Do not talk about me in my presence, I am still alive... which is
more than can be said for that poor wretch, Tindall."

Mycroft removed his hat and coat
and sat on our settee. "It was not your fault, Sherlock. No-one
could have predicted this outcome."

Holmes shrugged off his dressing
gown and threw it angrily across the room. "No, Mycroft! Perhaps
not, but it was my responsibility. I used the man as a pawn to draw
out the queen. He was under my protection and I failed him!"

Mycroft was singularly unmoved,
saying, "But you saved the nation, Sherlock. Your skills prevented
our country from supreme embarrassment at a time of war and we, as
a nation, thank you."

Holmes seemed a little calmed by
this but anger still burned within him. Nothing further that
Mycroft said would placate him. Unable to do more, Mycroft left
and, over the weeks that followed, Holmes gradually appeared to
forgive himself. It was during this time that Holmes wrote to
Elizabeth Carter to put her mind at rest. He explained, in as
gentle a way as he could, that whilst her late husband’s actions
may have been illegal, he was not, in any way, implicated in any
anarchist activities.

Holmes had also felt the need to
write to Mrs Tindall, expressing his condolences. This he found to
be a most difficult task. The guilt he felt still weighed heavily
upon him and it took him several days to complete the letter. At
Holmes’ request, Mycroft had made the railway authorities aware of
the assistance Tindall had given. As a result, they had agreed to
pay a small pension to his widow. I learned later, through Mycroft,
that Holmes himself had made a very considerable contribution
towards this.