Suddenly his expression changed, and he regarded me anxiously. "Is something amiss, for this is an unusual hour for you."
"I could not sleep," I said, having no intention of telling Holmes of the defeatist tentacles that had menaced me with their debilitating embrace before I beat them back.
"Well then, since you're awake and I have not tried to sleep, let us be off."
I suppressed a groan at this, determined to be as staunch a companion as I had ever been. "Where were you, by the way?" I said, crossing toward the stairs.
"Anticipation, Watson, for I'll not be caught short again as I was but recently in this very room. Look for a possible alternative and provide against it. The first rule of criminal investigation."
I'd heard that before, and as before, it told me nothing. At the foot of the stairs leading to our bedchambers, I paused, then retraced my steps to take the holstered gun from the bookshelf. There were some boxer cartridges in my rolltop above that might be the right caliber.
We caught an almost deserted train out of Paddington that Holmes referred to as the "red-eye special," and I slept most of the way to Gloucester.
When we alighted at the Fenley station, dawn had not yet begun to stain the eastern horizon and there was a veritable symphony of the bird sounds that presaged its coming.
Standing on the dark station platform, immobile as a block of granite and quite as solid-looking, was the figure of Wakefield Orloff. So, I thought, the security agent has preceded us. No wonder Holmes seized the opportunity to leave early. Had he been conferring with his brother, Mycroft, around the witching hour?
Orloff greeted us and led the way through deserted streets of the village to the inn. There were no other lights showing in Fenley, yet behind the curtains in the Red Grouse I detected illumination. A thought that I had previously dismissed came to mind again and was reinforced when we entered the establishment. The front room was not only illuminated but populated as well. Five men, in addition to the innkeeper and his wife, were in evidence—sipping tea and munching sandwiches made available by the lady. I had observed that the inn was very well managed, but this was ridiculous. Unless my previous thought was well founded and the place served as a headquarters for Mycroft's people. It had to be such, for there was no surprise at our arrival. The five men, strangers all, shared a sameness that I recognized. Reasonably young, they had a fit look about them and were inconspicuously dressed. One would have had to guess as to their business and been dissatisfied at the conclusion arrived at. Surely their coats were reversible, for I had seen Holmes use that trick.
I accepted a spot of tea. Holmes surveyed the scene and nodded at Orloff, as though satisfied with arrangements.
"How do we do it?" asked the security agent.
"We'll go now while it's still dark. You and your men take the main house and stables. Let's not have an alarm from some awakened groom."
"And you?"
"There is an annex to the main house where wood work and such might be done if one had a need for it. Watson and I will take a look there, then join you."
One of the inconspicuous men, at a signal from Orloff, disappeared by the front door and I suspected our transportation was being arranged.
When we left the Red Grouse shortly afterward, two closed carriages were pulled up in front. Good heavens, I thought. Orloff has brought an army. But then we didn't know how many we were going against.
Orloff rode with Holmes and myself in the first carriage and the trip down the river road was not a longish one, as I had noted previously. When we all disembarked from the vehicles, I saw that Holmes had miscalculated slightly for there was a first light that revealed the substantial mansion we were interested in. Despite the predawn hour, there were lights and indications of activity within the building.
Orloff shot a glance at Holmes. "This tears it."
"Same plan," replied Holmes crisply. "It's important that no one slip away."
"A bit like that trap we sprung on Baker Street," observed the security agent. His men began to race to positions around the estate.
"And for rather the same reasons." Holmes motioned to me and we started up the drive, quickly moving to the close-cropped lawn to take advantage of the trees on the grounds. It was still sufficiently dark so that we could close in on the buildings without arousing the attention of anyone within. Close by the main house, Holmes paused to take stock. There was no evidence of Orloff or his men, and I pictured them encircling the place and then closing in. What they intended to do with any gardeners or servants they came across, I could not imagine.
I indicated the lights within. "What has them stirring so early?" I asked.
"Three men went to Essex yesterday and there's no word from them. It may have shaken Hananish's confidence a bit. It's well that we are here when we are."
The sleuth indicated the annex he had mentioned, and I followed as he moved in a half trot from the front of the mansion to the side. The area that had caught his retentive eye was but one story, abutting the main building. Close on, I could hear some movement within; but there were no windows, so we moved to the end of the building and around it. There was one window there, which proved unrevealing. The dark interior we made out proved to be a small storeroom with lumber stacked in it, along with gardening tools. The side away from the driveway and well-tended grounds was the building's actual front. Now we saw light from a window and crouched beside it, carefully peering in. Over Holmes' shoulder I spotted one man seated under a wheel chandelier, its four lights providing bright illumination for the table he was working at. It looked like he was dismantling some sort of scales arrangement. There were saws and carpentry tools aplenty, and the place had a well-swept look.
Satisfied, Holmes drew back and then hunched over, almost on hands and knees, to pass below the window frame toward the door in evidence beyond. With some difficulty, I patterned my movements after his. By the door, however, I advanced a thought with gestures. Extracting my Smith-Webley from my coat pocket, I transferred it to my left hand. The door was not a heavy one, and I judged it was not locked. Moving to its other side, I indicated to Holmes that I could smash it open with ease and we could enter together. He indicated that this plan was as good as any. As I stepped forward with purpose, it occurred to me that the sleuth was not armed and our unified front served no purpose; but the plan was in action now and was, I recalled, favored by better constables everywhere. My heel smashed at the door, which sprang open under the impact; and I was in the room with my gun pointed at the man at the workbench. Holmes was at my right side. The man under my sights was completely surprised; and I was congratulating myself on a workmanlike job when my left hand, with the extended and menacing revolver, caught a terrible whack from a stout piece of wood in the hands of a pasty-looking fellow who had been in the vicinity of the door. The Smith-Webley dropped from my grasp, and my assailant kicked it toward the table, shielding his companion.
"Blimey," he said, "we's got visitors an' such an' early hour."
I recognized the voice, for it was the man who had dragged me into the carriage outside the Red Grouse.
His companion had whipped out a long-barreled handgun, with which he was covering Holmes. I was bent over, my left wrist pressed to my side in anguish, but my blood was boiling. Almost without thought, my right hand passed under my coat to the holster affixed to my belt; and then the Colt gun was in my hand. As I started to rise from my crouch, I began to press on the trigger gently in preparation for a shot, but, dear heaven, the weapon took charge. It had been altered by some master gunsmith, and its action was as sensitive and skittish as a village maiden receiving her first kiss. It roared before I had a mind to fire, and continued to do so. The first shot smashed the revolver from the man's hand, and as I staggered back, the second shot separated the chandelier from the ceiling and it dropped, smashing him with frightening force. My pasty-faced friend made a lunge for the Smith-Webley on the floor only to have it jump from his grasp, and there was the eerie whine of a ricochet. My fourth shot blew the heel off his shoe.