December 12: The Signal

(Continued from last chapter…)

From Ennui Enigma - The Sign of Three

Wednesday morning. Sometime after 1:30 AM (way later than it ought to be).

Watson and Lestrade were not the only ones waiting and wondering when (and if) the gang of thieves would arrive. All the constables assigned to the stakeout were in their own corner of shadows: waiting, wondering, hoping… and with each battling their own private doubts and miseries.

"Ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to do and die… Or Freeze!"

As he stood patiently waiting and slowly freezing, Constable Michael Wheeler couldn't stop thinking of the hapless, loyal, brave fools who had followed their feckless officers into overwhelming cannon fire. He had little else to do to pass the time. It often paid at Scottland Yard to be noticed for your experience and competence, to be noted for bravery, a cool head, and being a good shot. It had put him on the fast track to better shifts, plum assignments, and frequent praise. There was even talk that he would soon be made sergeant – recognition indeed for someone his age.

Yet recognition sometimes came at a price - like tonight.

His father loved 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and had made his son memorize it as a school exercise. The effort had paid off, and he had won the blue ribbon, to his father's joy. Somehow "Big Mike" Wheeler seemed to think the win affirmed his personal belief that this one poem was the best thing written in the Queen's English over the last century. Big Mike made "Little Mike" repeat the performance at large family gatherings, and special events, even now, much to the young man's embarrassment. The feat got him the nickname 'Tennyson' at school, until "Little Mike – not so little anymore – had picked up the idiot who taunted him and hung him up in a tree by his braces.

That quickly ended the taunting: so much for 'Tennyson.' The younger Mike soon learned to prefer the full 'Michael' over the shorter Mike. Indeed, Michael eventually grew to be even larger than his father, with a mind sharper than many of his peers. He had an eye for observation, a good memory, an aptitude for learning, and the rather uncommon skill of being able to use his brain as well as he used his brawn and his fists. An incident in his coastal village when he was fourteen, when a woman passing though had been beaten, robbed, and left for dead, raised his ire, and kindled a hot little flame, which previously had only been a smoldering ember: a desire to see justice done. He had taken it upon himself to look deeper, and he quickly found some clues that local constable, and even the inspector from Liverpool missed. Nobody wanted to believe a young lad could see what those so much older and experienced did not. But Michael had stood his ground and made his case. Having finally been pointed in the right direction, it didn't take long for the culprit to be located.

The leap of fierce satisfaction he felt upon learning that justice had been done was not lost on Michael. He knew what he wanted to be. "Not just a constable dad, but an inspector. At Scottland Yard. One of the good ones." Michael had specialized wherever possible thereafter, learning science, chemistry, and eventually working with the local constables – helping wherever and whenever he could. A glowing recommendation, along with a private note from the inspector from Liverpool to the Commissioner at Scottland Yard, got the just graduated young Michael a post on the Metropolitan Police Force. His cheery good nature, already sharpened skills, keen eye, and imposing physicality quickly made it apparent that this was a constable who would make a name for himself sooner rather than later. A few years, and some notable successes brought him… here.

He had been on critical stakeouts before. He was known to the most senior inspectors, and was tapped for essential missions when the inspector on the case knew with a certainty that they needed the best – when the best meant more than just bravery, and the ability to swing a police truncheon. The young constable had even been noticed by Sherlock Holmes himself, which brought Wheeler more than a little pride – and trepidation. He was in awe of Holmes, and unlike so many others, including the inspectors, was eager, even desperate to work with him to learn whatever he might. His moment came when he accompanied Inspector Gregon to the scene of an extensive robbery at the home of Lord Alton. Constables, sergeants all, and even Gregson, were baffled, and without a place to start. Wheeler had asked Gregson if he could come along to the scene. He had immediately stood out from the other constables by the way he closely studied the site, and how he didn't walk though certain areas. Holmes' sharp eye quickly noticed, and he asked the constable what he was seeing… and what he was avoiding.

One thing led to another, and Holmes stood back and let the nervous but eager constable have first crack at analyzing the scene. A detailed examination of windows, broken glass, markings on the floor and carpet, and the damage done to dressers and the open safe soon followed. When he was done, Holmes gave him a hard look, then a broad warm smile (one that Gregson later said "I never got from the man") – and then took the constable through the scene yet again, pointing out the few things he had missed.

He got a "well done Mr. Wheeler!" from Holmes, and a "fine job, lad!" from Gregson. He later found out from Lestrade that Holmes had taken both Gregson and Lestrade aside and said, "I don't care how young he is. Make him a Sergeant right soon. He's going to be one of the best inspectors you've got. The sooner you get him there, the better." Several other encounters with Holmes had followed. In each of them Wheeler managed to make significant contributions to the case, and even better, did not make a fool of himself.

"The golden boy is now the frozen boy…"

There were three possible access points to the factory, and so the nine men had been divided up into three teams, of three each, each with their own whistle signal. Once the gang had arrived and entered the building, the men on guard at the breached entry point would signal the others – then hold that location against escaping offenders. Most of the rest of the team would rush to their aid at that location, while also leaving a guard at their own access point, to ensure nobody exited and escaped from that door. Every man was armed, and orders were to shoot those who attempted to resist or flee.

Wheeler trusted Holmes implicitly, but still…

"I sure as hell hope Holmes is right. This is an ugly way to spend a night in December."

Wheeler had read all of Doctor Watson's Holmes Stories in 'The Strand,' and had even talked several times with him about what it was like working with Holmes, and what his favorite case was. "It's 'The Sign of Four' of course," said Watson with a smile. "Always will be. It was then I met my Mary."

"I'm gonna freeze to death before this thing gets started!"

He was the leader of team three, and his signal was to be three short whistle blasts. The emerging leader in him was painfully aware that his assigned constables were likely suffering as much as he, and he fretted with worry over them, and if they would be able to perform at their best after such a long wait. As he waited, hunkering down in his great coat, hat, and scarf, he prayed he wouldn't catch his death of cold by Christmas, that he and his teammates would acquit themselves well tonight, and the business at hand would end right soon. Lestrade and Holmes had planned this well: more constables waited in two hidden carriages nearby, ready to sweep in to provide critical assistance. Nobody really knew the size of the gang, and so Holmes leaned towards an abundance of caution, with a strong reserve ready to hand. Those men were fortunate that their vehicles were fully enclosed, and that small coal warmers had been provided against both storm and chill.

"Shelter from the wind and snow AND a source of heat! Lucky them!"

As he waited, Wheeler went over the Sherlock Holmes stories he had read. He too enjoyed 'The Sign of Four.' It was an intriguing, mysterious tale indeed, full of dark deeds, foreign lands, mystery, and a happy ending. The four loyal companions struck a chord with him, even as he acknowledged their criminal intents. Now, here he was, in his own Sherlock Holmes story. He only hoped that this one resolved itself with enough success, glory, and tales of bravery to spare.

Then he would have his own story….

"Three teams. Three men each. I'm leading team three – with three whistle blasts. 'The Sign of Three' would be my story name. What a story it would be!"

He turned himself around to best shield himself from the next brutal gust of wind driven snow. This blast was a long one. If anything, the wind was picking up, with the temperature dropping further.

"My own Sherlock Holmes story. Pa would be so proud! All I must do is not freeze to death before Christmas…"

The thought of his father's reaction, his outright joy at his son's accomplishment, made him smile.

Close by, to his left, he heard two whistle blasts.

"It's the Doctor's door. About bloody time!" As Holmes would say 'the game is afoot!'"

Wheeler shifted from his corner at last, stretched and flexed, slightly surprised that he was still able to move at all. Around him, he could see his two constables doing the same. By previous arrangement, Constable Elerby moved to take his position by their door. The ever-helpful Elerby was a ruthless cad when he had to be. He pulled out his revolver and stood ready with grim determination.

"God help the man who tries to escape through that door. Whatever would be happening to the rest of his mates, that man would never live to see Christmas."

Constable Wheeler shouted words of encouragement to Elerby, signaled Constable Wallens to follow him, and they raced to enter the breached entrance to join the others. He could hear the two approaching police wagons racing towards them.

"Barring a miracle, this isn't going to end well for the 'Florist's Gang.' They just cracked their last crib."

"Yes, it's got to be 'The Sign of Three.' I like that! Maybe if I could persuade Dr. Watson…"

And he was in.

(The end.)

Author's note: That concludes all the prompts I am going to use in this story arc. I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks so much for your reviews.