Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [90]
But he had to save Virginia.
The thought spurred him to a final effort. He twisted, pulling his arm out of the jacket sleeve and falling to the flagstones as the whirring disc hit the wall, gouging a shallow rut and scattering sparks and fragments of stone. The Baron cursed, and tried to pull his sword from between the stones.
If Sherlock couldn’t beat Maupertuis with his skill as a swordsman, he would beat him with the power of his brain. All he had to do was work out a single vulnerability, something he could exploit. And it had to be something to do with the way Maupertuis was moving, or being moved. That was his weakness. Sherlock tried again to strike out at the ropes and cords that held Maupertuis up but the Baron was alert to that, and parried Sherlock’s blade effortlessly with the spinning saw in his left hand while his right arm jerked the blade free.
Backing away, Sherlock nearly stumbled over the remains of the chair where he had been sitting, which had been smashed apart by the Baron’s sword. The wood clattered as he kicked it, and a fragmentary plan materialized in his mind. Without waiting to think it through, Sherlock bent down and picked up the largest chunk of the chair with his left hand – a piece that incorporated most of an arm, part of the seat and a carved leg. As the Baron slashed down at Sherlock’s unprotected forehead, Sherlock raised the piece of chair. The Baron’s blade embedded itself deeply in the wood. Before the Baron could pull it out, Sherlock pushed backwards, raising the sword above the Baron’s head. The back of Sherlock’s hand rasped against one of the ropes holding Maupertuis up. He twisted the wood, bending the sword nearly out of the Baron’s grip, and tucked it behind several other ropes, then let it twist back again. Caught between the ropes, the chunk of the wooden chair hung in the air, suspended. Sherlock let go, then grabbed first one, then another of the remaining ropes and cords and, using all his strength, tangled them up behind the wood.
‘What are you doing?’ the Baron screamed, but it was too late. The ropes holding him up were now a cat’s cradle, pinned in place by the wooden chair leg and arm. Maupertuis dangled helplessly. The servants in the darkness at the end of the room exerted all their strength, but to no avail. They couldn’t dislodge the remains of the chair from the ropes.
Stepping back, Sherlock swept his sword through the ropes, severing five or six of them. Tension suddenly released, they twanged away into the corners of the room. The Baron’s arms dropped, and his head lolled to one side.
‘You will pay for this,’ he hissed.
‘Send me an invoice,’ Sherlock said calmly. He turned to where Virginia was standing, ready to leap to her aid, only to see her bring the sharp-edged iron helmet of the suit of armour heavily down on to Mr Surd’s head. He dropped to the floor, unconscious and bleeding.
‘I was coming to help,’ Sherlock said.
‘Strange,’ Virginia replied. ‘So was I.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Thank heavens for Baron Maupertuis,’ Sherlock said in a heartfelt whisper as he slammed the door of the dining room shut behind them. There was no lock on the door, so he threw his weight behind a teak cabinet that stood beside it. Its legs squealed on the tiles as it shifted.
‘Why?’ Virginia snapped, adding her weight to his. The cabinet slid across the door, preventing it from opening. ‘What’s he ever done for us?’
Baron Maupertuis’s servants must have reached the door out of the dining room, because it suddenly opened a crack and thudded against the cabinet. They rattled it a few times, but the cabinet didn’t move.
‘He likes everywhere he lives to look the same. That’s how I know where the stables will be. Come on!’ He led the way through the back of the house to an outside door, and when he was certain that none of Maupertuis’s servants were outside he and Virginia hurried around the side of the chateau and found the stables. Judging by the position of the sun, it was mid-morning. They’d been kept drugged for at least a night, possibly