Maurice Barkley
The Train From Plymouth
To Marie
Acknowledgments
Special thanks for priceless advice,
counseling and inspiration.
Robin Pudetti
Rose and Rick Taubold
Sue Jerrems
Other Sherlock Holmes stories by Maurice Barkley:
The Holborn Toy Shop
The Legacy of Doctor Carus
The Whitehall Papers
The Grosvenor Square Furniture Van
The Train From Plymouth
The notes I have compiled on the many cases undertaken by Sherlock Holmes have become so numerous it has become difficult to select for publication those problems that best portray his amazing abilities of observation, deduction and logic. Many cases which would make interesting reading will, I fear, remain unpublished at least until I have more time to devote to the pen. For this reason I have added variety to my criteria when making my selection. I had almost decided to turn to the puzzling matter of the five-sided brick, but in the spring of 1895 a singularly unusual series of events occurred. Upon reflection I have traced their genesis to a train which arrived at Oak Hampton Station on the evening of May 25th of that year. It had come, I believe, from Plymouth.
As I recall the tale begins the next morning. The weather had taken a turn for the better so I quite easily found excuses to sally fourth from our rooms in Baker Street and enjoy, along with other Londoners of the same bent, the fresh air and sunshine.
My first destination was the Turkish Bath in Jermyn Street. At about eleven o'clock that morning, after a refreshing hour in the hot chamber and cooling room, I was walking up Baker Street, looking forward to a light lunch and an afternoon at the window reading my copy of The Lancet.
A horse drawn cart was parked at the curb at 221B and a husky driver was off-loading a cask of drinking water, fresh from Bagshot Heath. For some time we had been drinking that water instead of the questionable London product on the recommendation of Sir Edwin Chadwick and the Local Sanitary Authority. I held the door for the man and then climbed the stairs to our rooms.
When I left the apartment earlier, Holmes had remained, lounging on the sofa in his robe, befouling the air with the smoke from his oily clay pipe. Knowing Holmes, I expected to find him in exactly the same position on my return, but such was not the case. As I entered the room I saw Holmes standing by the fireplace. Three other persons occupied the sofa and an easy chair. The two on the sofa were strangers to me, but Inspector Lestrad occupied the chair — his bad foot drawn up to the fringe.
As I excused myself and started to leave, both Holmes and Lestrad put up a restraining hand. Holmes, seeing Lestrad was about to invite me to remain, lowered his hand and looked to the inspector.
“Doctor Watson,” Lestrad said, “you came just in time. We have been here only a few moments so let me introduce you to these gentlemen, then we may begin our story. This gentleman is Mr. Stephen Browne who is the Director of the Great Western Railroad,” he said while indicating the larger man who was indeed an imposing figure.
Mr. Browne was a bulldog of a man, fast approaching 60 years. His mostly bald, bullet shaped head and bristly mustache most likely held him in good stead at Company Board meetings. Lestrad next introduced me to a Mr. Alfred Waterhouse, the Station Master at Lidford. He was a slight, bookish looking person of about my age.
We shook hands then I pulled up the cane bottom chair and made myself comfortable. Lestrad remained standing with the air of a man savoring his thoughts. It was obvious to those who knew him that he was delighted with the story he was about to tell. My interest quickened and I gave him my full attention.
“Watson — yesterday at three in the afternoon, a small freight train that began its journey at Plymouth and passed through Lidford, arrived near the Station at Oakhampton. I said near the Station because it passed slowly through the boarding area with no one at the controls. Luckily, an off-duty fireman was on the platform and was able to jump aboard and stop the engine safely.
“Now, this much is interesting, but the truly amazing item of interest is that the train was quite late — quite late indeed…”
“How late exactly?” I asked.
“Almost three years to the day.”
“Did I hear you right?” I cried, almost rising from my chair. “Three years late?”
“Precisely, my friend,” said Lestrad — a wide grin on his pinched face. “I was as surprised as you when I first heard the tale from Mr. Browne here.” Lestrad fished his pipe from his pocket and sat down in the easy chair. “When you came in,” he said, while fumbling in his vest for a light, “Mr. Browne was about to outline this pretty little problem from the beginning.” Turning to Mr. Browne, he said, “You may proceed, sir.”
Holmes handed a match to Lestrad, then returned to his place by the mantle. He stood with his pipe dangling loosely from his mouth, eyes half closed, and a languorous look on his aquiline face. To all the world he looked half asleep, but I knew that every word and gesture would be accurately recorded in his keen mind.
“The story begins,” said Mr. Browne, from his seat on the sofa, “about three years ago at Plymouth. A goods train left the yard at about one in the afternoon, with two wagons filled with fine hardwood in tow. Its intended route was North to Lidford then through the Dartmoor Forrest followed by some rather hilly country just South of Oakhampton. The track continues north then curves East to Exeter where the two goods wagons and their cargo were to be left in the marshalling yard to be made up as part of a larger train bound for Salisbury and London. There was a crew of three aboard at the time — the Engineer, a Fireman and a Signalman. The train was rather small, but it is a scheduled run and it leaves with whatever is available.
“Now this particular train had no scheduled stops before Exeter. However on occasion something does come up in a hurry so the stations along the way have the privilege of flagging down the freights. The Engineer can then accept or reject the addition to his train depending on the load.
“At Lidford someone who was not an employee of the railroad flagged it down. Fortunately, our Mr. Waterhouse here was on duty at the time and from his office window was witness to the flagging and the series of events, which rapidly followed.
“Several men appeared from hiding along the tracks and boarded the train, front and rear. They forced the crew off at gunpoint, then took the train on North at full throttle. Mr. Waterhouse immediately telegraphed ahead to Oakhampton where the Station Master notified the local police. The people at Oakhampton threw the switch on the main line so that the train would be diverted to a siding, and then laid in wait. The trip from Lidford to Oakhampton should have taken less than thirty minutes, but when, after forty-five minutes no train had arrived, the Lidford Station Manager wired Oak Hampton to notify them that they would board a small shunting engine and head south to investigate. Mr. Waterhouse wired back to inform the Lidford folks that he had already fired up a spare engine and would head north in a matter of minutes. He further requested that they remain there as a blockade.
About four miles out from the Station, the Oakhampton engine burst a steam pipe and became inoperable. Mr. Waterhouse, on foot, rushed back to his office and telegraphed the Lidford people, requesting that they now head south on their engine. This delayed the investigation for about one hour, but since both ends of the track were blocked, the added hour made no difference.
“Some time later the little engine from Oakhampton pushed the damaged engine into the Lidford Station without having seen a trace of the object of their search. Mr. Waterhouse had never left his post and can guarantee, along with the dispossessed crew, that the Plymouth train never returned south.