The Moor - Laurie R. King [118]
"In the farmer's barn."
I had half expected him to say, In the abandoned mine. At least the barn would have been dry and, with any luck, warm.
"So you had a nice tea with the major-general."
"And, with Mycroft's cachet in hand, he showed me his tank."
"A singular honour."
"Any self-respecting spy would have died laughing at the sight of it, although I can well believe it would not have sunk into the mire of Passchendaele. It distinctly resembles a duck perched atop a half-inflated balloon, and it moves—trundles is perhaps the word—at the pace of an arthritic old woman."
"A truly revolutionary design."
"He also gave me another piece of information that I think you will not mock so freely."
"A radical model submarine boat with wings?"
"No, the schedule for firing."
"But, didn't Baring-Gould say they only used the ranges in the summer?"
"Except when they wish to practice in foul-weather conditions."
"I'd have thought the summer months here would suffice, but pray continue."
"Night manoeuvres are planned, in moonlight, on Thursday night. The day after tomorrow. And the schedule has been posted on the moor notice boards."
"Now, why should—wait," I said, beginning to see what he was suggesting. "We're past the usual season when one might reasonably count on the occasional thunderstorm, and yet Scheiman and Ketteridge have been making preparations for another blast."
"The occasional natural thunderstorm, certainly, but would not an artificial storm suffice to conceal their activities, with the thunder of guns instead of that from the sky? A man standing in the entranceway to the old adit could easily see when the soldiers were away from the immediate area, but could also see the flash from the firing that would conceal the blast of the black powder."
Another thought came to me. "And the moon is nearly full as well. By God, one way or another, we may be able to catch them at it!"
Holmes smiled slowly, but merely said, "I should be interested to see the references you found in Gould's books."
We moved upstairs to our room, where I showed him the places and left him, stretched out shoeless on the bed with one book in his hands and one on either side of him on the counterpane. When I put my head in an hour later, he was asleep. I went quietly away.
TWENTY-FOUR
Where the one-inch fails recourse must be had to the six-inch map.
—A Book of the West: Devon
Wednesday morning the frost had departed and the sky was dull with cloud, but inside Lew House there was a feeling of sunshine and relief, because the squire of Lew Trenchard was on his feet again.
Holmes and I had a great deal to discuss and some complicated arrangements to make before the army's scheduled firing on Thursday night; however, the topic being mooted over the breakfast table was honey. The painted Virtues looked on in approval and Holmes seemed more than willing to indulge his old friend, so I could only throw up my hands and give myself over to the game.
"I gave you some of the metheglin the other night," Baring-Gould was saying. "Now have a taste of the honey it was made from."
Holmes obediently thrust his teaspoon into the pot of thick stuff before him on the table, twirled the spoon to keep its burden intact, and put it into his mouth. Baring-Gould and I watched, and even Rosemary stopped in the act of taking the coffeepot to be refilled and waited for the judgement.
"Remarkable," said Holmes stickily. He reached for his coffee cup.
Baring-Gould nodded vigorously. "Didn't I tell you? It is produced from furze blossoms, a most superb and aromatic variety. Keeping bees on the moor is no easy thing, as you know, because of the perpetual wind, but there is a monk down at the Buckfast Abbey who has succeeded. Brother Adam, his name is—a young man, but already the head beekeeper." (Was head beekeeper so hard-fought a position, I wondered idly, that only a monk of high seniority would be likely to win it?) "He has some very sound ideas about breeding—you ought to get down there and talk with