The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 42: Our Final Chance

Without looking back at Holmes or Lawler, I opened the door leading from the observation car to the back passenger carriage and slipped through. It was warmer and brighter, and it took my senses a moment to adjust.

"Doctor Watson?" said a voice to my left.

I looked over, blinking my eyes into focus, and saw Wilcox, the bartender, peering curiously up at me.

"Hello, Wilcox," I replied. "How are you?"

"Fairly well," he said, though his eyebrows remained low over his eyes and the frown did not leave his face.

I looked round and saw Johansen, the bespectacled farmer, sitting to my right and greeted him as well.

"What brings you here?" I asked.

"Off to visit my niece in Sioux Rapids," said he, adjusting his glasses and squinting at me.

"Sounds quite lovely," I replied.

"Certainly," said he. "But what brings you here? I don't recall you boarding."

"It's an interesting story, and I'll get to that part before the end," I said, before really deciding to say anything.

Then it hit me: I had to tell a story. A true story, but a story nonetheless. That I could do.

"Well," said Wilcox. "You've got thirteen minutes."

The train shook and I grabbed the back of Wilcox's seat for support. I stood up straighter and raised my voice so the dozen-odd people in this car could not fail to hear me.

"When Holmes first received word of the troubles around here, he had several other requests he might have taken instead, but he chose to come here. And once he arrived, he has worked as diligently—if not more so—as he has on every other case on which I have accompanied him. I know all of you on this train have only known Holmes for a couple short weeks, and during that time, he made mistakes, as anyone investigating something so complex would make mistakes. And I know he is not always a likable person, but he came to help. He came because he wants to see justice carried out everywhere, not only in large cities. I trust Sherlock Holmes. I have trusted him with my life and will do so again without hesitation, because for all his faults, he is a good man."

All eyes in the car were on me now. I took a deep breath and continued.

"I do not know if you are aware, but we have a serious problem on our train this evening. There is a man on board who worked closely with Jesse Cleveland Wright and is about to get away with every atrocity and injustice he has wrought."

"You are mistaken. Lawler has been tied securely and put in the back," protested a spectacled man near the front, whom I recognised as Dr. Mauer.

"Lawler is not the one of whom I speak," I replied. "This evening, Holmes and I worked with Sheriff Sweet to set a trap for Wright's accomplice. From a number of clues, we knew he was close to the investigation, completely unsuspected, went by the initials P.T.C., and according to Wright himself, his name was Pat Crowe. We set a trap for Crowe, using the last of the recoverable Blomberg jewels as bait, strongly suspecting the name by which all of us know Crowe, but we did not know for certain nor were we certain he would take the bait. Nonetheless, he came."

I paused for a moment, the wound in my side making it difficult to stand on shaky ground for so long.

"We heard footsteps approaching and then quiet voices. These were not the sounds of one man, but two."

Wilcox spoke up. "What the hell kinda turncoat would want to help him?"

"Only someone who was helping him all along: Cleaver Wright." I replied. "I am sure you are all wondering how Crowe could have possibly gotten Wright out of jail."

There were nods and frowns.

"I'll invite you to take a moment to think about it," I said. "We know that this person is close to the investigation, could have broken out a prisoner, and tonight, framed not one, but two men for crimes they did not commit." I let the silence stretch for a long moment, as realisation and horror dawned on the faces of my audience.

"My friends, this train did not leave six minutes early to ensure Lawler was put quickly in jail. It left six minutes early because Holmes and I were not yet on board. Sheriff Sweet was wounded tonight—not badly, he shall be fine in days—but because of this, Holmes and I were the only ones who could put these," I pulled the handcuffs out of my pocket and held them aloft, "on Patrick Crowe".

The train was deathly silent.

"I know none of you have known me very long or very well, but I am an honest man, and would readily swear everything I've said on the Bible or my mother's grave." I looked around the car and noticed several new faces. They must have come from the other passenger car. I recognised one as Mrs. Pattison, the post office woman. She began to clap. Several others joined, but the rest were stoic.

"I am hardly in a position to ask your trust, but if you do not trust me, we will let a terrible man go free. I don't want that on my conscience."

There was a general murmurer of ascent, and a man whom I did not know, but had seen at the tavern, spoke.

"So what you're saying is that Mr. Reagan is a fraud and a cheat and will escape if we do nothing?"

I nodded.

The young man looked at those sitting near him. "Well, I'm with Doc Watson. Worst that can happen is we embarrass Reagan and have to apologise later. That beats the hell outta letting a guilty man go free."

There were various nods and murmurs, but several frowned or shook their heads.

One man spoke up, and I recognised him as a farmer with whom I had lunched. "If, as you'd have us believe, Reagan had the train leave early so you and Mr. Holmes wouldn't be on it, how on earth did you get on board?"

"I have Lawler's swift horse and Holmes' strong arms to thank," I said.

"Holmes is on board too?" the farmer asked.

Well, they seemed unlikely to lynch him at this point and truthfulness did seem to be the best policy here. "Yes, he is," I said.

"Then why have we not seen him?" asked another.

"Because he knew all of you had every reason to doubt him, but not me," I said. The words had barely left my lips when several people gasped, staring at something behind me. I whirled round.

Sherlock Holmes stood at the back of the compartment.