Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [66]
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he sounded, between swallows from the flask, as if he meant it. “Besides this time there’s more at stake than just the old bastard’s bloomin’ reputation, eh? What do you think of our young Miss?”
He offered me the flask again, but I thought better of it.
“A most capable lady, surely,” I replied.
“She’s that, and more,” Lord Roxton’s leathery face lapsed into a moment of solemnity. “Reminds me a bit of my son, Richard. Fearless. Head strong. Maybe even a little crazy. He’s fighting against Germany even as we speak. Youngest major in the American infantry, so they tell me. Guess I’m here as much for his sake as anything. Say, Doctor, does Mr. Holmes really think we’ll find old Challenger alive, and deliver him and his formula back to Mother England?”
World-famous adventurer and explorer, proud father, patriot — there was a depth and temperament to Lord Roxton that, even with just those few words, established not merely his profound decency but also elevated his character to the almost mythic level that one expected of him. I found myself very glad to have made his acquaintance.
“Well, I dare say we wouldn’t be here now, if he believed such a thing was impossible,” I answered, in all honestly.
A wiggle of the ropes caught our attention.
“Hope you’re right, Doctor,” his easy grin returned. “They’re comin’ back down — and I’ve never seen such a pair of long faces.”
We scouted the base of the cliff for more caves, finally finding one more suited for our camp. Lord Roxton knew that night dropped swiftly, like a great black curtain over the Plateau, and we had a bright fire blazing at the cave entrance well before the first visible stars. Neither Holmes, nor Professor Challenger, had yet spoken of their morning adventure within the cave. Going along with her suggestion that we eat off the land, to lighten our packs, we were all dining on roasted Archaeopteryx, a bizarre toothed bird from the Jurassic Period, and some unknown, though very succulent fruits, when Holmes revealed his discoveries.
“This lady’s father had, indeed, been a resident within the cave,” my friend stated in his cool, unemotional manner. “There was evidence of scratches upon the cave floor, unmistakable nail-marks from the soles of worn-out British-made boots in his unusual size. Although we found no journals or scientific equipment, there were two rifles and a revolver in the cave, all without ammunition and badly rusted. Most telling, perhaps, were these…”
Holmes displayed a half dozen cigar stubs.
“The ends are cut, not bitten,” the lady explained, “and Mr. Holmes has identified the tobacco which I easily confirmed as my father’s special blend.”
Lord Roxton kicked a stone into the fire and walked away, murmuring a quiet curse. I felt my own shoulders suddenly sag.
“So,” I ventured hesitatingly. “Challenger was in the cave … but the condition of his weapons suggest that—”
“Without a good rifle, no one could survive twenty four hours in this infernal bloody jungle,” Lord Roxton said, bitterly.
I wasn’t ready to give up.
“Why, the Professor may have another rifle with him!”
Holmes shook his head.
“Challenger hasn’t occupied that cave for better than a year, Watson,” he said as he grimly filled his pipe. “The condition of the firearms, and especially the cigar stubs, make that plain. There also were signs that a more savage entity has since claimed the refuge. I must concur with Lord Roxton’s opinion, tragic though it is. Professor George Edward Challenger, and his team of five companions, perished somewhere here upon the Plateau many months ago.”
The lady herself remained even more aloof than my friend.
“Mr. Holmes and I are quite in agreement on this,” she added, frankly. “There is no hope. We leave tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll take the first watch — no arguments, Roxton. Get some rest, gentlemen.”
Though exhausted, I little