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The
youngish man shook his head. "Mr. Chasseur
originally
had a rectangular area marked in paint
as
the position of the guard house. I indicated to
him
that the line of fire would be improved if it was
built
farther back, to which he agreed. Evidently,
the
man who was to paint out the line only
completed
a part of his job. We were in a bit of a
rush
to get the train ready, you know."

Holmes
accepted this without question, but I
noted
that he positioned one heel on the mark and
strode
back past the armor-plated cubicle to the
end
of the boxcar. Holmes could suit his stride to
an
exact three feet and I knew he was measuring
a
distance, though for what reason I could not
fathom.
Nothing else about the train claimed his attention, so we descended
to the ground, where Holmes evidenced a considerable interest in our
guide.

"How
long were you with the diamond people?"
he
asked.

"Three
years. The mines are not as they once
were,
which made my duties easier. They are now
walled
compounds with more guards per acre than a military base. Getting in
and out is about as easy as getting close to the Crown jewels. To
mount a
raid would take a trained
military unit and a
sizeable one at
that. Therefore the main duty, in addition to maintaining an alert
guard force, was
inspection of the
native diggers when they periodically left the compound to
rejoin their tribes in the interior. It's all been rather worked out
by formula. Prior to departure, an enema is used to make sure a
diamond doesn't go out in someone's
intestines.
Anyone leaving is stripped
to the buff and doctor-
inspected, the
interior of his mouth as well."

"Necessary,
I suppose," commented Holmes.
"What
brought you back to England?"

"A
friend of Mr. Chasseur is a major shareholder
in
Kimberly and must have given me a spanking recommendation. The B &
N had some problem
with warehouse thefts
and I was offered my present
position.
Jumped at it, I might add. Africa is all
very
well, but the boredom of the job was getting to
me."

"I
can imagine. Where did the robbery take
place?"
asked Holmes, suddenly shifting subjects.

"Outside
of Brent. A small village almost due north of Colchester."

We
were back by the dispatcher's now, and as
Holmes
thanked Ledger for his trouble, a thought
burst
upon me.
"I say, we've rather
dismissed the idea of the
thieves being
aboard the special when it pulled out.
But
I noted a blind spot at the rear of the train.
Might
they not have somehow overhauled the train
as
it was leaving the yards?"

Again
it was Ledger who supplied the cold water.
"The
special was routed on the main line," said
the
security man.

"To
be red-balled through," added Holmes.

"Exactly."
There was a small smile on Ledger's
tight
mouth, as though in recognition of Holmes'
familiarity
with railroad jargon. "Along with a
group
of trusted employees, I was right here to
watch
her off, and she'd gained considerable speed
by
the time she was out of our sight. They got to her
beyond
the yards, Dr. Watson, or a whole group of
us
had better have our eyes checked."

"Certainly
not necessary in your case," said
Holmes,
and I noted that Ledger shot him a quick
glance.
The comment did seem cryptic at first, but then Ledger was relatively
young and one could
assume that his eyes
were keen.
"You did not decide to
go with the bullion, and I
have wondered
why." Holmes' voice had hardened slightly.

"Mr.
Chasseur had an appointment with the
people
at the London, Tilbury and Southend Railroad. After that, we
were to go together by express
to
Yarmouth to be present when the gold was
loaded
aboard a channel boat."

He
paused for a moment with a wry expression.
"The
news of the robbery reached us before we left,
so
the trip to Yarmouth had no meaning. My
employer
rather left this matter in my hands and
I've
let him down for fair. If there's anything I can
do
to help in your insurance investigation, please
call
on me."

Noting
Holmes' sudden and sharp glance, he
elaborated
quickly. "I know where the request for
me
to meet you here came from, sir. It's not hard to
judge
what rekindled your interest in this matter."

Holmes
seemed kindly disposed toward Ledger's
frankness.
At least he did until we had regained a
hansom
and were clattered back toward Baker
Street.
"What did you think of him?" he
queried.

"Seemed
forthright enough. After seeing the spe
cial
freight, can't say I'd fault his plan for guarding
it
either."

There
was a twinkle in Holmes' eyes. "The
former
lieutenant in the Grenadiers was not guilty
of
falsehood," he said.

"What
then? Something is amiss or you would
not
be discussing him."

"You
know me too well, old friend. We had
visitors
after you were abed last night. I learned
that
there is another facet to Ledger's career that he
did
not choose to mention—his feats of marksman
ship."

"We'd
already heard of that from two sources."

"But
not of Alvidon Chasseur's involvement with
the
Wellington Gun Club."

I
was regarding Holmes blankly, and bless him
for
not letting the matter drop, an annoying habit
he
had on occasion.
"Industrial
tycoons are not rushing down to
Sussex
or similar country areas for long weekends
as
in times gone by. Pressure of business, you know.
With
foxhunting and grouse-shooting on the wane,
they
have found release for competitive spirits and
an
interest in ordinance by forming gun clubs,
where
target shooting occupies the members. The
clubs
all have rifle teams and they compete in a league, which may explain
the number of former members of Her Majesty's forces being employed
by big business."

"Ahhh,"
I said. "Now I understand your remark
about
the man's vision."

"Ledger's
reputation assures us that he has the eyes of an eagle."

"And
a position was created for the shootist so
that
he could represent the Wellington Gun Club," I
continued,
feeling on firm ground.

"He's
qualified in his job, I'm sure," replied
Holmes,
"but his offer of employment was certainly
based
in part on his marksman abilities. The
Wellington
Club has the champion rifle team of
greater
London and will defend their title in the
near
future against the Bagatelle Club, sponsored
by
Lord Balmoral. It might be fitting if we attended
that
match, Watson."

I
did not have much time to consider this matter
since
we had returned to our chambers and Holmes
was
occupied reading cablegrams and several let
ters
delivered to our door. He then wrote out
answers
and casually informed me that he would
be
off to Essex by the afternoon train and would appreciate my company
if I felt so disposed. As he
summoned
Billy to deliver his queries and instructions to the cable
office, I thought again how the
sleuth
had shunned the installation of a telephone in our quarters. In
matters of criminal investiga
tion,
Holmes was ultramodern and I'm sure his
many
innovations must have influenced Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the
forensic medicine genius, in
later
years. Why Holmes did not choose to use Mr.
Bell's
greatest invention I could not guess, though its absence never seemed
to hamper one of his investigations.

The
village of Brent being in Essex, the sleuth
was
going to visit the scene of the crime, and
nothing
would keep me away from that. It was apparent that whilst I had been
the slug-a-bed the
previous night, my
friend had used the time to good
advantage.
From long experience, I knew I would
just
have to wait to find out what else he had
learned.

Chapter
6

End
of Track
with Dandy Jack

WE
REACHED Brent on a local and, to my surprise,
found
a four-wheeler plus driver awaiting our
arrival.
Holmes approached the conveyance with
confidence.

"You
would be Dandy Jack," he said to the driver.

"Not
by that name in these parts, sir," responded the man, saluting
briefly with his whip. His broad
face
was creased by a toothy grin.

"And
my name is not Sherlock Holmes," responded the sleuth, "nor
is this gentleman with me
Dr. Watson."

"What
goes in one ear comes out t'other, sir. That
way
it don't come out the mouth."

During
this singular conversation, Holmes and I
entered
the carriage, which swayed back slightly as
our
posteriors found the straw-stuffed cushions.
The
driver's whip flicked lightly on the rump of a
sturdy
bay and we were off. Holmes offered no
directions
nor did the driver seem to require any.

In
contrast to the city, a limpid sun tried to
brighten
the rural scene and succeeded in part,
though
the air was crisp and cold. In London, with
the
moisture of the Thames close by, I would have
thought
it raw, but not so in the dry and clear air of
the
countryside. Leaving the buildings of the vil
lage
of Brent was a matter of a moment, and as we
were
setting a brisk pace, it was not long before I
spied
a ribbon of rails in the distance.

"Now
if you was that amacheur peeler wot you
mentioned,"
said the driver, "you might be inter
ested
in the spur line where they hit the bullion train. People hereabout
are talking 'bout nothin' else, the robbery bein' the biggest thing
wot's
happened in Brent, you see."

"It
does seem the place to be for a casual visitor,"
said
Holmes. "I take it the rails ahead are on a straightaway and the
roadbed follows an upgrade in that direction." Holmes was
indicating to our right, where the rails curved around the base of a
small hill.

Dandy
Jack turned to view us and his face again
was
transformed by a grin. It changed a weathered
and
potentially grim visage dramatically.
"Right,
sir."