Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [43]
The Doctor was busy writing something on a piece of paper. Seeing me, he put a finger to his lips. I looked down at the man in the chair. His hair was white and he was wearing a black velvet smoking jacket. Stumped by the clue, he rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.
The Doctor coughed slightly. Immediately, the paper was lowered and the man in the chair glowered at him.
The Doctor held up his piece of paper.
14 Across, it read, Sesquipedalian.
'You bounder!' the man expostulated. The Doctor scurried off, grinning, and the white-haired man leaped to his feet as a number of irate footmen converged on him. I ran after Holmes and Mycroft, ashamed of the Doctor's juvenile antics.
Mycroft took us down a side corridor. A few yards along it was a door marked Billiards Room.
Mycroft took a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked it, then led the way inside.
Excepting a billiards room, I was taken aback to find a gas-lit and carpeted stairway. I stumbled down the first few stairs into Holmes's back. In front of me, over Holmes's head, I could see Mycroft's huge bulk filling up the space from stairs to ceiling and from wall to wall. As we walked I wondered what would happen if he got stuck.
How could we get him out? Thank God he was in front, otherwise how would we get out?'
We walked on, and on. The stairs led down, seemingly to hell itself. A sudden whoosh in the distance made me jump. Seconds later a warm breeze caressed my face.
'Where are we going?' I whispered to Holmes.
'Hanged if I know,' he replied over his shoulder, 'but I doubt that it's the wine cellar.'
Light blossomed around the edges of Mycroft's body and within seconds we were standing in a spacious, bricklined cellar from whose ceiling an incongruous chandelier dangled. Looking back up the stairs, I could see a glimmer of light. The distance was not as great as I had feared. Relieved, I looked around.
Comfortable sofas lined the walls, and tables held copies of the day's newspapers, but my eyes were caught and held by the semicircular cast-iron object which protruded from the far wall. It was about four feet across and festooned with a number of smaller pipes, one of which seemed to have a knurled wheel attached. I moved closer. It appeared to be some form of hood and, kneeling and gazing into it, I could see that it was the final few feet of a tunnel. The rest of the tunnel, which was lined with cast iron, vanished into darkness after a few feet. A large hatch, hinged at the top, hung over the opening and two rails, about three feet apart, emerged from it and crossed the cellar almost to where we stood. Sitting on the rails was what I can only describe as an large artillery shell on wheels.
'Barker?' Mycroft roared. We were obviously in another part of the Diogenes Club in which speech was permitted.
'Ere, Guvnor!'
A small man emerged from the tunnel. His skin was pale, his eyes dark, and he was dressed, incongruously, in immaculate morning dress.
'Be wantin' a trip, will ya?'
Without waiting for an answer, he threw some kind of catch and opened the entire top of the wheeled shell. The interior was padded with velvet and contained two small armchairs.
'All aboard that's goin' aboard,' he said.
I looked questioningly at Holmes. He, in turn, looked at his brother.
'Get in,' Mycroft said. Holmes shrugged, and did so. I, with some trepidation, followed.
The armchairs were a tight fit. I gazed up out of the shell at the chandeliered ceiling.
'A pneumatic railway built for the Post Office and first used in 1863,' Mycroft explained, beaming down at us. 'They used it to move post from Euston to the General Post Office at St Martin's le Grand. They abandoned it in 1880.
The Diogenes bought it - through one of our members, of course - and extended the line to here. Excess