Part 18 (1/2)

Bernice snorted. I could tell that she wasn't taking Holmes seriously.

'Who wants to move up to the restaurant car?' she asked. 'I could do with some food and a decent drink.'

'And a new block of ice,' I added.

Holmes checked his watch.

'According to our schedule, the next station after this one should be some three hours away. That should give us enough time for a leisurely lunch.'

I freshened myself up in the bathroom and emerged just as we were pulling into the outskirts of whatever cantonment or village this was. The train jerked as the engineer applied the brakes. The place looked deserted. Huts and hovels were empty, and the only signs of life were the pi-dogs pacing us as we approached the station. Far in the distance, half-hidden by the dust and the heat-haze, I thought I could make out the regular lines of a British Army fort with a flag hanging limply from its pole.

We jerked again, and dropped to a crawl. The station crept closer and I could suddenly see where everybody was. The platform was alive with a churning crowd. Hordes of people poured out from the shaded area beneath the platform itself, careless of the approaching train. I s.h.i.+vered, reminded of a stream of c.o.c.kroaches. A terrific gabble of voices in a Babel of languages a.s.sailed our ears.

'Tahsa char, garumi garum!'

Pahn biri! Pahn biri!'

Hindi pani, Musselman pans' 'Beecham Sahib ki gooli!'

I turned to Professor . . . to Bernice.

'Did I hear the word Beecham?'

'Indeed you did,' she replied. 'He's offering us some of Mr Beecham's little pills. Does that mean anything to you?'

'Indigestion tablets!' I laughed.

'Well, you learn something every day,' she murmured. 'But is it ever useful?'

The train shuddered to a halt. Beyond our window a wall of faces watched us with no hint of decorum. We stepped out onto the station. It felt good to be able to stretch my legs. Holmes locked the door and the crowd cleared a way for us as we made our way along the platform towards the dining car.

Beggars implored us for alms, sweetmeat sellers beseeched us to buy their wares and those Indians who were travelling onward from here in the third or fourth-cla.s.s carriages bustled around with broken umbrellas looking self-important. Those unable or unwilling to pay for tickets on the train were climbing onto the roof, joining those who had been there since Bombay.

Ahead of us a small cadre of British soldiers had disembarked and were trying to form up into some sort of order before marching off.

Bernice d.i.c.kered with an ice seller, then borrowed a key to the carriage from Holmes so that she could leave it to cool the compartment down. We found the dining car and secured a table in its cool, dark interior.

'This may seem like a stupid question,' Bernice said when she joined us, 'but how come we can find huge great blocks of ice at these one-horse towns in the middle of G.o.d's own oven?'

'The Carres Ice Machine,' Holmes p.r.o.nounced. He loved to show off. 'Most stations will have one. The device contains a cylinder of ammonia which is heated and then plunged into water. The liquid, confined in such a small s.p.a.ce, absorbs heat from the metal and then the water in order to evaporate, causing the water to turn to ice. A most interesting device. I was involved in a case recently where a Mr Matthew Jolly was murdered with a Carres Ice Machine.'

'I don't recall that case, Hohnes,' I said stiffly.

'I believe I did draw some of its features to your attention.'

The train quivered, and began to heave its vast bulk out of the station. For the first half of our journey, stationmasters had politely sought Holmes's permission for the train to leave their stations - something to do with him being the most senior traveller. Somebody more important must have joined the train at Gadawara, as we were no longer bothered by such requests.

A great wail went up outside. I looked out of the window, only to find it blocked by a swarm of naked children who clung to the frame and gazed at us with imploring spaniel eyes. The stewards rushed up and down the aisle rapping their little knuckles with spoons until they dropped away, screeching.

'Don't leave me in suspense!' Bernice said eagerly. 'What happened to Mr Jolly?'

'His wife, Josephine, had purchased one of the devices some months beforehand. On the night in question, she waited until he fell asleep downstairs, as was his habit after drinking heavily, then manoeuvred the device so that his head was resting in the water. She then activated it'

'You don't mean . . .?' She was aghast.

'His brain froze whilst he slept. She waited until the water had thawed again and then moved the machine back to the pantry. He was found dead by the maid in the morning without a mark upon him.'

Bernice s.h.i.+vered. 'What a way to go. Why did she do it?'

'Every evening for ten years he had taken his false teeth out after dinner and hurled them at her. One day she finally snapped. I cannot find it in my heart to blame her. Knowing how much I get on Watson's nerves, I occasionally wonder if my last sight on this Earth will be of him standing at the foot of my bed with a syringe of cyanide in his hand.'

I coughed to hide my smile.

'And how did you detect the crime?' I asked, trying to deflect the conversation into a different course.

'Mr Jolly had a gla.s.s eye. The rapid cooling, followed by the significant rise in temperature as the rising sun shone upon it, had caused it to crack.'

'You're making it up,' said Bernice.

At that moment a figure loomed into sight behind Holmes's back. I half rose from my seat. The figure clapped its hands on my shoulders and shook me.

'Watson! Good G.o.d man, what on Earth are you doing here? Do you live on trains?'

That florid face: that huge walrus moustache. A conversation about violins.

'Warburton?'

'The very same.'

In amazement I cast my mind back to the Orient Express, where our adventure had started a few short weeks ago. Colonel Warburton had been one of the pa.s.sengers. He and his wife had been on their way to . . .

'Jabalhabad, wasn't it?' Holmes said casually. 'I remember you saying that you were the Resident there.'

'Mr Holmes, good to see you again. Yes indeed, we've been back for a few weeks now. I left the memsahib sorting out the mess the servants had made of the bungalow and headed to Gadawara on business. I must say, I hadn't expected to find you here. On a case are you? The little lady will be pleased. I thought you were on your way back to dear old Blighty after that odd business with the other train. You never did tell us what that was about. Some secret a.s.signation, was it?'

I could see from Holmes's slightly gla.s.sy expression that he wasn't entirely sure which question to duck.

'We find ourselves heading for Jabalhabad as well,' he said finally. 'Quite a coincidence that we should come across each other again.'

'Mind if I join you?'

Warburton eased his large frame into the seat opposite Bernice.

'I don't believe I've had the pleasure,' he continued, extending a hand.

'Colonel Warburton,' I bl.u.s.tered, 'this is . . . er, Miss . . . er Mister...'

'Benny Summerfield,' said Bernice, shaking Warburton's hand. He winced slightly at her firm grip.

'Pleased to meet you. Are you part of the mystery too?'