The words hit Sherlock like blows. His gaze slipped across to Virginia. ‘I don’t think we can do that,’ he said quietly.
Rufus Stone frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why did you leave the clues to bring us to Edinburgh if you don’t want our help?’
Crowe closed his eyes momentarily. ‘Because ah wanted to say goodbye properly,’ he said. ‘An’ because ah wanted to explain, face to face, why ah was runnin’ away. Ah wanted you to understand the scale of what ah’m up against. Scobell will keep comin’, an’ keep comin’, and keep comin’ until he succeeds. An’ even if ah try to turn the tables an’ hunt him down, he’s too clever. He’ll cover his tracks an’ hide until I stop lookin’; or worse: he’ll lure me into a trap.’
A silence followed as each of them tried to come to terms with what Crowe was saying.
‘There’s two problems with all that,’ Sherlock said eventually.
Crowe raised an eyebrow. ‘An’ what’re they then?’
‘The first,’ Sherlock continued, not put off by Crowe’s attitude, ‘is that this man, Bryce Scobell, will keep on coming after you. If he’s as clever and as dedicated as that, then he will find you wherever you go, no matter how long it takes him.’
‘You’re right,’ Rufus Stone said, nodding.
‘What’s the other problem?’ Matty asked.
‘It’s that you’re treating this like you would treat any hunt.’ Sherlock paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts into some kind of order. ‘I know, from what you’ve taught me, that you treat men as if they were animals. If you’re hunting them you try to predict their movements based on their habits, and you look for the signs of their presence – the signs they can’t help leaving, the way that animals leave tracks.’
‘Ah’ve always believed that mankind is just a different kind of animal,’ Crowe conceded, ‘an’ many’s a time ah’ve used that fact to mah advantage. What’s your point?’
‘My point is that Bryce Scobell isn’t an animal. He’s turned the tables. He’s treating you as the animal, and he’s tracking you, and that’s spooked you. Your usual way of dealing with a situation won’t work. The game has been reversed.’
‘You’re saying he’s cleverer than me?’ Crowe challenged, his eyes flashing beneath his bushy grey brows.
‘Yes,’ Sherlock said simply. ‘So if the game has been reversed, let’s change the game. If Scobell is a better hunter than you, let’s not make this a hunt. If he’s a better game player than you, let’s not make it a game. Don’t let him choose the fight. Change the rules.’
‘Easier said than done, young man,’ Crowe rumbled, but the expression on his face suggested that Sherlock had surprised him.
‘If he’s looking for you,’ Sherlock said, ‘then don’t hide. Don’t do what he expects. Stay in the open. He’ll wonder what you’re doing. He’ll assume it’s a trap and he’ll back away.’
‘And then what?’ Crowe challenged.
‘And then he’ll make a mistake, and you can turn the tables on him.’
Crowe nodded slowly. ‘When the game is a hunt and you’re losing, change the rules.’
‘When the man you’re up against is cleverer and more ruthless than you,’ Sherlock amplified, ‘make sure that the game doesn’t depend on the winner being the cleverest or the most ruthless.’
Crowe smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but there was a sudden thump from the roof of the cottage. Crowe’s gaze snapped upward, his hand already on the pistol, then he looked through the window again. Sherlock followed his gaze. The narrow enclosed hillside that sloped away in front of the cottage was empty, deserted, but something in the air had changed. A smell. Something . . . burning.
‘Smoke!’ he said. ‘I smell smoke.’
Amyus Crowe moved swiftly across to the window. ‘Nothin’ out here.’
Sherlock looked towards the door out to the rest of the cottage. Was it his imagination, or was there a faint haze in the atmosphere out there?
‘It’s Scobell,’ he said. ‘He’s set fire to the cottage!’
‘But how?’ Rufus snapped. ‘Nobody’s come near! And how on earth did he find us?’
‘They didn’t have to come near,’ Sherlock replied. ‘He’s dropped something burning on to the thatched roof from the cliffs above the cottage! That’s dry straw – it’ll go up in seconds!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Come on!’ Matty yelled. ‘We need to get out!’
Sherlock moved to take Virginia’s hand, wanting to make sure she got to the door safely, but Crowe grabbed at his shoulder. ‘Scobell will be out there, son!’ he shouted. ‘He’ll have rifles. He’ll pick us off like rabbits!’
Sherlock had a mental flash of the decapitated rabbit back at Amyus Crowe’s Farnham cottage. He didn’t want to end up like that.
‘We don’t have a choice,’ Rufus Stone said. ‘If we stay here we’ll be burned alive.’
They could hear the fire catching hold in the straw thatch now – a crackling sound, like sticks being broken by some giant hand. Smoke was drifting in through the open door. Already it was hard to breathe, hard even to see.
‘I don’t think he wants to kill us in the fire,’ Sherlock suddenly said.
Crowe stared at him questioningly.
‘He wants to take his revenge on you. A fire isn’t good enough for him – especially if he can’t be sure from the remains if you were even here.’
‘So what’s he trying to do?’ Rufus Stone asked, struggling not to cough.
‘Flush us out into the open. He’ll have men waiting further down the hill. They’ll have guns, and they’ll take us prisoner when we run out.’
‘But that’s the only option we’ve got!’ Matty cried.
Crowe shook his head. ‘Not quite. There’s a path that leads up the rock face, away from the house, if we can get down the slope that far. It’s hard to spot, but I know where it is.’
Stone covered his mouth and coughed. ‘The trouble will be in getting there,’ he said. ‘Scobell’s men won’t let us get too far from the house before they take us.’
‘I think I’ve got an idea.’
Sherlock ran for the door to the outside. Crowe and Rufus were moments behind him, with Matty and Virginia just behind them. Sherlock threw the door open. The sudden blast of fresh air sucked the smoke out in a billowing plume that would immediately alert whoever was watching from the rocky crags above – as Sherlock was sure they would be doing.
All over the ground in front of the cottage were the rocks of various shapes and sizes they had passed on the way in. Twenty feet ahead of that was the point where the ground dropped sharply away for ten feet or so – the point where they had had to scramble up using hands and feet. Somewhere past there, hidden by the sudden drop in the ground, were Scobell’s men.
‘Help me!’ he shouted, and set to work dislodging one of the bigger stones.
Realizing what he was doing, Rufus and Crowe threw themselves against two more rocks – even larger ones. Matty and Virginia joined Sherlock, trying to get his one moving.
Sherlock set his shoulder against the boulder and heaved. His throat and his ankles throbbed where the rope had bruised the flesh, but he ignored the pain and kept pushing. The boulder shifted before his weight, rising up slightly and pivoting on a point on its front edge.
‘We’ve got it!’ he yelled.
Something whistled past his ear and buried itself in the ground by his side. He let go of the boulder in surprise, and it fell back into its crater with a thud that he could feel through the soles of his feet. He looked at the new object in surprise. For a moment he thought it was a stick, but there were feathers stuck to the back. He pulled it out of the ground. The front end was sharp, like an arrowhead.