Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [77]
Three burly servants dressed in dhotis and turbans were carrying the unconscious bodies of Holmes, Roxton and the redheaded O'Connor over their shoulders. Four others were attempting to carry Bernice, who was swearing and struggling in their grip. My mind raced to piece together the evidence. If Bernice and I were conscious and the rest were not . . . The betel nut! It must have been drugged, and the absence of Warburton, his wife and secretary, and the Nizam would suggest that they were implicated in the scheme. I cursed bitterly. How could Warburton, a fellow officer, have allowed himself to fall amongst thieves in this way?
I followed the group for a few minutes. Watching Bernice's face, I noticed when she caught sight of me over the shoulder of one of her captors. To her credit, she made no sign. In fact she twisted more furiously in their grip, slowing them down so that the other three bearers trudged on ahead with their unfeeling loads. We were passing a junction at the time, and she caught my eye for a fraction of a second and flicked her head. What did she want? I frowned in an exaggerated manner. She rolled her eyes, then flicked her gaze quickly towards one branch of the corridor and back to me.
Did she want me to go by a different path, overtake the bearers and somehow rescue her?
Flattered as I was by her confidence in my skills, I could not see it working.
And surely she was no more familiar with the layout of the palace than I was. I shook my head.
'Hide round the corner, you damn fool!' she yelled in the middle of her stream of profanity, then carried on blaspheming without drawing breath.
I nipped back to the corner and turned to the right, halting a few yards down. Hopefully the bearers were unfamiliar with English. Or perhaps Bernice assumed that they were as stupid as I was.
Extract from the diary of Bernice Summerfield
After Watson finally got the hint and hid round the corner, I managed to twist my body around and push against one wall with both legs. The guys carrying me were thrown off-balance, and staggered towards the other wall.
It was easy for me to deliberately catch my head against the marble. A spike of sick pain shot through me. I went limp. It was all I could do to keep myself conscious.
The guys stopped and had a little conference. One of them tried yelling after the ones up ahead, but they were too far away and didn't respond.
The guys patted my face a couple of times but I didn't react. When one of them raised my eyelids I had rolled my eyes so far up that I could almost see the roots of my hair. They talked a bit more, then four of them turned and headed back along the corridor while the fifth sighed deeply and picked me up again. I almost laughed in relief: it had worked! Gazing through my eyelashes at the departing Indians, I suddenly realized why. There was a very convincing streak of fresh blood marring the stonework of the corridor, and I suddenly became aware of something warm trickling down my neck.
There is such a thing as being too convincing.
When the four who had left vanished around a corner - not the one that Watson had gone around, thank God - I went into action.
A continuation of the reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D.
I watched with a palpable sense of relief as the four bearers turned the corner and walked away from me. Emerging into the main corridor, I saw Bernice standing over the body of the fourth man. There was blood everywhere. As I got closer I realized that it was hers, not his.
'Let me have a look at that,' I said in tones more suitable for my Kensington surgery than Mughal India.
'No time,' she hissed. She was obviously in pain.
'It won't do any of us any good if you pass out through lack of blood.'
I gave her a quick once-over. The blood was issuing from a shallow scrape on her scalp, and was coagulating as I watched.
'You'll have a headache for some time, but apart from that you'll be all right.'
'A headache.