Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [11]
‘If John St Helen is John Wilkes Booth then he’s a confirmed killer and a fugitive,’ Crowe proclaimed, ‘who faces hangin’ if he returns – or is returned – to the USA. He’s like a cornered animal. If he thinks he’s under threat, then he’ll cover his tracks and vanish again, and I’d have to go after him. I’d hate to see you become one of the tracks that gets covered.’
‘There is something else,’ Mycroft murmured. He glanced at Crowe. ‘I don’t know to what extent the Pinkerton Agency have kept you apprised of the situation, but there is a growing belief that Booth and his collaborators were a part of something bigger.’
‘Course they were,’ Crowe rumbled. ‘It was called the War Between the States.’
‘I meant,’ Mycroft said heavily, ‘that the idea behind the assassination of President Lincoln didn’t come from them; that they were working under instructions, and that the guiding lights, if you like, are still at large. If Booth really is here in England then it’s possible he’s heading back to America, and if that is the case then one might well ask why. What is his aim?’
Crowe smiled. ‘If he’s headin’ back to America, then my job’s a lot easier. All I have to do is raise the alarm and get him arrested when he steps off the boat.’
‘But wouldn’t it be preferable to establish his intentions first? Stopping him doesn’t necessarily stop the conspiracy.’
‘If there is a conspiracy,’ Crowe said, shaking his head.
Sherlock felt as if he was caught in the middle of a philosophical discussion. All he knew was that the informal tutor he’d got used to having in his life was faced with a problem that might call him back to his home country, or set him chasing this man all over the world. If Sherlock could do something to solve that problem, he would. He just wouldn’t tell Mycroft about it.
‘Can I go now?’ he asked.
Mycroft waved a hand dismissively. ‘Go and ramble in the countryside, or whatever you do. We will talk for a while.’
‘Come to my cottage tomorrow mornin’,’ Crowe said, not even looking at Sherlock. ‘We’ll continue then.’
Sherlock slipped out while the two men were starting a conversation about the intricacies of extradition treaties between individual US states at the federal level and the British Government.
Outside the sun was still a heavy presence in the sky. He could smell woodsmoke, and the distant malt odour of the breweries in Farnham.
Godalming couldn’t be that far away, could it? There was a Guildford Road leading out of it, which indicated it was somewhere near Guildford, and Guildford was somewhere near Farnham.
Matthew Arnatt would know.
Matthew – or Matty, as he liked to be called – was a boy Sherlock had come to know pretty well over the past month or two. He lived alone, on a narrowboat, moving between towns on the canals, stealing food where he had to and avoiding the workhouse. He’d settled down in Farnham for longer than he usually stayed in a town, although neither he nor Sherlock had spoken about the reasons why.
If Sherlock was going to head across to Godalming to take a look at this house named Shenandoah, and the man who lived there who might or might not be an assassin named John Wilkes Booth, then he wanted Matty on his side. Matty had saved his life a couple of times already Sherlock trusted him.
He walked round the back of the house, past the kitchens, across to the stables. The horses that he and Matty had taken from Baron Maupertuis’s manor house some weeks ago were both standing there, contentedly eating from a bag of hay. Sherlock hadn’t quite known what to do with them after the Baron’s colossal scheme fell apart, so he’d just asked the stable boys to look after them for him, and slipped them a shilling. Nobody else seemed to notice that there were two extra horses hanging around the house. And, of course, he could go riding with Virginia. She