Epilogue
I wrote swiftly, signed the note and handed it to Jackson.
"And this is to go to Inspector Lestrade." he said.
"Exactly," Holmes replied. "We shall wire from the station. If you could see that the door to compartment four remains locked, and Dabney within, we would be grateful. Lestrade will see that he goes only to the docks to take ship for America, or to gaol."
He was again reclined on the seat, propped carefully in the most comfortable position we could obtain. His adventures had drained his small store of energy, but he was otherwise unharmed, and there were items that required attention.
"You don't believe his change of attitude?" Jackson asked.
"I do, in fact. But the stakes are too high, Jackson," I saw Holmes make a small gesture that seemed directed at me "and I do not take unnecessary chances"
"One more question, if I might, sir…how…"
"Did I know their history?" Holmes interrupted the young man and I didn't bother containing my smile. It was a question he had been clearly hoping to be asked.
"Of course, I took some interest in the man who had attempted to kill me, and made inquiries through Lestrade of their early life. The bare facts of their orphaning were on record, but as for the rest, it was apparent in his bearing. No matter what a man says, Jackson, it is what he does and how he does it that is the window to his soul. He was not easy in his mind about killing another, and that reticence provided a wedge that proved most useful. He was making every effort to ensure Watsons' death, but he did not want to be directly responsible for it." He settled back a bit, basking for a moment in the respect of the young man.
"Remarkable, sir." Jackson said admiringly. He tucked the note away, and stood. "Gentlemen, it is now suppertime. I'll see about having food brought to Dabney, and Stu will remain outside his compartment, we'll spell him off as needed. Thank you for smoothing the way with the conductor."
"Supper," I mused, "would be a very good idea…"
"I'll tend to that for you both as well, Doctor. I'll return in twenty minutes." He touched his forelock, and turned.
"Jackson?" Holmes' voice stopped him.
"Sir?"
"Bring three plates."
He looked at me.
"It's his way of asking you to join us for the meal, young man." I interpreted.
He smiled broadly and left.
I stood and slipped off my coat, then retreated to the small washstand to clean up for the meal.
"I must admit, Watson, to being somewhat put out with you." The tone was teasing, but the words were earnest, and I looked over, towelling my face.
"Oh? For what, pray?" I dumped the water I had used into the bucket and wiped the bowl, hanging the damp towel to dry. I took a dry one over my arm, and then put the jug into the basin.
"You insisted on destroying that most intriguing explosive," he complained, as I brought the soap, towel and water to him.
"It simply was too unstable to keep, Holmes," I pointed out mildly, putting the basin and soap down.
"I suppose it was," he conceded, as I tipped a small stream of water from the heavy jug for him to wash in. "It would have been fascinating, though, to analyse it. Think of it…"and his voice was muffled for a moment as he scrubbed his face free of the dust of the luggage car. "Dabney had only days in which to make his plans. He had a hotel room, or perhaps a flat, to work in." He splashed water on his face and rinsed his hands, and I handed him the towel.
"He had limited means, limited supplies, limited time and limited equipment, and he still managed to concoct a most powerful explosive." He finished with the towel and I retrieved it, dabbing at some damp spots on my waistcoat placed through some over eager splashing. "Sorry, old man," he grinned and I could not but smile back.
"You could always ask him," I pointed out, returning the items to the washroom and cleaning the basin again.
"I think not."
It was said consideringly. I gave up on my waistcoat and took it off, shaking it out and hanging it as well.
"And why not? I was under the impression all was forgiven." I couldn't keep a slight acidity from my tone.
"My dear chap, whatever gave you that idea?" His gaze followed me as I sat, leaning back and stretching my game leg.
"It seemed that way, when we saw him to his room. He certainly apologized enough for two men."
"The man is thrice a fool. I do not willingly speak to fools, and certainly not once I no longer am required to."
"Thrice a fool," I said thoughtfully. "Let us number the foolish."
"Not standing up to his brother many years ago." One finger went up. "Continuing to curry favour with him when afforded the opportunity to sever all connections." A second joined it. "Threatening you." Three fingers, and a dark look aimed over my shoulder at Compartment Four.
"One can choose one's friends, Holmes, but one has little choice in family. "
"Upon occasion, Watson, one is lucky enough to find both in one." His expression had cleared again, and he quirked a smile at me.
I nodded in agreement, returned the smile and leaned my head back, closing my eyes and relaxing again. And this time, no memories rose to haunt me.
I wrote most of this tale whilst commuting on a - yes - train. Netbooks are the best invention in the world!
Thank you all for joining me on this wonderful trip. Please watch your step when disembarking, and stand well back of the yellow line, as high speed trains may pass at any time in any direction.