Yes, two in a day. :) It's interesting writing something where you're restricted to a train and one of your main characters is pretty much "hors de combat".
Chapter 5
"Demolition…" I said slowly. Holmes looked up sharply.
"Exactly, Watson. Jackson, I believe that the bag contains something of extreme hazard to the train. The fact that he brought it aboard shows that the man has no compunctions. It also shows a singlemindedness of purpose I did not anticipate from him."
"But what is his aim?" Jackson asked in confusion.
"There would be only one reason…" Holmes started, regarding me with some concern.
"Revenge. I believe he would want me dead," I said slowly. "You made earlier reference to Holmes' wounding - the man I killed was Julius Dabney."
Jackson blinked. "That was his brother, then - he followed you on the train?"
Holmes nodded, but he was frowning. "It would appear to be the logical answer," he said, "though it does seem odd. Those who are bent on revenge are often more – personal in their attack. Still, we must take action."
"It is a bomb, then." To his credit, Jackson sounded merely concerned, with little fear. "There is a bomb in the luggage compartment."
"Yes, lad, it's a bomb," Holmes said crisply. "And we know of it, and therefore the danger is already halved. We must find and render it harmless, and then find and render Mr. Marcus Dabney harmless."
Jackson took a breath. "I know where the bag is, and can access the keys."
"Excellent," I said. "If you provide a description of it, I will go to the luggage car and remove it, and if possible I shall dispose of the explosive then and there. We are currently running through uninhabited land - the door should prove adequate."
"I'll come with you, sir," Jackson said firmly. "I will know Mr. Dabney if I see him, and can be of help if it comes to a tussle."
I demurred, but Holmes nodded. "Jackson, I would be deeply in your debt if you would do so," he said. "I am of no use as it stands, and this would best be a two person job. It may be that we are too cautious, we have no proof that he knows exactly where we are, but it would not take much effort to ascertain our location if he wishes," he shrugged, "this train is not that large. Speed may well be of the essence. Once he confirms the Doctor's location, he may do something even more ill-advised."
"It's settled, then," Jackson said. "I'll need to stop by the porter's compartment and retrieve my keys, then we can find the bag and see what is what."
"And, Watson, if I might make a suggestion…"
"My revolver. Indeed."
Jackson went on ahead and I followed him out the door a discreet moment behind, stick in hand, hearing Holmes locking up behind us. We made our way, Jackson staying a short while before me, through our car and the diner, then Jackson entered the service car that separated the front carriages from the two cars without sleeping compartments. This car contained a kitchen, smaller rooms and the porter's compartment, near the back. The passengers seemed uninterested in our passage, and I sat for a moment in the dining area near the exit to the service car, evidently perusing a newspaper, until I confirmed no particular person noted me, then stood and casually entered.
Jackson brought me back and then opened a door. "Welcome to my office," he said, smiling, and I entered. Another gentlemen of like complexion looked up from darning a sock, and a second peered from behind a curtain where he had, evidently, been changing clothes.
"Jackson told you his tale, I see," the first, older man said with a soft drawl. "He's a good one for telling the tale…"
"In this case, Mr…." I let my voice trail.
"Harry," he introduced himself, and gestured to the man behind the curtain. "Stan."
"Ah. In this case, Harry, he was absolutely correct, not to mention the fact Mr. Holmes found his observations quite keen."
Jackson smiled, a touch embarrassed, and Harry glanced at him with a glint of respect.
"So that was really Mister Holmes, an' that means…"
"John Watson, at your service."
"John. Pleased to meetcha." I shook hands round the compartment, noting the materials for brushing and cleaning hats, coats and shoes, the curtained bunks for the longer trips, and the tea kit to one side - currently denuded of mugs. A set of tiny flags drooped over the door, evidently a method to summon one or other of them to a car. It was warm and slightly disheveled in a way that reminded me of our sitting room at Baker Street.
"We're going to the luggage car, Harry," Jackson started, " and we need to know if anyone follows. Keep your eyes out…"
"Hang on!" Stan had moved out from the alcove behind the curtain and was now leaning on the wall near the door. He held up his hand. "Car door just closed."
I looked enquiringly at Jackson, who was alarmed. "We might have been followed," he said, "or it might just be a passenger wanting something from his luggage."
"No other way out of here?"
"None. Hide!"
Hiding spaces were limited, but I had begun to formulate my plan already. I seized a bun from the tea tray, the shoe polish material and a pair of shoes from the floor, and dove behind the curtain. Once behind, I shrugged into the porter's jacket I had hoped to find there; otherwise shirtsleeves would have had to suffice; and blessed the fact the window was grubby - only fitful light came through. I tore the bread and stuffed it into my cheeks, making my features rounder. I clapped the hat on my head, then started industriously shining the shoes I had retrieved.
The door opened.
"Yes, sir?" Jackson said promptly. "Ah, sir, I remember you. Your bag was stowed most carefully, I can assure you…" so it was the man in question, and I was again impressed with Jackson's quick thinking.
"I'm looking for someone, I thought I saw him come this way. A military man of medium height and build, he carries a cane…I saw him on the platform and I've been watching for him. He's an old...friend."
I swore to myself and glanced at the floor - absently, I had laid the cane down and the tip protruded clearly past the curtain. I saw a shape move to shield the edge of the drape, and a dark hand flapped once - one of the porters had seen and was providing the opportunity to correct my mistake. Carefully I pulled it back and laid it snug against the baseboard - from a few feet distance in bad light, I hoped it would remain unseen.
"No one here but us, sir," Jackson replied "you can look round if you like." He was placing a great deal of trust in my abilities. I shined harder, hoping the trust was justified. I wished for the comforting weight of my revolver, but it was in my case in the luggage car, and was the one item I felt I should retrieve at the earliest convenience.
"Thank you." The man took Jackson at his word! I bent down further and rubbed away at the shoe. I heard his step, moving around, checking the bunks, growing closer…
I felt, rather than saw, the curtain flipped back and I grumbled in my throat, pitching my voice far lower than normal and blurring my usual diction. "Stu, I told you. I finish when I finish." I glanced up nonchalantly, had a fleeting impression of a square face very similar to his brothers', and then looked down again. "Stu, passengers' lost again."
"Not lost, Dan, looking for someone." Stu said calmly.
"Well, they're not here. I got these shoes to do, and three more sets, dang light's dodgy…" I trailed off into muttered grumbles and the man - Dabney, for it was he, I could tell - let the curtain fall back.
He went back to the door. "There's a fiver in it if you find him and tell me. Only me. I'm in compartment four."
"Military man with a cane, we'll watch for him, sir." Jackson was agreeability itself. The door closed behind him and there was silence for a moment, then he appeared at the curtain. He stared a second, then burst out laughing, gesturing me to the mirror.
The bread wedges had plumped my cheeks out rather like a chipmunk, my lips were thinned because of it, and the hat sat low on my forehead. I was unrecognizable. Homes himself would have been proud.
"The man, was it…"
"The brother of the man who almost killed Holmes, yes. The resemblance is clear." I tongued out the wedges that had so changed my appearence, and removed the jacket and hat. As I was straightening my coat, I looked to my new allies.
"Mr. Holmes is on his own. He's in no way fully recovered; he'd be unable to properly defend himself. I had no idea Dabney was so close on our tail. At least we know he is looking for me and not Holmes, but I cannot leave my friend unguarded while we deal with the explosive. I must ask a favour, one for which I would be deeply in your debt..."
Jackson held up a hand, forestalling my question.
"Harry, you and Stu go, watch after Mr. Holmes, tell him we sent you."
Readily, they agreed, and I nodded at them. "Thank you, gentlemen, it would ease my mind considerably."