Death on a Pale Horse - By Donald Thomas Page 0,129

a little more. But that was no more than a tidal swell catching the flank of the vessel. Where was Sherlock Holmes? The deep well of the engine-room that lay beneath the heavy machinery was flooding steadily. Passing the paddle-box, I came to the open sponson. Here one could stand on the platform and step down twelve or eighteen inches into a lifeboat held alongside. But as yet there was no boat.

I came to the steel grille beside the bureau de change, guarding the mailroom and its high-value packages. I had no need of Lieutenant Cabell’s key to open the gate. The three guardians had left the steel grille open as they fled when the bow of the Princesse Henriette crunched into the side of the steamer. What else should they do, as the sea began to flood this lower deck? They must have expected that the ship would capsize at any second, and they had run for their lives, leaving the mailroom of the coffresforts unlocked. Who shall blame them for that?

The shouting on the deck above me had diminished. If I heard the sounds correctly, the two lifeboats of the Comtesse de Flandre were being lowered, and no doubt the first rescue boat from the Princesse Henriette had been launched. I shone my lamp on the cavernous cage with its high-value packages. Where was Holmes? My oil-lamp was giving out little more than a glow. Yet from what I could now see of the interior of this strong-room, everything was as it had been. Napoleon-Jerome’s coffin-like war-chest lay in its place. Yet how was it to be rescued before the ship foundered? I should never be able to shift it on my own. I tried to lift one end, but only to ensure that it had not been tampered with. To judge from its weight, I was sure that it had not been.

“Watson!”

He was carrying no lamp of his own. I had neither seen nor heard him approach along the engine-room passageway.

“Leave that!” he called. “There is every chance that we shall break in two after such a blow.”

I had expected that at the least we would lug the war-chest to the sponson, where a boat might be brought alongside.

“Leave Plon Plon’s war-chest?”

I could see his aquiline profile against that failing glow of my oil-light.

“My dear fellow, there is nothing in that chest worth the loss of a human life. Not yours and certainly not mine.”

“But there must be enough in there to start a revolution in Paris!”

He smiled, though at what I could not say.

“If it pleases you to think so—but not a revolution of the kind you suppose. To tell you the truth, I have been in possession of the keys to it ever since I left Brussels, thanks to Brother Mycroft. But you shall have your way, old fellow. And you shall carry away as payment however much of the contents you think worth carrying. Stand back.”

He knelt down and I held the lamp closer. Apart from the polished brass lock-plate, there were subsidiary keyholes at either end of the glossy oak chest. The well-oiled levers of the locks moved smoothly and easily in obedience to the key, hardly touching the wards as they rose to ease back the bolts. Holmes took the edges of the lid and lifted it silently back. Napoleon-Jerome’s treasure trove was covered by a sheet of heavy silver foil, for all the world like the lining of an ammunition box. He rolled this back, and I stared at the royal fortune that was intended to restore the descendants of Napoleon Bonaparte to the throne of France.

The contents were wrapped in large parcels, set out in double rows and addressed to the Chaplain General’s Office, North Camp, Aldershot. Each wrapper bore an identical printed label upon it: “Army Temperance Society Pamphlets. Series 9.” And that was all.

Sherlock Holmes’s eyes glinted in the yellow light as I stared at this display.

“My dear Watson! Did you really imagine that the Queen of the Night and the Mogul diamonds would be in here? I have gone to some lengths in Brussels to induce those who have betrayed us to our opponents to think so. That was the prime purpose of my visit. But that you should believe it is very singular—and indeed rather gratifying! Of course Colonel Moran cannot afford to ignore the possibility, having been assured of its value on the best possible information. He dare not turn back. But as for trusting