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  "Your grasp of the situation is admirable, Watson. Of course the French made inquiries in banking circles as to the availability of the amount of gold they needed the moment the treasure train was robbed. What more natural that they should contact the Deutsche Bank? The two nations make a habit of snarling at each other but continue to do business much like the Greeks and the Turks. But doesn't it strike you that Hananish could have contacted the Credit Lyonnais directly?"

  I decided to fly the white flag rather than try to piece together the point Holmes was making. "I'm becoming hopelessly mired. You have introduced major banks of three nations, along with two west coast bankers, and there is more backing and filling relative to this whole thing than I can cope with."

  "Exactly the idea, Watson. Hananish is playing the obstructionist, muddying his back trail. You mentioned the possibility of Scotland Yard or Sherlock Holmes locating the stolen gold. Sherlock Holmes has located it, or a major portion of it. It rests in the vaults of the Bank of England, registered to Hananish."

  This was something I could understand and I indicated as much.

  Holmes continued: "When we cut through the extraneous, the evidence is sufficient for a presumption of fact. Hananish, with no previous record of dealing in gold, is part of a consortium of west coast banks in the Credit Lyonnais deal. The gold is stolen and he deposits an almost equal sum in the Bank of England under his name. No mention of other banks now."

  "Why, it's open and shut."

  "So our friend at the Red Grouse in Fenley said."

  "Then you intend to move against Hananish?"

  "Not right now. There is a little pressure of time, but there are still a few stray threads to be unraveled. How did the robbers get the gold from Brent, in Essex, to the Bank of England? As knowledgeable a fellow as Dandy Jack the smuggler couldn't tell us."

  "There is that," I admitted.

  "Also the thought that the trio of conspirators, Hananish, Trelawney, and Michael, may have been up to some previous mischief. I'd like to cast light on that possibility."

  "Reasonable," I agreed, as though my opinion really mattered.

  "Then there is the presence of Lightfoot, which does not rest easy with me."

  "It does with me." Holmes registered some surprise at my strong stand. "Hananish used this notorious assassin to wipe out his co-conspirators. To further muddy his trail, for they cannot peach on him now. I would think that he's set the man after you."

  Holmes startled me by seeming to accept this in part. "Hananish did say that he had read those romanticized case histories you make available, on occasion, to the reading public. He must know of my . . . er . . . our excellent connections in Berlin."

  I interrupted, excitedly. "Surely he is in fear of exactly what has happened—your ferreting out the Credit Lyonnais-Deutsche Bank-Bank of England arrangement, which leads right back to him."

  As Holmes mused on this, I added with conviction, "I'm jolly glad that Burlington Bertie and Tiny are on the job. Where have you got them tucked away?"

  "In Professor von Krugg's house next door," replied Holmes, his mind elsewhere. I smiled at this, for Holmes was Professor von Krugg, the seldom-seen language expert.

  "Slippery Styles is staked out in the empty house across the street," added my friend.

  "Good show, Holmes. For once you are taking precautions regarding your safety."

  "And yours, old fellow," he said, rising to his feet.

  I felt a stab of emotion, for he consistently tried to do that. Holmes was standing by the desk, looking down at the letter from his brother.

  "Mycroft added a postscript to this which is intriguing: 'Am, of a sudden, interested in your investigation relative to the Deutsche Bank. Please keep me informed.'"

  His eyes swiveled up to meet mine. "Now what has gotten the wind up with Mycroft relative to the German banking institution?"

  "I certainly don't know, but we've gone around and around on this matter and there are a couple of points you can clear up."

  Holmes crossed to the mantle in search of a pipe. "I'm at your service."

  "About Ledger. He's an imposter. What are you going to do about it?"

  "I really don't know. If he's sincere in lending aid, he's much better situated to investigate the hired marksmen than we are. As regards his assuming the identity of Richard Ledger, I'm not at all sure that has any connection with the train robbery."

  I allowed the matter to rest there and pursued another thought that had been tantalizing me. "It is past history, Holmes, but how did you show up so opportunely on that river tug?"

  My friend smiled. "As though by divine providence? But think a moment, Watson, and all is clear. You are spirited away on the river road leaving an obvious trail, which Orloff promptly picked up. On my return to the Red Grouse Inn I learned what Orloff had and, in addition, that he was in hot pursuit. With the thought that he could handle anything that came his way, I chose to survey the area by water. Your captors might have tried to spirit you away via the river, you know?"

  Finally satisfied on this point, I found myself suddenly at a loss for words. Holmes sensed my mood. "Come aloft,* Watson," he cried. "A good dinner, a bottle of wine, and conversation removed from this business at hand. 'Twill lead to clear minds for the busy times ahead."

  *An unusual expression for Holmes. Of naval origin and meaning "Let's enjoy ourselves." The great detective does use it in conjunction with a bottle of wine, and the expression is thought to have been associated with "high with wine," though it is doubtful that Holmes was suggesting that he and his confrere get stoned.

  Chapter 14

  The Unanticipated Fact

  WHEN I descended from my bedchamber the following morning, I found Holmes at breakfast and in good spirits. He waved a cablegram at me as I poured my coffee.

  "I was about to call you, good fellow, for we will have visitors shortly."

  "Not that Lightfoot, I trust," I mumbled, pouring thick Devonshire cream into my cup.

  "There is no report on Moriarty's former henchman, but Orloff will be with us, along with our ally in Fenley."

  I had not as yet sampled my morning eye-opener, which was unfortunate. "Wallingford?" I exclaimed, and could have bit my lips in vexation, for I had let the cat out for fair.

  Holmes was way ahead of me. "Do not be concerned, Watson. During our last meeting at the Red Grouse, you treated the man's words with unusual deference and I deduced that you knew his true identity."

  "Holmes, I did not mean to pry . . ." I began, shamefaced.

  "Tut, tut. You must have found out from Orloff, for he is the only one involved that knows. Anyone who can extract information from our security agent friend does not deserve censure from me, but rather warrants admiration."

  Considerably buoyed by these words, I attacked my morning meal with gusto. Holmes did provide a codicil to his sporting statement. "For his peace of mind, let us not refer to Mr. Wallingford by his name."

  "I understand," I replied, munching on one of Mrs. Hudson's really superior scones.

  It was shortly after the vestiges of our breakfast were cleared away that the security agent and the former confidence man arrived.

  To my surprise I learned that they had come from Shaw. I had assumed that they both arrived on our doorstep from Gloucester, but the reasons became obvious as the meeting of minds progressed.

  The American was as buoyant as the last time I had seen him, and he obviously felt that his labors had born fruit.

  "I think I've got it, Mr. Holmes. How it all started, I mean. Your suggestion that I run a parallel investigation on Ezariah Trelawney was what gave me the key. Also that constable, Bennett by name, took your cable to heart and opened a lot of doors for me."

  "Good man," commented Holmes.

  "Trelawney, after his army service, returned to Shaw and went to work at the bank. He was good at his job. Shaw is a small place, and his advancement was rapid. Now the bank made a practice of keeping a supply of gold on
hand. It dated back to the Napoleonic wars. They had to get a courier to Stockholm, Sweden, and it was at that time that a false rumor spread over England that the French fleet had triumphed at Trafalgar and Nelson had been defeated. There was widespread panic. In times like that, paper doesn't talk. The Shaw Bank did not have sufficient gold available to tempt a merchant skipper to carry their man to Sweden, and whatever the deal was, it fell through. So a policy was established to have a certain amount of gold, sovereigns or whatever, on hand at all times. Modern business methods antiquated this idea, but it had produced a favorable climate with depositors. Shaw is an agrarian area, and people close to the land tend to think in basics. Floods, frosts, pestilence, and the like. The fact that the Shaw Bank kept gold in its vaults led to its gaining a considerable reputation as being sound and conservative."

  Wallingford paused in his report and a smile crossed his face. "You know, the old gold-brick dodge always worked in the sticks . . ." He caught himself and affected a cough to cover his embarrassment at this revelation.

  "Anyway, the gold-in-reserve idea became rather a trademark of Trelawney's bank, and it spread to other west coast banks as well."

  "Explaining how they happened to readily have a surplus of the precious metal," said Holmes. He had indicated no impatience at Wallingford's detailed recounting, and I sensed that he was much interested in the complete picture of the Trelawney-Hananish operation.

  "Hananish returned to Gloucester after being mustered out, and he was more fortunate in that his father was president of the bank there and he rather inherited the position."

  Holmes, his eyes on the ceiling, suddenly shot Wallingford a sharp glance, which the man interpreted. "Both Hananish's bank and the one in Shaw were publicly owned, each by a small group of stockholders."

  Holmes' gaze retreated, again, to the ceiling.

  "The gold reserve in both banks was annually listed as part of the assets, but most of the time it wasn't there at all."

  Holmes leaned forward in his chair suddenly, and Wallingford certainly had my attention as well. Orloff, already privy to the information, was blowing smoke rings.

  "Under the banking laws, there are spot checks by examiners; but Trelawney was prepared for this, Hananish as well. If there was official inquiry as to the whereabouts of the reserve gold, Trelawney had at hand a letter of credit from Hananish's bank for the amount of the gold plus the date that the metal would be returned and the agreement whereby Trelawney had made the gold temporarily available to Hananish."

  Holmes rose to his feet, now restless with anticipation. "But these agreements never passed through the normal channels of either bank."

  "Nor were the stockholders informed, nor was there interest charged," responded Wallingford.

  I could not suppress a question at this point. "Where was the gold, then?"

  Wallingford shrugged. "That I could not learn. This embraces a matter of some years, you understand. All that time what was supposed to be a reserve fund was actually in movement: being invested, acting as collateral, who knows what."

  Holmes, standing by the bow window with his back to the group, suddenly whirled around. "I expressed a desire to look into previous mischief of Hananish and Trelawney—Michael as well. You recall, Watson? This information should provide a fruitful lead as well as something to throw at Hananish when we close in on him."

  Orloff was snubbing out one of the small, black cigars he fancied. "Are you prepared to make your move?"

  Holmes crossed to the mantelpiece, assuming a familiar position beside it. Ah hah, I thought. He's ready for the denouement.

  The sleuth gave Orloff a short nod, then his eyes centered on Wallingford. "Your mention, when last we met, of the Deutsche Bank reaping rich dividends. The German banking house has call on four hundred thousand pounds' worth of gold in the vaults of the Bank of England. But the gold belongs to Hananish. From the treasure train, of course, and he's selling it twice, though this time with no consortium of banks and not with his partner Trelawney either. The Credit Lyonnais will get it from the Deutsche Bank. The Deutsche Bank gets it from the Bank of England, but the payment goes to Hananish. A major coup, but we've got him."

  Wallingford grew pale and had trouble finding words. When they did come, it was not with the assured, businesslike manner that was his normal delivery.

  "Mr. Holmes . . . I did not know about the three-way arrangement you outline; but it just won't work, you see."

  His somewhat smug manner jarred, Holmes registered surprise. "What won't work?"

  "I see what you're driving at, sir. But Hananish can stop us cold. The four hundred thousand pounds in gold was deposited in his name in the Bank of England before the robbery."

  There was dead silence in the room, and I confess this startling statement actually caused me to hold my breath for a long moment. Holmes almost staggered back against the mantel, surprise a harsh and blatant thing on his expressive features. Good heavens, I thought. His whole case has been shattered by one unanticipated fact. The poor chap must be stunned.

  Holmes' reaction was not what I anticipated. Instead, the palm of his right hand swept up to smite his forehead with a crack like a revolver shot.

  "Dumkopf!" he shouted. When sore pressed, my friend resorted to exclamations in foreign languages.

  A tinge of pink suffused the features of Wallingford, and the sleuth hastened to prevent a misunderstanding. "Not you," he said, spearing the former confidence man with an outstretched finger. His digit swung in a half circle to tap his chest forcibly. "Me!" Then his glowing eyes shifted in my direction and the shadow of a bitter smile creased his lips.

  "If in future times, Watson, you choose to record this case history, you can write me down an ass."

  If I had not known previously, this statement would have alerted me to how upset my friend was at himself. For he had used similar words when castigating himself for missing the mark on Colonel Walter in the matter of the Bruce-Partington plans.

  Wallingford's face, a picture of consternation, was shifting from one to another of us, with a dazed expression, as though he had lost touch with reality. Orloff had a grim look of disbelief about him.

  "You cannot mean that Hananish will elude our grasp," he said.

  "Indeed no," replied Holmes quickly, and those two words did much to rally my morale, momentarily very low.

  Holmes' long stride took him to the desk, and he gazed at it as though beset with a number of necessary actions and choosing which one to seize on first. "Now, finally, I have the right perspective regarding this case, and the errant threads that have nagged at me are unraveled."

  There was a longish pause as Holmes communed with himself. Then his hawk-like face rose and his eyes enveloped us.

  "Orloff, you'd best be off to the Diogenes Club and relate our findings to my brother."

  Holmes passed the letter he had received the night before to the security agent. "Mycroft has developed an interest in the Deutsche Bank and could well find Wally's information of value. You might tell him that Watson and I have the matter of the stolen gold in hand."

  "What can I do, sir?" asked Wallingford.

  "Accompany Orloff. The Deutsche Bank has proved revealing to us. Possibly you can unearth some connection between the Germans and the financial manipulations of Trelawney and Hananish during the period the former was alive. My brother has certain connections, which you will find helpful."

  A quick glance passed between Wallingford and Orloff, and the American responded dryly, "So I've learned."

  The urgency in Holmes' manner was communicative, and both men rapidly vacated the premises.

  Holmes was fiddling in his desk and suddenly turned to me. "Now it is you and I, old friend, as it has been so many times before. Another journey is called for."

  "Shall I throw some things in a valise?"

  "Your Smith-Webley in a handy pocket will be enough."

  There was the sound of rapid footfalls on the stairs, and Slim Gilligan
appeared in the half-open door to our chambers. Now I understood Holmes' actions at the desk. He had some sort of alarm signal rigged up with the house next door.

  "Slim," said my friend, "I've need of Burlington Bertie and Tiny."

  "They were on the night shift, guv," responded the cracksman, taking the unlit cigarette from behind his ear. It occurred to me that I had never seen him light it.

  "Contact them, good fellow, and have them take the first train available to Brent in Essex. I'll have them met at the station."

  Gilligan had been with Holmes too long not to sense a crisis. "Anythin' fer me, guv?"

  "Let's make sure this building isn't blown up, Slim. That Lightfoot rascal is still at large."

  "Right, Mr. 'Olmes." Gilligan was gone.

  So, I thought, it's back to the scene of the crime.

  Holmes was spinning the dial on the safe and took a short-barreled revolver from its interior, placing it in the pocket of his tweed coat. His action prompted me to hasten upstairs to my sleeping quarters to remove my army-issue handgun from the drawer in my bed stand. It was not often that Holmes went armed, but there was much about this strange case that departed from the norm.

  Chapter 15

  The Lightning Colt

  DURING OUR train trip to Essex, Holmes had been uncommunicative. I could not decide whether he was lost in thought regarding the robbery and subsequent events or whether, in keeping with his frequent practice, he had thrown his brain out of gear and switched his thoughts from the case on the theory that further cogitation would not be advantageous. When I had rejoined him in our sitting room prior to our departure, he was in the process of instructing Billy about a cablegram, and I deduced that it was to Dandy Jack, our only acquaintance in Brent. Such proved the case, since the aged four-wheeler and bay horse were at the station when we alighted, along with the familiar driver.

  "Where to, gents?" he queried when we were seated in the conveyance.