Young Sherlock Holmes_ Fire Storm - Andrew Lane [53]
‘What’s the story?’ Matty asked as Sherlock re-entered the compartment. His lap was covered with pie-crust crumbs. ‘Where’s Mr Stone?’
‘I think he got left behind,’ Sherlock said grimly.
‘What happened? Did he meet some girl? Typical if he did. He’s got a roving eye, that one.’
Sherlock shook his head. ‘No, I think he met the Paradol Chamber.’
Matty’s face screwed up in disbelief. ‘What, the people that the French Baron bloke was working for?’
‘And the ones who framed Mycroft for murder and tried to kill his friend in Moscow.’
‘What were they doing at the station?’
‘They must have been following us,’ Sherlock replied. He felt powerless, unsure what to do. ‘There’s no way of knowing from here. We can only make guesses, and guesses are worse than having no information because they pull you the wrong way.’
‘So what are we going to do?’
Pausing only slightly to think, Sherlock said, ‘We’re going to keep on for Edinburgh. If a train guard comes along, we can tell him that our friend got left behind at Newcastle and we’re worried that he might have had an accident. He might be able to get a message sent from one of the stations we stop at along the way. When we get to Edinburgh we’ll head for the hotel Mycroft booked for us. If Rufus manages to get away from the Paradol Chamber or whoever has taken him, or if there’s an innocent explanation for his missing the train, then he knows that’s where we’ll be.’
He settled back in his seat, folding his arms and resting his chin on his chest. Matty just stared at him for a while, then turned and looked out of the window. Despite his friend’s presence, Sherlock had never felt so desperately alone.
‘We could just go home,’ Matty said after a while. His voice sounded very small.
The thought had already occurred to Sherlock, but he had rejected it. ‘We could,’ he replied, ‘but that doesn’t help Mr Crowe, or Virginia, or even Rufus. Besides, the Paradol Chamber know where we live. Our best bet is to hide out in Edinburgh until we can get this whole mess sorted. Go to ground.’
‘Like Mr Crowe and Virginia,’ Matty pointed out. ‘They ran away and hid as well.’
‘I know.’ Sherlock didn’t look over at Matty. ‘I know. But I wish I knew why. I can’t imagine what would frighten Mr Crowe enough to make him run rather than stand and fight his ground.’
At some point the train passed from England to Scotland, but if there was a sign to mark the moment then Sherlock missed it.
The stations slipped past more rapidly now and the names looked different to those on the platform signs in England. The landscape was rougher, wilder – craggy, dark hills in place of rolling fields. Even the sky seemed more overcast.
A ticket collector eventually appeared, and Sherlock explained about their friend not having made it back on to the train. The man tutted several times, and said he’d have a word with the stationmaster when they next stopped to see if a message was waiting, or whether one could be sent back to Newcastle. It was, Sherlock knew, too little too late. It was unlikely to produce a result.
Time seemed to slide slowly past. The ticket collector returned later to say that there was no news of Rufus Stone, and Sherlock felt his mood become blacker. Eventually, looking out of the window, he noticed that they were heading through more houses than he’d seen in one place for a while. Rather than being made out of brick, they were constructed from large blocks of grey stone. It gave them a serious, permanent look. The sun, which was balanced on the horizon, cast an orange light over them. The train began to slow down, wheezing to a halt just as it came alongside a platform that seemed to go on for miles. The signs on the platform read Edinburgh.
‘We’re here,’ Matty said simply.
They left the train, clutching their bags. They took Rufus’s too. Sherlock pulled Matty to one side and stopped. He wanted to watch the rest of the passengers leaving, just in case he recognized someone – like Mr Kyte or, hopefully, Rufus Stone.