Usual disclaimers apply, Holmes and Watson belong to ACD. Other characters and events are my own.
Chapter 2
Lord Falconer had returned to Cornwall within an hour of engaging Sherlock Holmes to investigate his son's disappearance. He had settled the initial expenses in advance, much to Watson's surprise, but such was his insistence that even without this generosity there was no question that Holmes would not take the case.
"Well, Watson, how quickly our lives can be turned upside down!" exclaimed Holmes as he drew deeply on his pipe. "It is a most intriguing account that His Lordship recounts, is it not?"
"Interesting, and very exciting, Holmes!" exclaimed his friend. "To think, the tomb of the great king of legend may have been found!"
"I will have to disabuse you of such romantic consideration, Watson," smiled Holmes. "If nothing else, such possibilities will do us no good by distracting us from the task in hand. However, in any event, I am afraid that the legendary King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table are likely to be no more than the figment of over-active imaginations, aided and abetted of course by the work of some of our great poets and writers."
"But even the most far-fetched legend usually has a basis in truth, Holmes."
Holmes was quiet for a moment. "Yes, that is true. However, the whole idea of wizards and dragons, Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake, Camelot and the quest for the Holy Grail is all too obviously fictional. At the very least, putting aside the impossibility of many of these elements of the story, the period of our history in which it is supposed to occur does not match what we know about those times."
"That's why they are called the Dark Ages!" laughed Watson. "But I can see I'm not going to convince you – not yet, at least! But we still have a missing lad to find – and the pay is likely to be handsome."
"You know as well as I that my work is its own reward," said Holmes. "But His Lordship was very insistent, was he not? Why do you think that could be?"
"He wanted only the best, and was prepared to pay accordingly so as to ensure your engagement."
Holmes smiled at his friend. "Very good. Yes, it is clear he wanted me on the case. He has come all the way from Cornwall – not an easy journey for a man of his age and disability – to lay this tantalising story before me. Others might have telegraphed."
"He wanted you to see he was genuine."
"Indeed. What did you make of him?"
"To my eye he seemed most eager to locate his son and to know he was safe."
Holmes pondered this, as if weighing up different possibilities. "Yes," he said finally, "I am sure that is it..."
"You seem uncertain."
"How is it that he had his son's notebook, if his son was so excited and thorough in his studies that he recorded everything he found?"
"Perhaps it was an old notebook? Young Benjamin could have taken a new one."
"But there were still empty pages left in it," replied Holmes with a wry smile. "But perhaps, as you say, he left it behind and had a new one with him. Perhaps he kept two notebooks simultaneously – it has been known. Or perhaps he did not need it that day."
"Meaning ...?"
"The two men he was seen talking to the day before he disappeared, Watson. If they are involved, and it is by no means certain that they are at this stage, it is possible that he did not want the notebook to fall into their hands if they met again."
"Do you suspect foul play, then?"
Holmes smiled. "We do not have the information to hand to make that judgement, Watson." He rose from his seat. "Now I have some thinking to do, and some telegrams to send, so I would ask you to avail yourself of the local park for a couple of hours – no, make it three – and upon your return there will doubtless be some other tasks with which we can busy ourselves before we leave on our travels."
"To Cornwall, then? His Lordship will be pleased. When you told him you would be unable to travel straight back with him, he looked as though his heart would break."
"Yes. But he knows that I would need to check some matters of fact with our colleagues in the Force here in London before we leave. It is important we are prepared. I instructed him of all the measures necessary upon his return to ensure that no evidence is lost." He paused for a moment. "Whilst you are out, I think it may be a good use of your spare time to acquire some tickets for us. I have heard that space is at a premium on the Atlantic Coast Express unless you book seats in advance." He looked at the five banknotes on the table before him, each promising to pay the bearer the sum of twenty pounds. "I think it would be possible to stretch to First Class," he concluded with a smile.
They were both used to travelling light when necessary, and so each was carrying only a small valise as they arrived at Paddington Station in the western suburbs of London, to board the late afternoon train to Bodmin. They quickly found their seats and settled themselves in for the long journey ahead of them, which would not be concluded until midnight.
Holmes had been pleased with the replies to the telegrams he had despatched earlier in the day, and had telegraphed ahead to Lord Falconer to announce that he expected to be with him the next morning. Two rooms at the Great Western Hotel in Bodmin had been booked by Watson - Holmes did not seem to want to put His Lordship to any inconvenience so late at night. And as Holmes had said, there would be precious little to see in the darkness. All he had done was to remind Falconer that the house and grounds should be kept free from interference until he arrived.
The journey, whilst long, was uneventful For the most part Holmes stared out of the window at the passing countryside as it gradually fell into darkness; meals came and went, and Watson managed to read most of the book he had brought with him. Holmes had not approved of his choice of material, of course, but Watson had insisted that there would be no better way to prepare for their task than to re-read his tattered copy of Mallory's classic fifteenth-century tale of Le Morte d'Arthur - given as a tenth birthday present by his mother, and a great favourite in his schooldays. At certain stages of the journey – as the train entered the 'west country' proper, for example, on leaving Bristol – he had regaled Holmes with points from the text and commentary, but nothing more had passed between the two of them since Taunton, where Holmes had threatened to throw the book out of the window if Watson had said another word. The last part of the journey had thus passed in silence, and in fact Watson was asleep when the train drew into Bodmin at a few minutes before midnight.
Holmes shook him gently, and the two of them duly made their way off the train. The porter directed them to their lodgings for the night, although the owner was none too pleased with being roused at such a late (or early) hour to let them in. It was gone one o'clock before they were settled in their beds, which after the long journey were surprisingly – at least to Holmes - comfortable.
The next morning saw them well fed and watered, and were enjoying a smoke in the Hotel's garden before setting off for Trethewan Court. The small stream at the bottom of the lawn was bubbling merrily and the birdsong was loud in the bushes. The influence of the west country air seemed to be having a wholesome effect on Holmes already, and he was quite relaxed and ready to discuss his thoughts with Watson when the sound of a four-wheeler was heard in the street outside. Within a few moments, none other than Lord Falconer himself met them at their seat as they rose to greet him in surprise. He was in a terrible state.
"Gentlemen, good morning!"
Holmes bade him sit with them, and to calm himself.
"I am sorry to greet you like this, I really am, but rather than let you spend another few hours getting to the house I've come to collect you myself. Such events, Mr Holmes!"
Watson called to the waiter for a brandy, which His Lordship drank in a single draught when it arrived. His hand was trembling.
"I arrived back home late afternoon, and made the arrangements as you instructed."
"Good, that was as well."
He paused to catch his breath and assemble his thoughts. "Yes, but later, as the household was settled down for the night, I am convinced I saw two figures on the front drive. I'm always the last to bed, have been for years, since my service days, and it has been my habit to go round the doors and windows last thing before retiring, just to check all is secure – not that there is any need, so far are we out of the way, but I like to know all is locked. So this must have been, perhaps, two o'clock this morning, and I am checking the front door when I see them. Sneaking towards the house. So I get my gun and quickly unlock the door, but they must have seen or heard me, for as I started to make my way towards them they turned tail and ran. I didn't bother trying a shot, my eyesight isn't what it once was. One was carrying a small package and dropped it as they ran off. There was no way I could have caught them, Mr Holmes, no way."
"Did you get any idea who they might have been?" asked Holmes. "Have you seen similar folk around the area previously?"
"No, not personally, Mr Holmes," he replied, "although of course my first thought turns to the reports of the two men my son was seen with the day before he disappeared."
"Hmm," mused Holmes. "Pray, continue."
"I reached the point on the road where I had seen them drop the object, and found a large stone, with a paper note tied to it. Doubtless they were going to throw it through a window. I have it here. Mr Holmes, I now fear even more for my son. Please, help us... help me..."
His voice tailed off as he handed over a folded and dirty piece of paper. Holmes handed it to Watson, who opened it and read aloud:
We have him.
His life for the notebook.
24 hours.
