Chapter 6

We made our way swiftly through the train. Even the third class car was almost empty, only a few older people dozing in their seats. The luggage car was behind the last passenger car, and we gained entrance quickly.

It was surprisingly full. I was briefly puzzled until I realized that not only the mail, but also such independent delivery services as had items to move north, would have bought up the remaining space. The lockroom, which bore a close resemblance to a cell, stood at the far end, and two large, sliding double doors provided access to the car for luggage, one set on each side. The luggage itself was piled and then tied down with netting, minimizing the potential for movement.

"It went into the lockup," Jackson said, and made for it. I poked around briefly in the luggage, seeing my bag but unable to access it due to the securing ropes. Jackson, in the meanwhile, was engaged in moving other trunks from the door of the lockroom to gain the door. I abandoned my attempt to remove my bag; knowing how deeply the revolver was buried within it I would need to have full access, which would require Jackson to remove the netting. I moved on to assist the young man.

It took perhaps ten minutes of moving items to clear a spot for the door to swing. We had left an aisle for access to the door by unspoken consent, and Jackson had assured me we would be shortly able to withdraw my bag and provide me with my weapon – the lack of which I sorely felt. Though we presumed the surviving Dabney had only targeted me, my near-loss of Holmes was still very fresh in my mind, and our defence was my first priority.

The small cloth bag had barely shifted, and I lifted it carefully down, opening it. Within, a small vial rested in wrappings of wool. It was slightly damp and smelt faintly of chemicals, and I noted the cap had not been properly secured. I almost instinctively reached to tighten it, then recalled that it had taken only the pressure of a case being placed on a spot of the material to set it off. I withdrew my hand before touching it and closed the bag again. How to dispose of it? Jackson would know how to open the door, perhaps simply throwing it would suffice? Would it explode on impact or should I thin it with water and pour it out? I turned the thought in my mind as I went to Jackson, who had turned his attention to the net that restrained the stack with my bag.

"Doctor Watson. Move another step and I will shoot your friends."

The voice came from the door, and I froze.

Jackson had been crouched behind the baggage pile, and he dropped to his haunches at my fleeting glance, as I moved my gaze to the doorway. Dabney stood there, gripping the young man Stu by the arm, a revolver pointed at his head. Holmes was in front of him, having evidently been made to co-operate by the threat to the young man. He met my eyes, fury within them, and I could sympathize.

"Dabney," I made my voice level. "What of the other man?"

"I hit him. I think he's still alive. I don't really care about him, or your friend hiding behind the boxes. I think he should stand up, very slowly."

I shrugged and nodded slightly, and Jackson rose. Dabney half-stepped aside and pushed Stu forward, lifting his gun in response to Holmes' swift turn, stopping his attempt to disarm their captor.

Stu moved towards Jackson. "Both of you, into the cell and lock yourself in." Dabney directed.

"Doctor?" Jackson asked.

"Go ahead, Jackson. Do as he says." I eyed Holmes, who was standing, swaying. It was not beyond him to over-play the weakness, to give his captor a false sense of security, but I knew his reserves of energy were sorely depleted.

We stood in tableau until the two men were locked in.

"Now, Doctor, give me the bag."

I moved forward, but he waved his gun again. "Slowly, slowly! Place it there very gently." He gestured to a spot a few feet from Holmes.

I complied, putting the bag down with care and stepping back. At Dabney's direction, Holmes lifted it and turned to hand it over – he lunged at Dabney's gun arm. The bag he looped over his wrist, and it swayed and swung – I dove for Dabney as well, but he had shrugged Holmes' attack off, grasped the handle of the bag and pulled hard, wrenching it off Holmes' arm and pushing him back into me. We tumbled down in confusion.

"Get up! Get up!" Dabney's voice was rising in agitation and we sorted ourselves out. I stood, extending a hand for Holmes.

"Nice try, old chap," I said quietly as I helped him right himself.

"Sorry, old man," he said at the same time, and we grinned slightly at each other, even in these dire circumstances.

Together, we stood facing Dabney.

"And now what?" my friend asked with some asperity. "Shoot us both? Blow up the train?"

Dabney frowned slightly. "That wasn't my plan at all, Mr. Holmes. I was going to plant the vial in the good Doctor's luggage, and would have done if you hadn't boarded earlier than I anticipated. I believed the resulting explosion would be contained within a room. If it killed you as well, so much the better, but the Doctor was my chief target." He essayed a smile, attempting to appear at ease.

We simply waited, saying nothing. He grew tired of our silence, and gestured at Holmes.

"Over there. Behind the luggage."

Slowly, using the trunks and bags to assist himself, Holmes complied.

Once he was there, Marcus Dabney indicated me. "Over to the door. Open one side."

I found that deeply disquieting, but when I seemed to pause, the gun swung to cover Holmes, and the implication was clear. I moved as directed and pushed the door open. It slid on its' tracks, banging against the stop. We were running fast, but the noise was less than I'd expected.

"Jump, Doctor Watson." he commanded me then.