Dr Watson & Love All

'Wiggins . . . Wiggins!' I muttered under my breath and into my handkerchief.

I was expressing sentiments of both shock at the young detective’s brilliant insight into the criminal mind and his equally brilliant planning to capture the criminal himself. Even the great Holmes would need to take care in future, lest the Master find himself overtaken by the Pupil.

Therefore, it was with the highest degree of expectation that I continued to survey the scene, though keeping my face lowered against the small chance of Maude noticing me. Certainly she began looking around her with great intensity as the minute hand on the clock dragged itself around for the final circuit before marking three. But she never noticed me, and I saw no sign of anybody approaching except for three porters with a hand cart piled high with luggage. So high in fact that as one of them pushed the cart along the other two walked on either side and held on to the top layer of wicker baskets to prevent them from toppling off the cart. This was a very bothersome interruption at such a moment, but there was further annoyance yet as a small shunting locomotive in the green and gold colors of the London and North Eastern Railway came steaming down the side of the platform. Behind it was a single passenger coach, and a guard's van behind that, nothing else. On the destination board were the words: 'FOR PRIVATE USE ONLY'.

I snarled under my breath as I saw that the train driver was clearly intending to come to a halt at the very spot where the three girls were standing. Perhaps, I thought, he was under the impression that they were something to do with whoever had hired the private train. What a foul piece of luck, for such an unexpected turn of events might well frighten off the messenger we were waiting for. And, unbelievably, at the same moment as the passenger car stopped by the girls, the porters halted the luggage cart in front of them, cutting them off from my sight. I wondered what had made the confounded idiots stop there, of all places, and cursed all three of them as they all walked around to the far side of the cart. Perhaps the wheel on that side was working loose.

Yes, I confess it, I was not as quick as Holmes would have been in understanding what was happening. But I appeal to your own sense of reason, dear reader. A hired train and a gang of desperadoes disguised as railway porters -- who would have expected such resources from a mere filthy minded blackmailer? Certainly not I. Yet when I saw the tip of a parasol held aloft above the baskets on the cart and waved vigorously for a second or so it was enough to shake the scales from my eyes. For I was sure it was an alarm signal. Nor was it the only signal being given because the guard was already waving his green flag at the locomotive and blowing his whistle to grant it permission to depart within mere seconds of its arrival.

I jumped up from the bench and rushed forward as the train's wheels began to turn. One glance behind the cart was enough to confirm my suspicions. Nobody was there, nobody at all and the coach door already closing. I was dumbfounded at what had happened, at how Wiggins' close laid surveillance plans had gone all a'gley so quickly. There was nobody in his organization who was in place to take a hand, nobody but myself. As the guard's van rolled past me I stepped onto the rear platform, to be confronted by an indignant railway official in full dress blackcloth uniform, gold braided hat and white side whiskers.

"Now then, sir, what game do you think you're a'playing at? I can have you taken up by the police for setting foot on this on this here van without permission."

"Guard, my name is Watson, Doctor John Watson. I'm the friend and confidant of Mr Sherlock Holmes, the well known consulting detective."

He surveyed me from boots to hat. A stout man with red cheeks behind his white whiskers and careful eyes finally matched by an equally careful nodding of his head.

"Why so, I believe you might be, sir. You certainly look like the pictures of Doctor Watson I've seen in the papers. Would you happen to have a card on you?"

I opened my card case and gave him one of my cards. He read it slowly, then looked up at me: "What brings you aboard my train then, Doctor?"

I found it difficult to reply, bearing in mind the need for absolute discretion about the case. Then I realized there was no need to admit any specific interest in the girls.

"Because I fear something may be amiss here, Guard. Did you not see three porters get into the coach just now with the three ladies who were waiting on the platform? How can that be?"

The guard smiled and shook his head: "Very smart of you to spot it, Doctor Watson, but I was warned in advance about those porters. They're not real porters at all, of course, just some young bloods who wanted to play a joke on their girls. The station master himself warned me about it while we were writing up my running orders."

"Indeed?" I queried. "Has Euston Station now become a music hall for the staging of pantomime shows?"

The Guard's smile was unshaken: "Why, Doctor, when you're dealing with people who can afford to run their own trains it often happens that you get some odd requests. I had a terrible time once with the Marquis of Gransby. He saw some mushrooms in a meadow from his train and nothing would do for it but that I must stop the train while he sent his cook out to pick them for breakfast. Stopped on a main line, mark you, with the Hasting Flyer coming up behind us at sixty miles an hour. He would have had me sacked if I'd refused, so I had to spin him a yarn that all the mushrooms in the area around were known to be deadly poison. Compared to that caper, this little prank with the young ladies is just water off a duck's back to me."

"I see. And who was it who ordered this train?"

The Guard shook his head: "I'm sorry, Doctor, I don't know. I didn't ask and the Station Master didn't tell me, even assuming he knew himself. Now, what's to be done with you? We've passed the station limits by now and we're not due for another stop until we reach our destination. I'm sure it was very public spirited of you to inquire about the ladies' welfare but if I stop at any of the stations enroute to drop you off we'll cause a lot of disruption to the company's running schedules. Better perhaps that you make the round trip with us and I'll return you to Euston nice and quietly with nobody the wiser. We're not going far at all."

The van was rolling from side to side as it went over a whole series of points, high cliffs of bluegray brick were closely abutting on either side of the small train and the backs of rows of houses perched above the cutting walls looked like pigeon lofts.

"Come inside, Doctor, it'll get draughty out here as we pick up speed."

The Guard ushered me through the door which gave admittance to the interior of his van, then stepped inside himself up to a writing stand. He consulted his pocket watch, dipped a pen in the inkwell on the stand and carefully made an entry into an opened journal set on the stand. I was irresistibly reminded of a ship's captain writing up his logbook on the bridge of a large steamer.

"What is our destination, then?" I asked him.

"Halton Manor, Doctor. Not above fifteen miles away. It used to be a gunpowder factory but it was closed up some years ago. Now there's just the old buildings and the branch line into the siding where they used to load the powder onto the trains. I only hope the points haven't rusted up, for I'm sure this is the first time any mainline traffic has been in there since the factory was shut."

"So what possible reason could anybody have for wanting to travel to such a place?"

The Guard shrugged: "I don't know, Doctor, but if the company hires out a train, it's only real concern is that the fee is paid. Where the customer wants to go to is up to him. Why, do you wish me to make some sort of investigation? I'd need some real proof of wrong doing, or it could cost me my job if I upset some high ranking peer who has paid a pile of golden sovereigns to hire this train."

I reflected on his words and tried to decide what to do for the best. On one hand I was very unhappy about the way things were shaping. "Ardent Admirer' was proving an artful dodger indeed. Of course it had always been a possibility that Maude could have been taken away from a railway station on a train, but following her onto a normal train would have been easy. This unexpected use of a private train smacked all too much of cleverness and considerable resources for my taste. On the other hand unless the journey was completed without interference there would be no chance for Maude to retrieve her racquet.

"What's your name, Guard?"

"Protheroe, Doctor, James Protheroe."

"Well, Mr Protheroe, would it be possible to drop me off discreetly at this place, this Halton Manor, without the occupants of the coach seeing me?"

"Certainly, I think that would be possible, Doctor." I noticed a sudden gleam of excitement appear in his eyes. "And would you be wanting me to pass any kind of a message onto Mr Holmes afterwards? I've always been a great admirer of his, you understand."

Once again I marvelled at the almost overwhelming amount of interest the British public always showed in the affairs of Sherlock Holmes. But who could blame them? Certainly, not I, having devoted so much of my life to recording the great man's achievements because of my own fascination at his manifold accomplishments.

"Unfortunately, Mister Holmes is abroad at the moment on a most confidential mission," I explained. "But you may certainly send a telegram to some associates of mine the moment you return to Euston. Tell me, which is the closest station to Halton Manor and how far away is it?"

Protheroe stepped up to a finely detailed map on the wall highlighting a web of metropolitan rail lines and put his thumb up against it. "The nearest station to Halton Manor, Doctor? That would be Hathaway station, two miles closer to London on the down line."

"The down line?" I stood next to him to see where his thumb rested.

"All the lines with trains driving away from London on them are called down lines, all lines into London are up lines," Protheroe explained. "So after we run through Hathaway station, Halton Manor is two miles further on."

I examined the map. "This road, the Gravesend Road, it runs past Halton Manor and Hathaway?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"And trains run regularly today Euston to Hathaway?"

"Every thirty minutes, regular as clockwork, Doctor."

"And a party who wished to could bring bicycles with them on the train to Hathaway? In the Guard's van?"

"Certainly. For threepence extra each, of course."

"So the quickest way to Halton Manor from Euston is to take a train to Hathaway Station and then cycle the two miles further along the Gravesend Road?"

"That would be right, Doctor. Unless you was to travel on one of Professor Herr Von Zeppelin's airships." Mr Protheroe smiled at his own joke.

"Thank you, I'll write out the telegram now then, with your leave."

I was as quick as I could be in writing out the wire to be sent to Wiggins' office, alerting the young detective to the changed circumstances. I was sure that some of his watchers must have seen me board the train, and even if I wasn't known to any of them personally my description must have alerted their employer as to the identity of the civilian seen stepping onto the Guard's van. Thereafter Wiggins would certainly have remustered his forces at his offices, ready to respond as soon as possible to any message from me.

That was on the positive side of things. On the negative side, no help could possibly arrive for at least two hours, and, even worse, I had seen no reason to bring my old service revolver with me on a mere sight seeing trip. Oh well, in life as in medicine, one problem at a time. The problem at that moment was to form my letters legibly as I stood at the van's writing stand bracing myself against the swaying floor of the vehicle. It was difficult to judge its speed with only four small windows to look out of but I was sure we must have been travelling at quite fifty miles an hour.

I blotted the telegram, put in the Guard's pen back in the inkwell and gave him the paper and a sovereign for transmission costs: "As quickly as possible with this to the cable office please, Mr Protheroe, on your return to Euston."

"Of course, Doctor Watson." His eyes were more careful than ever. "But look here, Doctor, if you're really convinced there's some wrong doing going on, perhaps you should tell me about it. After all, a man of your reputation and contacts isn't just an ordinary member of the public. I could order the driver to stop at Hathaway and then summon a member of the railway constabularly. If you feel that such action is necessary."

I reflected on his suggestion and then again. For a pin I would have done as Protheroe suggested. The only reasons I didn't was because I knew how much Maude wanted a chance to recover her racquet and, far more importantly to my mind, the scandal which would surely sully her reputation if this matter were ever became public knowledge.

"No, thankee, Mr Protheroe. I need to follow this scent but it's not yet time to shout tallyho. What happens when we get to Halton Manor?"

"The siding is on a slight downgrade there, so we'll fly shunt. Half a mile away I'll put a touch of brakes on the van, the fireman will climb down and uncouple the coach from the engine, the engine will pull ahead and set the fireman down to throw over the points into Halton Manor and remove the derailer. He'll give me the all clear hand signal and coach and van will roll into the siding with my hands on the brake handle to control the speed. I'll bring us to a stand beside the old factory loading platform, apply the brakes on the coach and scotch the wheels, uncouple the van and then the engine will come in behind us, pick up the van and take it back to Euston after I've reset and padlocked the main line points for the straight again."

"I see . . . "

Well, to be truthful, I thought I had a general idea of what the Guard was talking about.

"So if I wanted to get off without anybody in the coach seeing me, what would you suggest?"

Mr Protheroe tugged at his mutton chop whiskers as he considered. "Well, Doctor, as I remember that siding, the platform comes to a dead stop at the mainline end. Were you to step over it you'd fall straight down for about five feet, like stepping off the top of a wall. When I stop the coach in the middle of the platform the further end of my van will just about be in line with that end of the platform. All you need do is to step down from the van and crouch yourself down to be out of sight from the coach and anybody crossing the platform."

"That sounds well enough."

"To start with, Doctor, to start with," the Guard continued, doubt in his voice. "But I don't know what may happen after that, not knowing what the parties in the coach intend to do, nor which direction they may move off in."

"Never mind about me, Mr Protheroe. I've had a fair amount of experience in such matters. No one will see me until I choose to display my presence."

"Very well, Doctor, if you say so. In any case we must be getting close to Halton Manor now. Better perhaps that you wait in here until I call you."

He went out onto the back platform of the van and left me to squint through one of the windows at a passing parade of back gardens in one of the respectable suburbs of north London. Twice we rattled over a bridge and the road underneath each of them, then through a station, groups of waiting people on the platform lifting their heads up from their opened newspapers to glance at this unscheduled bird of passage with its single coach and privileged passengers. Where they were standing in the open, the still high and bright sun cast their own foreshortened shadows at the watchers' feet. It also lit up the station sign -- "HATHAWAY (TWICKENHAM)". So not far to the siding now.

I suddenly felt extremely thirsty and noticed a small stove at one corner of the van with a kettle standing on it. The stove was unlit, but there was water in the kettle, and a tin mug hanging off a hook. I was sure that Mr Protheroe would have no objections to sparing me a mug of water, and so I helped myself. As I began drinking I felt a shuddering underfoot and heard some unearthly squealing noises as the guard began to tighten the van's brakes.

At first their application seemed to have little effect in reducing our velocity, and then the short train gave a kind of twitch and began to slow much more rapidly. I squinted through one of the windows but could see nothing of the locomotive from it because it was on the right of the van and the track was curving to the left.

A hasty movement across the van to the opposite window afforded me a clearer view and I was able to see that the small locomotive had already uncoupled from the passenger car and was now drawing ahead with the fireman clearly visible as he stood on the side steps of the coal tender. Then the track straightened out and I lost sight of the locomotive. The van brakes were still creaking away like an overloaded haywain's axles and we were now moving at no more than a fast horse trot. I suddenly recalled Mr Protheroe's remarks about the possibility of the points no longer being workable because of their infrequent use: would we, in that event, find ourselves running into the stopped locomotive?

Still, no doubt the railwaymen were used to dealing with such situations and were prepared for any eventuality. So I reassured myself until we rolled through another curve in the line and I saw the locomotive halted in an halo of smoke about two hundred yards ahead, with the fireman twenty yards or so closer to the approaching passenger car. One of his arms was held out straight from his shoulder and I hoped that this was an indication that everything was as it should be.

And so indeed it proved to be as the passenger car and guard's van changed direction at the points and rolled away from the main line at what was now a brisk walking pace. The whole manoeuvre seemed to me to be admirably timed and executed. I glanced out of the rear door of the van and saw Mr Protheroe leaning to his right as he looked down the line to the approaching platform. Standing before him was the round horizontal wheel which controlled the brake shoes. Evidently choosing his moment, he gave the wheel another quarter turn, the brakes began to squeal again and I smelt the aroma of scorching wood in the air. His head turned inwards and he observed my presence at the door.

"Only a hundred yards to go, Doctor, then you may descend," he said. "Nice and carefully, please, for these ballast stones are treacherous stuff to walk on if you're not used to them."

I nodded and gripped my walking stick as if I already had need of it. Protheroe seemed intent on judging the distance ahead. He slackened off the brake wheel a little to let van and car drift a few yards further on, then reapplied the wheel quickly, as hard on as he could turn it in a sudden burst of energy. The two coupled vehicles came to a complete halt as the last of their momentum was absorbed into the brakes, and the end of a railway platform was directly abutting the rear platform of the guards van when it finally came to a stand.

"Neat work, Mr Protheroe."

"Thankee, Doctor. Now I'll walk forward to secure the car. In the meantime you can get off whenever you're ready."

"Excellent, excellent. And you'll be as prompt as possible with that wire. Mr Protheroe?"

"No need to worry about that, Doctor," he reassured me. "It'll get sent as soon as it can be."