Early the next morning, they breakfasted lightly on boiled eggs with toast and coffee; Holmes continued to study Mortimer's letter, although he had deduced everything that he needed to from his first reading of it. Their packed bags sat waiting beside the door, prepared the night before. They had each had a little sleep, and spoke little over their breakfast, each lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, as if on an unspoken signal, Holmes stood, and reached for his coat and hat. Watson followed suit, and, leaning only slightly on his cane, lifted his bags with his free hand. Holmes retrieved his own luggage, and the two left as quietly as possible, leaving the breakfast things to be cleared away by their esteemed landlady.
Down on the snow-covered street, Holmes hailed a cab. The horse trotted to a halt in the grey slush of the road, and Holmes gave directions to the cabbie as Watson stored their bags and climbed aboard. Holmes gazed out of the window as the cab bounced and clattered along the streets of London, as the city began to wake up. A few gentle flakes of snow were still falling, and, although the air was icy-cold, the streets were becoming alive with people. Dozens of sights and smells assailed Holmes as he observed keenly; the night watch of the police wearily making their way home; shopkeepers opening their doorways; the smell of fresh bread from the bakery; the shout of the newspaper boy. He heard Watson shift uncomfortably on the bench opposite to him, as Holmes withdrew from the window.
Holmes knew better than to question Watson about his health, nor to comment on it; still, he could see that the doctor was in some discomfort, no doubt brought about by the cold weather and his busy Kensington surgery practice. With so many patients stricken with 'flu and other winter illnesses and confined to bed, the city's medical men were kept busy travelling from one home to another on their rounds.
"I should think a few days in the countryside will do us both some good," Holmes commented, nonchalantly.
Watson raised an eyebrow; "In a haunted old hall in the middle of winter?" he remarked, amused.
Holmes snorted; "I do not believe in ghosts, Watson, and neither should a man of science such as you. No, there is a human face behind Sir Henry's current torment, and I shall unmask it."
"I certainly hope so," Watson replied, with a casualness that might have deceived anyone else but Holmes, "I should think Sir Henry has suffered enough haunting in his lifetime."
Holmes simply made a vague noise of agreement, already turning back to study the streets. They arrived at the train station, and the cabbie helped them to unload their bags. Holmes paid him, as Watson procured tickets.
"The train, fortunately, has not been held up by the weather," the doctor reported, rejoining the detective; "though I'm glad of my overcoat and scarf – I do detest the cold!"
Holmes, similarly bundled up against the cold, nodded in agreement as they carefully picked their way through well-trodden snow towards the platform. The train pulled in a few minutes later, and they boarded it gratefully, although it was not much warmer in the carriage than it had been on the platform. They found themselves an empty compartment, and, having safely stored their bags, they adjourned to the dining cart to obtain some hot coffee. The train was virtually deserted; clearly, the weather was deterring many people from travelling; and in the post-Christmas lull of the New Year, few people had any need to travel in any case. Holmes watched the scant activity taking place on the platform, as the steward brought them their coffee. Watson poured them each a drink, and glanced across the table.
"I take it from your expression that we have been followed, or at least observed?" he asked, conversationally, "I saw no-one from the carriage."
"Indeed," Holmes murmured, turning away from the window, "the boy in question was already waiting at the station. He saw us arrive, followed us in, but has not followed us onto the train. I suspect he has been employed to advise someone in Dartmoor of our impending arrival; ah, yes, there he goes; off to send a telegram I would imagine."
Watson smiled slightly; "Then you are correct. There is a human agent at work."
"Of course there is!" Holmes snorted, "I simply need to deduce who would wish Sir Henry any further harm – and there is no point dwelling on the matter until we have obtained further facts from the very source."
Watson took the hint, smiled again, and sipped at his coffee, nursing the cup to warm his hands. There was no point in attempting to coax Holmes into a guessing game as to what was going on in Dartmoor. A loud whistle split the air, and moments later, the train clanked forwards, and with a loud blast of steam, the locomotive strained forwards, slowly building up speed, as they pulled out of the station.
~*~