"On Tuesday I expect that you would have had Mr. Thomas keep me from my rooms, had you not been determined to make your way up yourself, despite a concussed brain and a raw back. I assume that you intended to arrive somewhat earlier than you did, and Mr. Thomas went off his guard, as he had been told that his services would after that time no longer be required. What held you up, that you did not arrive until six-thirty?"
"Six twenty-two. A positively diabolical series of happenstances. Lestrade was late for our meeting, the matron hid my clothes, the tramp was brought in, and I had to seize the opportunity to arrange a sleight-of-body with the hospital staff, and then when I arrived at the cottage it was swarming with police and I had to wait for them to amble off for their tea before I could get what I needed from the house and see what they'd left at the hive — thank God for Will, I'd never have managed without him. And I missed a train and there were no taxis at the rank in Oxford — positively diabolical, as I said."
"Why didn't you just telephone from the hospital? Or send a telegram?"
"I did send a telegram, to Thomas, from a station so small I doubt more than six trains stop there in a year. And when I finally made Oxford I telephoned to him and told him not to mention anything to you, that the little problem had been taken care of."
"But, Holmes, what made you come? Did you have any cause to think I was in danger? Or was it just your generally suspicious mind?" He was looking very uncomfortable, and not because of his back. "Did you have any reason —?"
"No!" My last word made him shout, made us all aware of the glaring inconsistency of his actions. "No, it was a fixation visited upon an abused brain. Reason demanded I stay on the scene of the crime, with perhaps a telephone call to put you on your guard, but I — to tell you the truth, I found it impossible to retain a logical train of thought. It was the most peculiar side-effect of concussion I've ever experienced. At dawn on Tuesday all I could think of was reaching your door by dusk, and when I found I was able to walk — I walked."
"How odd," I said, and meant it. I would not have thought his affection for me would be allowed to interfere with the investigation of a case, shaken brain or no. And as for his obvious reluctance to trust me with the necessary actions — lying in wait for an attack, using my gun if necessary — that hurt. Particularly as he had not been altogether successful himself. I opened my mouth to confront him with it but managed to hold my tongue in time. Besides, in all honesty I had to admit that he was right.
"Very odd," I repeated, "but I am glad of it. Had you not interfered, I should almost certainly have walked in the door, as the only indications of tampering were two tiny scratches on the keyhole and one small leaf and a spot of mud on a window that was across a dim passageway from where I would stand to insert my key."
He let slip a brief flash of relief before an impassive reply. "You'd have noticed it."
"I might have. But would I have thought enough of it to climb up the outside ivy, on a night like that? I doubt it. At any rate, you came, you saw, you disconnected. Incidentally, did you come up the ivy too, with your back like that? Or did you manage to disarm the bomb from outside the door?"
Holmes met his brother's eyes and shook his head pityingly. "Her much learning hath made her mad," he said, and turned back to me. "Russell, you must remember the alternatives. Alternatives, Russell."
I puzzled for a minute, then admitted defeat.
"The ladder, Russell. There was a ladder on the other side of the courtyard. You must have seen it every day for the last few weeks."
Both Holmes and his brother started laughing at the chagrin on my face.
"All right, I missed that one entirely. You came up the ladder, disconnected the bomb, put the ladder away, and came back through the hall, leaving one leaf and an unidentifiable greasy thumbprint. But Holmes, you couldn't have missed Dickson by much. It must have been a near thing."
"I imagine we passed each other in the street, but the only faces I saw were hunched up against the rain."
"It shows that Dickson, or his boss, was well acquainted with my circumstances. He knew which were my rooms. He knew that Mrs. Thomas would be in the rooms and waited until she left, which I suppose he could see from the street below. He went up the outside ivy in the dark, carrying the bomb, went in the window, picked my lock, set the thing — " I thought of something to ask Mycroft. "Could he have left through the door after the bomb was set?"
"Certainly. It was triggered by a one-way toggle. He mounted it with the door standing open, and closing the door armed it."
"Then he went out the window and made his escape, all of that in little over an hour. A formidable man, Mr. Dickson."
"And yet, thirty hours later he makes a fatal mistake and dies in blowing up an empty house," Holmes said thoughtfully.
"Your young lady has brought up another point worthy of consideration," Mycroft Holmes said. "That is the fact of Dickson's familiarity with her habits. The same could surely be said of his — their — awareness of your own movements."
"That I check my hives before retiring? Surely most beekeepers do so?"
"But you yourself state that to be your habit, in your book?"
"I do, yes, but had it not been then, it would have been in the morning."
"I cannot see that it would have made much difference," agreed Mycroft.
"I suppose I ought to purchase a dog," said Holmes unhappily.
"However, no published account that I know of includes Miss Russell."
"Our collaboration is no doubt common knowledge in the village."
"So, this opponent has read your book, knows the village, knows Oxford."
"Lestrade must be made aware of these facts," said Holmes.
"There is also the matter of the use of children as messengers."
"An uncomfortable similarity with my Irregulars, you feel?"
"I do. You said, though Watson forgot today, that they are invisible."
"I dislike the idea of a murderer employing children," said Holmes darkly.
"It is, I agree, bad for their morals, and interferes with their sleep."
"And their schooling," added Holmes sententiously.
"But who?" I broke in desperately. "Who is it? Surely there cannot be all that many of your enemies who hate you enough to kill off not only you but your friends as well, who have the money to hire bombers and watchers, and who have the wits to put all this conspiracy together?"
"I sat up until the wee hours contemplating precisely that question, Russell, with absolutely no results. Oh, there are any number of people who fit the first category, and a fair handful of those would have the financial means, but that third characteristic leaves me, to borrow your word, baffled. In all my varied acquaintances I cannot call to mind one who fits with what we know of the mastermind behind these attacks."
"There is a mastermind, you would say?" I asked.
"Well, a mind, certainly. Intelligent, painstaking, at the least moderately wealthy, and absolutely ruthless."