Pulling the shop door fast, as best we could, we hurried out onto Dorset Street. Holmes hailed a passing Hansom, tossed the cabbie a florin, saying, “Scotland Yard, as quick as you like!” With that, the cab lurched and we clattered off at a fearsome pace.
On arriving at Scotland Yard, Holmes took the steps two at a time. I followed as best I could and was only part way down the corridor to Lestrade’s office when Holmes burst through his door. I could tell from the shouting that Lestrade was not best pleased by Holmes’ dramatic entrance. However, by the time I had arrived, red-faced and panting, some semblance of order had been established. Holmes was now seated and was recalling, at some speed, our recent adventures. Lestrade, I could see, was intrigued as Holmes laid out the information and was to be seen scribbling notes madly.
Lestrade, for his part, showed Holmes the engine. I could see that he was clearly intrigued. Whilst I watched, Lestrade beckoned to me. “As you were impressed by the engine, Dr Watson, let me show you these. Special Branch picked ‘em up when they raided the house in Rosemary Lane.” Reaching down behind his desk, Lestrade produced two small waggons of a scale identical to the engine. Each one had a connecting shackle at each end, the same dimension as that of the engine. The wheels, I noticed, were quite smooth.
I was thrilled. “They’re wonderful!” I cried, turning over one of the waggons in my hands. Holmes looked towards us and I immediately saw a change in his manner.
“Have you tried linking the waggons to the engine, Lestrade?” asked Holmes in what, I thought, was quite a brusque tone.
Lestrade looked a little taken aback. “Why…err… yes, Mr Holmes. I tried four waggons; I loaded each one with a pound of sand. It pulled them a treat!”
Holmes leapt up shouting, “Four! You have four?” Holmes waved his hands towards the engine and waggons, “Does this collection of devices not concern you as to how it could be used?”
Scratching his head, Lestrade sat back and looked a little sheepish. “Well, no. Their use remains unclear.”
I could see that Holmes was now quietly fuming. With tremendous control, Holmes asked, “Was there any other material recovered from the raid on the Fenians?”
Lestrade reached down beside his desk and placed on his desk a ball of twine. I picked it up and unwound a small section. The twine had been marked with black paint every foot. He then began to rummage on the top of his desk and at last found a slim, cardboard folder. “There were a few letters, the twine of course, but nothing of great note. Then there was this… we don’t know what to make of it, Mr Holmes.” Lestrade pulled a foolscap piece of tracing paper from the file. It was blank except for a single line, drawn in a blue crayon. The line started with a letter ‘X’ and then continued straight for about four inches before then forming a gentle curve for two inches, ending in a letter ‘T’. Next to it was another ‘X’ and the figure ‘8’. Lestrade passed the tracing paper to Holmes, saying, “Do you think it important?”
Holmes put his forefinger to his lips. After a few moments he said, “On its own, it means nothing …but, in the end, it will tell me everything. May I keep it, for the moment?”
Again, Lestrade scratched his head. “Well, I don’t see why not… it means nothing to us.”
Holmes stood and nodded in thanks before asking, “Does the name O’Leary mean anything to you, Lestrade?”
Lestrade leaned forwards in his chair and I noticed a glint in his eye. “Would that be Sean O’Leary, Mr Holmes? If so, watch out. He is a killer and a man we would dearly like to get our hands on.”
Holmes smiled and then closed Lestrade’s door. Quickly finding a cab, we left Scotland Yard behind. Once more back in Baker Street, we were welcomed home by Mrs Hudson who had prepared a delightful dinner of lamb chops and spring vegetables. Feeling replete, we retired to our armchairs, each of us, I believe, turning over the events of the day.
As I sat and smoked, several questions began to trouble me. “Tell me, Holmes, why were you so concerned about the waggons for the engine?”
Holmes was staring straight ahead. “I think we must look at the events as a whole, Watson, and all will become clear. There is only one small piece of the jigsaw to find and put in place.” Holmes turned towards me, saying, “Let us consider this. The Fenians over the last ten years have caused panic and mayhem in London through a campaign of violence, largely through the use of dynamite. A clockmaker has, I believe, been coerced into making a device with which they can deliver dynamite. You will recall that, in Lestrade’s experiment, he was able to carry a load of four pounds. I think you would agree, Watson, that some considerable damage might be caused by that quantity of dynamite.”
I nodded and urged Holmes to continue. “So, Watson, we have these beasts of burden. What now?”
Holmes’ words provoked a sudden flash of inspiration, “Mules!” I cried out.
Holmes smiled grimly, “Precisely, Watson, but how are they to be used? You will recall last year that the Fenians were foiled in their attempt to blow up Westminster Abbey and Her Majesty. What other target might they choose… a political one perhaps?”
It took me but a moment to say, “The Prime Minister! Sean O’Bryan… he befriended Catherine Ward to obtain… to obtain a map of the pipework beneath… Good Lord! Westminster!”
Holmes nodded, “Yes, perhaps she asked too many questions or suspected his motives regarding Downing Street. Either way, she had to die. She could identify Sean O’Leary, or O’Bryan, as he called himself and she knew precisely the area he was interested in.”
Pausing for a moment, Holmes seemed now to be considering the mechanics of the plot. “So, how exactly is this to be done? I believe that O’Leary and his men intend to use the mechanical ‘mule’ to transport dynamite through some underground pipework that sits beneath Downing Street.” Holmes paused again and, as if asking the question of himself, he continued, “Perhaps a more pressing need is to determine when this is to happen and where they might gain access to the pipes. I must contact Mycroft to establish the Prime Minister’s engagements.”
Holmes rose from his chair and began to pace, a clear sign of his grave concern. “I expect the maps of Miss Ward’s employer to show not only their own hydraulic pipe network but the cables, pneumatic pipes and sewers of other companies. We must have sight of these plans, Watson.”
Holmes consulted his pocket watch, saying, “Their offices will be closed for the day but no doubt my brother will still be in Whitehall.” Reaching for his notebook, Holmes paused briefly and then thoughtfully wrote out a telegram. “I must try not to alarm Mycroft for no doubt the Fenians will have spies or sympathisers within Whitehall. We do not want them warned off. Tell me what you think of this, Watson: ‘Mycroft, it is my intention to call upon the Prime Minister in Downing Street this week. Please advise as to his engagements for the week. Sherlock.’ I think that is appropriate… and Mycroft is no fool.” I nodded. I was very much aware that Mycroft Holmes was a man with an intellect at least equal to that of his brother. Holmes rang the bell for Mrs Hudson who then duly collected the telegram.