Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [44]
'For what purpose?' I gasped.
'To get people in and out of the building unobserved,' Holmes said. I could tell from his tone that he, too, felt a modicum of discomfort.
'Quite right,' Mycroft said. 'Certain meetings held on these premises have quite distinguished guest lists. It would not do to have them observed.
And...' his voice hardened,'... it would not do to have any mention of this private railway in the public domain. It shall remain our little secret.'
He made a signal to Barker.
'First stop Euston, a short walk away from Drummond Crescent, where Baron Maupertuis is making for. Pleasant journey, gentlemen. You will forgive me for not joining you.'
The lid came down.
'If anybody had told me this morning,' I said with some venom, 'that I would be shot like a bullet beneath London before lunch, I would have called them a liar.'
'I confess that the experience is a novel and unexpected one.' Holmes voice was flattened by the padding. 'Still, look on it as a part of life's rich tapestry.,'
'Thank you,' I retorted. 'I'll remember that.'
We seemed to roll forward by a few feet, and a heavy thud behind us suggested that the hatch had been closed.
'I seem to remember reading about something like this in a Jules Verne book,' I said lightly, trying to keep my spirits up.
'Verne got it all wrong,' Holmes said in a level voice. 'At the pressures generated in his manned rocket shell, the occupants would have been squashed into raspberry preserve with a fraction of a second.'
There was a definite pressure building up in my ears. I swallowed. The pressure eased, only to mount a few seconds later.
'Very reassuring,' I gasped. 'Any last words?'
'The world has not seen the last of Sherlock Holmes,' my friend said. I wasn't sure if it was a threat or a promise.
There was a loud thud behind us and the vehicle rocked on its wheels. The armchair felt as if it was being pushed hard against my back. Something roared loudly in the background and the vehicle shook as if some unseen creature were caressing it with rough hands. The temperature rose suddenly, bringing a fine dew of perspiration to my brow. My fingers clutched at the arms of the chair and my head was forced back against the padding, making me think, for some obscure -reason, of a dentist's surgery.
I clenched my neck muscles and tried to force my head forward. It was hard. I felt as if Mycroft Holmes were sitting on my chest. I strained harder.
Suddenly the weight vanished from my chest. I catapulted forward, banging my nose against the back of Holmes's chair. Stars exploded in the pitch darkness. The beast outside was roaring louder now, and I had to brace myself against the sides of the vessel to stop myself sliding off the velvet upholstery. Then we were slowing down, and the tone of the roar changed.
Within seconds we were stationary and the hinged lid was being pulled open from outside.
'Ere ya go, mate.'
A tattooed arm reached in and hauled me like a kitten into a room that was the twin of the one we had left. Holmes waved away the man with the tattoos, and clambered out under his own steam. I looked at him and laughed.
'If you find the experience so amusing,' he snapped, 'perhaps you would like to make the return journey.'
I suppressed my laughter. Part of it was sheer hysteria, but a large portion was due to the velvet weave pattern embossed across Holmes's forehead.
I hadn't been alone in hitting my head.
We staggered out into Drummond Crescent and found ourselves outside a small, anonymous house. We looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
'Quicker than a cab,' I gasped, 'and so much cheaper!'
'Gad, I've a small place a few hundred yards away where I keep make-up and disguises,' he said between huge choking guffaws. 'And to think, I never knew...'
We were still laughing when a black hansom cab trotted