Young Sherlock Holmes_ Fire Storm - Andrew Lane [83]
‘Ah’ve always believed that mankind is just a different kind of animal,’ Crowe conceded, ‘an’ many’s a time ah’ve used that fact to mah advantage. What’s your point?’
‘My point is that Bryce Scobell isn’t an animal. He’s turned the tables. He’s treating you as the animal, and he’s tracking you, and that’s spooked you. Your usual way of dealing with a situation won’t work. The game has been reversed.’
‘You’re saying he’s cleverer than me?’ Crowe challenged, his eyes flashing beneath his bushy grey brows.
‘Yes,’ Sherlock said simply. ‘So if the game has been reversed, let’s change the game. If Scobell is a better hunter than you, let’s not make this a hunt. If he’s a better game player than you, let’s not make it a game. Don’t let him choose the fight. Change the rules.’
‘Easier said than done, young man,’ Crowe rumbled, but the expression on his face suggested that Sherlock had surprised him.
‘If he’s looking for you,’ Sherlock said, ‘then don’t hide. Don’t do what he expects. Stay in the open. He’ll wonder what you’re doing. He’ll assume it’s a trap and he’ll back away.’
‘And then what?’ Crowe challenged.
‘And then he’ll make a mistake, and you can turn the tables on him.’
Crowe nodded slowly. ‘When the game is a hunt and you’re losing, change the rules.’
‘When the man you’re up against is cleverer and more ruthless than you,’ Sherlock amplified, ‘make sure that the game doesn’t depend on the winner being the cleverest or the most ruthless.’
Crowe smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but there was a sudden thump from the roof of the cottage. Crowe’s gaze snapped upward, his hand already on the pistol, then he looked through the window again. Sherlock followed his gaze. The narrow enclosed hillside that sloped away in front of the cottage was empty, deserted, but something in the air had changed. A smell. Something . . . burning.
‘Smoke!’ he said. ‘I smell smoke.’
Amyus Crowe moved swiftly across to the window. ‘Nothin’ out here.’
Sherlock looked towards the door out to the rest of the cottage. Was it his imagination, or was there a faint haze in the atmosphere out there?
‘It’s Scobell,’ he said. ‘He’s set fire to the cottage!’
‘But how?’ Rufus snapped. ‘Nobody’s come near! And how on earth did he find us?’
‘They didn’t have to come near,’ Sherlock replied. ‘He’s dropped something burning on to the thatched roof from the cliffs above the cottage! That’s dry straw – it’ll go up in seconds!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Come on!’ Matty yelled. ‘We need to get out!’
Sherlock moved to take Virginia’s hand, wanting to make sure she got to the door safely, but Crowe grabbed at his shoulder. ‘Scobell will be out there, son!’ he shouted. ‘He’ll have rifles. He’ll pick us off like rabbits!’
Sherlock had a mental flash of the decapitated rabbit back at Amyus Crowe’s Farnham cottage. He didn’t want to end up like that.
‘We don’t have a choice,’ Rufus Stone said. ‘If we stay here we’ll be burned alive.’
They could hear the fire catching hold in the straw thatch now – a crackling sound, like sticks being broken by some giant hand. Smoke was drifting in through the open door. Already it was hard to breathe, hard even to see.
‘I don’t think he wants to kill us in the fire,’ Sherlock suddenly said.
Crowe stared at him questioningly.
‘He wants to take his revenge on you. A fire isn’t good enough for him – especially if he can’t be sure from the remains if you were even here.’
‘So what’s he trying to do?’ Rufus Stone asked, struggling not to cough.
‘Flush us out into the open. He’ll have men waiting further down the hill. They’ll have guns, and they’ll take us prisoner when we run out.’
‘But that’s the only option we’ve got!’ Matty