“Much to his credit, Mr. Waterhouse then sent for the foreman of the track maintenance and plate laying crew. This man has intimate knowledge of the roadbed between the two towns. The two of them then squeezed aboard the working engine with the people from Oakhampton and proceeded north very slowly. They examined every foot of the track for the entire distance and found nothing amiss. There was in fact no way to remove the entire train from the tracks. The path through the forest is heavily wooded and very wet at that time of year. The route through the hills resembles a trench — the hillsides rising rather sharply on either side. In short gentlemen, on that day a train weighing in total about eighty tons, vanished from the face of the earth. The track was searched several more times, but no trace was ever found.”
“I hesitate to interrupt this most singular story,” said Holmes, “but I must know why this remarkable occurrence was not reported in the papers at the time.”
“Ah, well,” said Mr. Browne. “I was reluctantly coming to that. I have to make a little confession that may reflect poorly on railroad management.
“As you know, the area where this event took place is not heavily populated so very few people knew of it first hand — therefore it was rather simple to suppress the news. The reason for the suppression was simply profit, Mr. Holmes — pure profit. If word had got round, we may well have lost some customers so we recompensed the owner of the cargo and suffered our loss in private.
“That fairly well covers the events of three years ago. During the intervening time railroad personnel have actually walked the entire distance and have uncovered not a shred of evidence or a single clue. For all practical purposes we had given it up forever. Of course that all changed yesterday afternoon when this same train mysteriously appeared at Oak Hampton with its original cargo intact.
“When I was informed of this I immediately contacted Inspector Lestrad. What has happened is beyond me and I feel it is time to let professionals take over regardless of the bad publicity. I’d advise you to direct any further questions to Mr. Waterhouse. As I have said, he is here as witness to the theft of the train and as an expert on the roadbed in question.”
Mr. Browne, having finished, fell silent and the room remained quiet for several minutes as we digested this most unusual story. How on earth could this have happened? I couldn't begin to apply Holmes' methods because I could not see where to start. I could see only the impossible — there was no improbable.
A bit later I noticed Lestrad glancing furtively in Holmes' direction. I knew that the rascal was befuddled and was looking to Holmes to cast some light on the problem.
“Mr. Browne,” said Holmes, breaking the long silence. “We need to go back to the beginning at Plymouth. You are the expert there. When the train left that day three years ago, did anything unusual or out of the ordinary happen — no matter how trivial?”
“No Mr. Holmes,” Browne replied. “I have gone over the records and interviewed everyone on duty. It was a routine make up. The original engine did develop a leak in its flue and was replaced by a standby machine, but things of this sort happen every now and then.”
“Mr. Waterhouse,” said Holmes, turning to the Station Master, “did you see the train yesterday?”
“Yes sir,” He replied. “Had a right good look at her, I did.”
“Was it the standby engine?”
“Yes, sir, Checked the builder plate number I did.”
“Fine,” said Holmes. “Did it look weathered at all — as though it had been exposed to the elements all this time?”
“Oh, yes it did, sir — every sign of it. There's no mistaking when a piece of equipment just stands in the open for a long time. I'll swear that that train stood still with no shelter for the full three years she was missin'.”
“Very good,” said Holmes. “By the way, am I correct in assuming that your search did not extend into the countryside along the tracks?”
“Right you are, sir,” said Waterhouse. “Weren't no need to look further than the eye could see.”
Holmes then walked over to the wall cabinet where he rummaged around for a few moments in a wide drawer. He returned with a large ordinance map of the land area in question and spread it out on the table. We gathered around as he traced the route with a stub of yellow chalk.
“Mr. Waterhouse,” said Holmes after a minute or two of study, “this map does not show the location of the siding between the two towns. Would you be so kind as to point it out to us?”
“Of course, sir,” said the Station Master, “but how did you know of it? No one mentioned it until now.”
“I knew it is there because I knew that it had to be there. Now, be a good fellow and show me exactly where it is.”
Waterhouse took the chalk from Holmes, bent over the map and said, “Well now, let's see — it's located right here.”
As he said this he made a mark that put the siding in the hills north of Dartmoor Forrest.
“Are there any other sidings?” asked Holmes.
No sir, only the one. This siding is used only by work trains so as to keep clear of the main line while repairs are underway. I remember when we searched the line three years ago, we gave particular attention to that siding, but came up empty. It's just a short length of track that runs parallel to the main line. It ends at a stout log bumper so there's no place for a train to go.”
“If you will,” said Holmes, “please describe the vegetation in the immediate area.”
“Near the track,” answered Waterhouse, “you'll find only gravel and rock. On the hillside is grass and shrubs and in the ravines is a tangled mix of trees, vines and underbrush.”
“Are there any ravines near the siding?” asked Holmes.
“Yes sir, there's a big one just a few yards beyond the end of the siding, but there's no rails and the ravine is plugged with dead wood of all sorts. No one could have taken a train apart and dragged it away in a couple of hours.”
Holmes stepped back from the table and began to pace slowly around the room. On the face of it the ravine could not figure in the problem, but moments later Holmes turned again to Mr. Waterhouse.
“I'm about to test your memory. I hope you have the ability to recall details. I would like you to think back to that day, three years ago when you were inspecting that area. Place yourself on the track at the entrance to the siding and proceed to its end. You are now standing in front of the log bumper. Does the ground stay at the same level as you look beyond the construction?”
“Not quite, sir,” said Waterhouse, his eyes closed in concentration. “It takes a bit of a rise — about half a foot I would say, then continues level. It’s all loose gravel alongside the rails.”
“As far as the ravine?” asked Holmes.
“That far and a ways beyond, sir.”
“Is the mouth of the ravine at the same level?”
“It is, sir and fair choked with underbrush.”
Is there any grass in front of you?”
No, sir, not a blade — nothing except for the tree.”
“The tree? What tree?”
“A big elm, sir. If you was to lay more track beyond the bumper you would have to cut it down.”
At this point Holmes looked extremely surprised and puzzled. He thought a bit, then said, “Describe the tree to me in detail.”
“Big as a pickle barrel at the butt. What's left of it runs up about fifteen feet. Been dead for several years by the look of it. Not much more than a big pole stuck in the ground.”
On hearing this, the look of puzzlement left Holmes' face and he visibly relaxed. He rolled up the map, placed it back in the cupboard then invited us to take our seats. His next action was to serve us a generous whiskey.