Holmes burst out in a peal of laughter, most unusual for him. "Beekeeping on the Sussex Downs moves ever closer in my future plans as you talk, old friend. Will you allow me to take Mrs. Hudson with me?"
"Be serious."
He suppressed his merriment. "You've done a splendid job. Now we but need conclusive proof."
"We have it." I must say his reaction to my coup-de-maître was most gratifying. "I've spent a good part of the afternoon with our former client General Sternways. While, out of courtesy, consuming more of his port than I fancy, I learned that the general knew of Ledger. He commented that the man was indeed a splendid shot despite the fact that a boyhood accident had cost him the third and fourth fingers of his left hand."
"That's it, then!" Holmes sprang from his chair and began pacing the room, unconsciously following the path that I knew so well. "As to the whereabouts of the true Richard Ledger, we know not; but this chap is a proven imposter," he stated in that removed tone as though speaking to himself. "We can assume that the fellow is an American, though I must say he passes himself off quite well as British. Therefore, I deduce that he's spent some time in England or knew the real Ledger well. But how does this aid us? To use an expression of the western United States that you are so well versed in, Watson, we've cast a wide loop in this case. It is time we began to tighten the noose."
"Just a moment, Holmes. Before we dwell on other matters, what was it that alerted you to the possibility of a masquerader? Also, you fall very easily into the assumption—unproven—that he is American."
Holmes ceased his pacing to stand by the bookshelf, his left hand outstretched to finger, unconsciously, the golden statue on the fourth shelf that was a memento of a previous case.
"The plan to defend the treasure train. It was good, but decidedly un-British."
"You know I can't follow that."
"Space is the clue. From London to Great Yarmouth, a train passes through a stream of stations and steams by countless habitations. In the American West, the rails stretch for hundreds of miles without encountering a village or inhabitant, for that matter, save grazing bison.* The best means of guarding the gold here in England would have been to place some stout lads, well armed, within the boxcar, for surely they could defend it until the sound of a battle brought reinforcements. In America, or at least the western part, it is a different story. Once the robbers gain control of the train, they have adequate time to force entry, for aid is far removed and the noise of a conflict is wasted on the desert air."
*It is interesting to note that Holmes professed but a vague knowledge of western America yet, quite correctly did not refer to buffalo.
"Of course," I exclaimed. "The armored guardhouse being designed to protect the engine as well as the cargo. To keep the train moving."
Satisfied on this point, I fell silent and allowed Holmes to resume his thoughtful pacing. After a period, he came to a standstill by the mantle and reached for his cherrywood but thought the better of it. Instead, he went to the coal skuttle and removed a cigar from that most singular humidor.
"All right, Watson, let us beat the wheat from the chaff, for it is nigh on to harvest time or better be." Through a cloud of aromatic smoke he became more specific. "Claymore Frisbee informed me today that there is pressure on Inter-Ocean to pay the insurance claim. Chasseur is off to Cornwall for a stockholders' meeting but wants to deal with the matter directly upon his return." He paused, considering a new question. "Why Cornwall? His principal backers are a cadre of Scottish financiers. No matter. A cable from our friend von Shalloway informs me that the Deutsche Bank is negotiating a deal regarding four hundred thousand pounds' worth of gold."
"How does that fit in?"
"Mehr Licht! More light. Goethe's last words are apropos to the fine art of deduction."
"Never mind Goethe. I'm confused."
"Fortunately, I am not. Mainly because of your fortuitous remark."
I grunted. "That's the second time you've made reference to something I said, Holmes, and I'm dashed if I know what it was."
"Your exact words were: 'You have established a possible connection between Michael and Ezariah Trelawney.'"
"Both Ramsey Michael and Ezariah Trelawney are dead, and I don't see what was revealing about my words."
"It was the sound. We have three principals in this plot at the moment, and there is something unusual about their names: Michael, Ezariah, and Hananish."
"The latter not only being alive but up to his neck in the affair."
"Exactly. Cast your mind back to Bible classes, Watson. Were there not three wise men in Babylon? Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego."
"Shadrach," I exclaimed. "The code word used by the man who killed Ramsey Michael."
"Exactly. But the three ancients were brought to Babylon from the land of Israel, where their names were Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah."
I just stared at Holmes, wide-eyed.
"Ezariah Trelawney, Ramsey Michael, and Burton Hananish all served in the Crimea. They were in the same regiment and received honorable mention in dispatches from Balaklava and Sevastopol. Three men whose names are so close to three biblical figures had to strike up an acquaintance. I now deal in theory, but there is so much corroboration that it might as well be fact. I envision a close friendship, which continued into civilian life. A foray into the byways of the larcenous could have been suggested by the matter of the French gold, though I suspect they involved themselves in conspiracies prior to the treasure train. Remember that Michael had some hidden source of income. I think he uncovered the Credit Lyonnais matter, bringing it to the attention of his banking cohorts. They secured the gold, and Michael probably recruited the bully boys who did the deed."
"Who engineered it? Not three old men, surely?"
"All with military experience, remember." I sensed that Holmes did not find this too palatable, but another thought then came to my mind.
"When the assassin went to Michael's house and used the name Shadrach to gain admittance . . ."
"The art critic assumed he carried a message from Hananish. In the Bible, Hananiah became Shadrach."
"Then Hananish hired this Lightfoot chap to kill off his partners."
"The cripple is the only one of the trio still alive, so that statement seems to have merit," replied Holmes dryly.
"But if they were close friends? . . ."
"I mentioned but recently that thieves fall out. Possibly Hananish felt that his co-conspirators had served their purpose and were best out of the way. Or, and I rather fancy this idea, Hananish is going for even bigger game and wants to clear his back trail."
I was incapable of following this line of reasoning and did not question Holmes about it, since there was an interruption in our discussion. A tap on the door and Billy presented himself with an envelope, which he handed to Holmes, along with some news.
"A gentleman's below askin' fer you, Mr. 'Olmes. Ledger by name."
A quick look flashed between the sleuth and myself as he signaled for Billy to show the gun expert up. "Quick dividends on your investigation, Watson."
"I hope so."
Then Ledger was at our door. It was Holmes who ushered him in. After disposing of his coat, the youthful-looking chap came to the point with a promptness that must have sat well with my friend.
"Dr. Watson told me about a shot fired at you, sir," he said.
"More in the general vicinity, I think," responded the sleuth.