The Scottish Ploy Read Online Free PDF Page B

chose that moment to return, carrying the tea-tray and smiling affably.
    “I’m sorry to have taken so long,” he said to the room at large. “There was a minor accident in the kitchen and Tyers is busy setting things to rights.” He put the tray down. “I think you’ll find you’ll be more the thing, as my grandmother used to say, when you’ve had a cup of tea. There will be baked eggs in a short while.”
    Mister Kerem shook his head, somewhat mollified. “I am distraught about my brother.”
    “Small wonder,” said Mycroft Holmes. “I am distraught about mine, when he goes missing.” He glanced at me. “Would you be good enough to lend Tyers a hand for a moment, Guthrie? I fear he may need some assistance.”
    “Of course,” I said, rising and preparing to leave the two of them alone. As I set my portfolio down, I saw Mycroft Holmes signal me to be gone for at least five minutes. I gave him a slight nod to show I understood and said, “Whatever Tyers needs, I am his to command.” I hoped I had not overdone it.
    “Excellent fellow,” Holmes approved, and gave his full attention to Mister Kerem.
    Walking down the corridor to the kitchen at the rear of the flat, I began to wonder what my employer thought my absence would accomplish.
    Tyers was fitting a cut section of wood veneer over a broken window-pane; he glanced my way and favored me with a single nod. “The courier was shot as he came up the steps,” he told me. “The first shot was wide of the mark.” He indicated the shattered pane.
    “Is the courier ...” I did not want to ask if he had succumbed.
    “In the rear. Behind the rack of disguises Mister Sutton has provided,” said Tyers, as if this were an every-day occurrence, requiring nothing more than the most minimal attention.
    “How seriously is he injured?” I asked, appalled.
    “He’s bled a great deal, but the wound is clean; if he escapes a bad fever, he should be right as rain in a month or so. He is wrapped in blankets and resting comfortably. I will shortly go to inform the Admiralty of this unfortunate event, and ask Doctor Watson to step ’round for a look at the lad.” Tyers managed a slight, inscrutable smile. “We don’t want this getting out, do we?”
    “Good Lord,” I exclaimed. “I should hope not!”
    “Exactly,” said Tyers, implying a wealth of misfortune in that single word. He picked up the dustpan which had been lying before the cooker. I had not noticed it until now, and I saw it was full of shards of broken glass. “I’ll be back in half a tick,” he said, and went to dispose of the dustpan’s contents.
    Left to my own devices, I paced around the kitchen; the familiar smells of bread and grilled meats awakening my hunger. I recalled that Mycroft Holmes had mentioned breakfast and my mouth watered. I could feel the heat coming from the cooker; I hoped this meant that breakfast would soon be forthcoming. Even as I realized this, I was shocked at my lack of feeling, for surely I must be callous beyond all reckoning to care more for my next meal than the Admiralty courier who lay in the next room. Had I become indifferent to human suffering as a result of my work for Mycroft Holmes? I did not want to think so.
    Tyers returned, wiping his hands after he hung up the dustpan in its place. “Good to see you’re keeping your head, if I may say so, Mister Guthrie,” he told me as he cut half a dozen rashers of bacon and put them into a pan to cook.
    I was astonished. “Why do you think so?”
    “You haven’t gone blubbery on me, thank God fasting.” He turned the bacon as it began to spatter. “There’s more to this Turkish cove than meets the eye. You mark my words.” He opened the oven and peered in. “Almost done,” he announced.
    “And the courier? What do you make of his ... misfortune?” I asked.
    “He is lucky to be alive,” said Tyers, busying himself with readying plates for breakfast. “I am sorry he was injured, of course. But he