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Chapter 25.

Monday. 8.45am.— 21th May, 1894. The end-game reaches the brink of final success.

—O—

'An Occurrence at Watford Tunnel' (1 of 2)

Xena insisted on accompanying Gabrielle forward to the goods-van coupled behind the tender, where its function acted as a vibration-damper for the other passenger coaches. The corridor-door had fortunately been connected and left unlocked, so we three simply walked through into the empty interior of the van where there were only a few bundles and piles of gear associated with the police officers and soldiers who had previously been with us. Rider Haggard and Holmes had elected to remain behind at the rear coach's connection to the guard's-van, awaiting Xena's return.

It is here that I must begin to report activities which, though verified by my own, Rider Haggard's, and Holmes's witnessing, still cannot but be viewed with astonishment—perhaps even disbelief—by any reasonable reader. I can only say that certain of the following facts, though unexplained, did indeed happen.

We all three had hardly entered the empty van and proceeded to the front end, where large sliding-doors were placed on either side, when there occurred what I can only describe as a wavering bright-reddish light which quickly subsided and vanished again. For a moment I thought that some small amount of Moran's dynamite might have exploded somewhere close by, but such was not the case.

The source of the disturbance had been immediately behind us, and we turned as one. The ladies then merely raised their eyebrows, almost unconcernedly; while I was entirely dumbstruck. Standing inside the goods-van, between us and the door we had just entered by, stood a tall powerfully-built man. He had thick black hair, a close-cropped beard and moustache, angular features, and a lithe athletic stance. His eyes and expression suggested someone used to giving orders and being in command. The clothes he wore appeared to be a loose leather jerkin and dark leather trousers with heavy boots. His waist-belt had a remarkably large silver buckle. He was also clearly foreign, and it did not take Holmes's intuition for me to propose Greece as his native land. Xena and Gabrielle both appeared to be on familiar terms with him. And I suddenly realised he must be the fellow who had made such a brief, but effective, appearance at Belsize Park, as well as in 'The Prospect of Whitby'. What was his name, again? Anyway, the other staggering revelation was that beside this foreign gentleman stood none other than Markham, looking slightly dazed.

"Ares! Should'a known you'd finally turn up to spoil things." Xena clearly wasn't impressed by him. "At least ya had the sense to bring Markham. Why's he here, by the way?"

"Necessity. Gods, you're looking swish and dapper—as I believe they say here!" Ares smirked, showing a fine set of white teeth. "You realise, of course, that things are goin' from bad to worse in this game, Xena? Everything is goin' to happen in the next half-hour. You know how short a half-hour is?"

"Long enough for me ta kick your butt." Gabrielle frowned from under lowered brows as she mumbled this defamatory remark, while she stood with one hand casually resting on Xena's arm.

"What? What d'ya say?" The tall man appeared a little irritated, and frowned at the blonde woman in his turn.

"What? Oh, just that we've really been wishing you'd show up to help—that's all!" Gabrielle spoke with a bright light snapping in her green eyes. No love lost there, I fancy.

She could obviously also prevaricate with the best. No, let us tell the truth—she could lie like a trooper, and with the most innocent expression imaginable.

Ares glowered for a moment, then accepted defeat and turned to more important matters.

"OK, it's like this, we gotta shut down this creep's game, and fast." Ares looked at Xena and shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Sorry I couldn't have been more help up till now, but ya know these God Things—all sorts of moral rules an' regulations that even I can't circumnavigate."

"Wow! D'you know what that word means?" Gabrielle seemed to harbour some form of long term grudge against the man.

"Listen Duchess, this ain't the time for scoring points, OK?" The man scowled with anger. "Gods, I hate Amazons! They so never do what I want."

"Excuse me, what's a creep?" I felt some little explanation was needed for his sudden coup against the leadership of our group."And who are you? And how on earth did you bring Markham here. As far as I know he should be with Inspector Lestrade on the Queen's train."

This aspect of the affair had intrigued me over the last minute or two; and I had expended a great deal of mental energy applying Holmes's methods on the question—to no avail.

"Yers, what am I doin' here?" The man so alluded to stared around with returning intelligence. "One moment I'm standing in a corner of the Royal Saloon, watchin' the Queen sittin' on her sofa havin' a cup of tea while Lestrade's givin' me the low-down on 'etikette'—the next thing there's a bloody great red light an' I'm here? How'd yer do that, mister?"

"With remarkable ease, you common oaf!" Ares had certainly never learned manners at a respectable Public School. "And a creep is what that maniac Colonel Moran is, Doctor Watson. Any more questions? Or do you want to hold a symposium on the whole affair—till that dynamite blows up at the rear of this—this mobile caravanserai, and sends you all to Tartarus in little pieces?"

"Hey, watch it with the catty remarks!" Gabrielle scowled as she took a step towards her opponent. "Markham's been a better friend to us than you've been so far. What brings you here right now, anyway? What's goin' on?"

The dark man raised both his arms in the air, as if looking to the Heavens for help. He had, I realised for the first time, a sheathed dagger at his waist-belt and a long sword hanging from a secondary belt. He looked for all the world like an actor in an amateur production of a Gilbert and Sullivan comic-operetta. Things, I felt, were getting just a trifle out of control.*

"If everyone would only stop asking me what I'm doin' here, I'd tell everyone what I'm doin' here—capiche?" He looked around at us with a pitying glance. "OK, t'get right down t'the meaty bones of the situation—at the present moment Moran's train has broken down on one of the two lines of track in that long cutting-ravine thing, which leads to that tunnel everyone keeps talking about."

"Great Athena!" Xena snarled, almost with glee.

"Great Hippolyta!" Gabrielle was just as amazed by this turn of events.

"Great God!" I felt somewhat on the periphery of things, but the dangers presented by this news were clear enough, even to me.

"Great Eris and Enyo,—will you all Shut Up!"* He bared his teeth in a snarl that rivalled any Xena could equal. "No, no, don't thank me, it was a little thing!"

Xena sneered openly at this point, as if casting doubt on his involvement in this turn of events—an opinion I heartily agreed with, though I kept this to myself.

"So I figure if you dump the guard's-van early, it'll run on behind you for some considerable time." Here the man grinned in the most frightful manner. "The way I see it is, you draw his fire as you pass by; he's distracted by both his accident and the unexpected chance to finally pop your clogs, Xena; then after an exchange of fire ya all beat a retreat into the tunnel, while the van rolls up an' explodes right beside that Gods-damned maniac. That should settle his hash, eh?"*

There was a long pause while we all contemplated this scenario. Actually, after the briefest thought, it was apparent that it actually held a great deal of merit.

"Gods, I can't believe I'm goin' t'say this." Xena looked at the roof of the goods-van as if for inspiration. "OK, OK, it's a good idea. It only means a little changing of our original plan. What d'ya think, Gabrielle?"

"I get it." The blonde Amazon nodded, understandingly. "I go over the tender to the engine-driver as we previously decided, but instead of telling him to drive into the tunnel I order him to slow down or even stop for a short time when we reach Moran's train. Then start up again, maybe at some signal from you, Xena, an' head Hades-for-leather into the tunnel. Right?"

"Ya got it. OK, let's do this." The tall dark woman clapped her friend on the shoulder.

Xena then strode over to the left-hand door, unclasped the lock by the simple expedient of hitting it viciously with the edge of her chakram, and slid the door open. A blast of dust and cold air rushed in, but I was an old hand now at this and held a handkerchief to my face. The others seemed unfazed by any discomfort. Gabrielle, with Xena's help, glanced out; looked up and down the sides of the van; then delicately stepped out onto the relatively wide foot-board. There were no metal hand-rails on the side of the goods-van, but there were several hooks, ringlets, and bolts fixed on the exterior at various places. These allowed her to make her way along the rocking side of the van, which was almost long enough to be called a coach. Then she reached the forward end and slipped round out of view. Her next task would be to climb up the back of the tender and make her way over the coal to the rear of the driver's cab. But that was out of our hands now. We, and particularly Xena, had our own difficulties to contend with.

"OK. She's on her own. Let's go." Xena turned away from the open door to stride back to the corridor-entrance. "Coming, Ares?"

"Gods, women!" The dark man growled sourly, as he followed the lady in question. "They're always nothing but trouble. What'd I have'ta do t'light Xena's fire? Y'know, Dr Watson, I often wonder about turning over a new leaf—usually after a face-off with Xena, I gotta admit. Being kind, an' mild-mannered, an' respectful to my elders, an' all that cr-p! D'ya think that'd be the answer?"

There was a long thoughtful silence as we walked back through into the passenger-coach.

"Nah!"

—O—

"Mr Holmes, meet Ares." Xena performed the introductions as we arrived back at the rear of the last coach.

"This is impossible. There can be no logical or rational explanation for this!" Holmes was instead looking fixedly at Markham, as if seeing a ghost. "How did Markham join us? There is no way it can have been possible."

"Let's not beat our brains against minor problems. We got bigger fish t'fry." Ares grunted impolitely as he surveyed the set-up. "So, ya open the door here; Xena leans out an' releases the van; then we wait for the Last Act, eh? Nice. There's plenty of dynamite in that van, ain't there?"

He asked the last question of Xena, and she gave a truly terrifying sneer in answer.

"Enough t'wipe out Olympus itself, my war-fixated friend!" She certainly seemed to be nurturing something like a lasting resentment. "Wish I had some to take back with me. Got a good idea what I'd do with it."

The way she looked at the tall man after these words didn't exactly fill me with happiness. I am not a practitioner of the new psycho-analytic methods so much the rage in Vienna at the moment; but even I could see that some deep underlying sexual connection existed between these two—the tall dark man, and the tall dark woman. No doubt Gabrielle often felt like a rubber ball squeezed between them, accounting for her own disapproval of Ares. Altogether a remarkable medical case-study—but I digress.

"Hades, that's one mighty weapon, Haggard." Ares' voice, as he somewhat hurriedly changed the subject, was loaded with envy as he eyed the massive double-barrelled gun leaning against the side-wall in the small open space beside the rear door. "Y'any good with it?"

"I can guarantee to give a fly a nasty fright at thirty paces!" Rider Haggard obviously thought humour was the answer to this peculiar addition to our ranks. "Don't think we've been properly introduced. Didn't catch your name, I'm afraid."

"Ares, Go—er, a friend of Xena's here." The tall Greek man gave a side-long glance at his supposed companion. "We meet now and again. She's responsible for my being here now, y'know."

At this remark Ares found himself once more the centre of attention for the other two men present.

"And just how that occurred is a matter of some interest to me, if I may say so." Holmes was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, come what may.

"Yeah, I mean, how am I back here?" Markham too felt explanations were called for. "I was on the Royal Train; now I ain't. There's something not right somewhere. An' what's Miss Gabrielle up to. Climbing all over the engine like she is. That's dangerous, y'know!"

Xena stepped in here to soothe ruffled feathers and, I fancy, ego's. It was, apparently, an occupation she had much experience with.

"Gabrielle's alright, Markham." She actually smiled kindly as she looked at the stocky man. "She knows what she's doin'. She can handle it. Now you, on the other hand, Ares. You're just cramping my style. Get outta my way, I need'ta lean out through the doorway here. You can make yourself useful by hanging onto my belt—I don't wanna go flying when the van breaks free."

Holmes pulled down the long window in the coach-door and stuck his head out into the passing airflow. He was looking in the direction we were travelling, trying to gauge the right time to release the van for our purposes.

"We're still a couple of miles from the Watford cutting, Watson, which is good." He spoke with the familiar nervous tension in his voice which always showed his immersion in the unfolding events of any adventure we were on. "I've studied the LNWR route map, so by my calculations we should be coming up on the best drop-point soon."

"Ya sure ya know when to release this van, Mr Holmes?" Xena called back from her precarious position, kneeling at the open rear door.

"I've taken note of the weight of the van, madam, and the very slight degree of incline in the track at this point." Holmes voice was wholly calm and absorbed in the details of the situation. "I know our position here, and the distance to the cutting. When the van is released it will, of course, immediately begin to lose speed; but will continue moving for a remarkably long distance over the rails. The calculation, however, is a simple one and I am confident the van will catch up with us again halfway along the cutting somewhere close to where Moran's train must be. Get ready to act when I give the word."

The next thirty seconds were the longest I have ever endured. But finally, suddenly, Holmes grasped the edge of the window with one gloved hand and cried loudly.

"Now! Let it go, now!"

There came the sound of metal clanking as Xena battled with the heavy coupling. I could see her lower body and, er, legs thrashing around as she heaved against the tightly joined metal links. Then I saw a hand reach back to her waist and grip the chakram resting there. Immediately I could imagine the next sequence of events, and I was not disappointed. There was a loud screeching, as of sheering steel, then Xena's legs gave a compulsive kick and she vanished through the open door. Ares, who had been leaning low over her outstretched body with one hand firmly gripping her belt, seemed to be jerked forward through the open aperture as by an invisible force. For one agonising instant Holmes and I caught a glimpse of his bare arm gripping the edge of the door, then it too vanished—they had both been dragged out onto the track immediately in front of the now released, though still moving, guard's-van! But before either of us could react there came a brilliant flash of red light; the man's arm re-appeared hanging onto the door-handle; there was a brief struggle and the rest of his leather-clad body followed, closely accompanied by Xena herself being dragged inboard like a dusty sack of coals—but alive!

"Hey, thanks, Ares." Xena stood up and dusted herself down nonchalantly.

"No problem, you might try bein' more careful next time!" Ares brushed a hand through his hair with a grimace. "You could'a been mincemeat under that truck, if I hadn't saved ya!"

As we all turned to look out through the open door we saw the guard's-van receding into the distance as we pulled ahead. It was remarkable, in fact, how quickly the van seemed to grow smaller till it was only a dark dot in the distance.

"Are ya sure that thing's goin' t'catch up with us again, Mr Holmes?" Xena stood, with one hand gently caressing the chakram at her waist, looking back along the line.

"Undoubtedly, madam, undoubtedly." Holmes, however, had his mind on another matter. "Tell me, how —"

"Well, we'd better get forward once more." She took no notice of his attempted questioning and instead made a purposeful movement in the direction of the corridor leading back along the carriage's length. "Sooner Gabrielle's safe again, the sooner I'll be happy."

In a second she had vanished, Markham and Ares close on her heels. Rider Haggard stood silently absorbed with his gun while Holmes moodily scratched his chin. Finally he could hold back no longer and gazed at me with a troubled brow.

"Did you see that, Watson?" His face was pale as he contemplated the late scene. "Something happened there that, by all the known laws of science, should not have happened. They both went out that door onto the track like rag-dolls—then they both re-appeared, as if in some magic trick performed by Maskelyne! I see no logical explanation."*

"You've never been in Africa, Holmes, have you?" Rider Haggard regarded the great detective with a solemn demeanour. "I know my published tales are only stories. Full of strange people like 'She' and 'King Solomon's Mines'. But they are based on legends, tales, yarns I heard from travellers who have seen such in the un-discovered realms which still exist in that great Dark Continent. I know enough to know there are still un-explained mysteries in the world, even here in dirty, bland old London. Leave it, Holmes, leave it alone. That's my advice."

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Notes:—

1. W. S. Gilbert (1836-1911). Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900). Their most famous comic-opera is 'The Mikado' (1885).

2. Eris (Discord). Goddess of chaos, strife and discord. Enyo, Goddess of War, associated with Ares.

3. Pop your clogs. British slang expression meaning 'to die'.

4. John Nevil Maskelyne (1839-1917). From 1865 onwards he was one of the most famous Victorian conjurers and illusionists.

The next chapter—'An Occurrence at Watford Tunnel' (2 of 2)—will be the concluding chapter of this story.

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