The Flying Scotsman Read Free

the organ. “... since the Brotherhood knows him, and he has got free of them, I cannot want him to show himself anywhere. His very presence alerts the Brotherhood, and they will use any means to silence him.”
    “Do you mean they will try to harm MacMillian?” I asked, thinking that this was impossible. “Surely not here, and not now.”
    “What better time?” Holmes asked me, pulling me back toward the rear of the Cathedral. “A single act on this occasion would do more to create dissension than any less public act they might perform. Think what an incident here would do toward upsetting the prestige of the British Crown abroad. What is an exploded bridge compared to an assassination in Saint Paul’s?” He looked directly at me, his eyes grave. “And you wonder why I am apprehensive about this occasion?”
    “How ... Have you heard something?” I had been with Holmes for most of the last week, and I could recall no occasion that might have served to alert him to any danger. The music was changing, indicating that the wedding was about to begin; the last of the carriages were setting down their passengers; the wedding party was the final one in line.
    “It is not so much what I have heard, but something my brother’s scamps have heard in the last few days. The warning we had was familiar to them. One of them sent me word late the night before last. I had hoped that we would not have to be—” He saw the last of the guests take their seats and motioned me to join him in the rear pew. “At least we are permitted to be among the lesser personages. We are not so likely to be singled out. And thank God I have been given full authority and responsibility in regard to the Prince. On an occasion such as this, he might be dragged into any number of predicaments. I have the full support of the government in this, which is the only way it is feasible for me to assume the obligation.” He slid along the pew toward a man in an Italian uniform.
    “Here?” I asked, but the question was destined to remain unanswered.
    A fanfare brought the entire gathering to its feet; the wedding party had reached St. Paul’s. The choir began a joyous anthem and the celebration began.
    The wedding went on for more than an hour; the Archbishop of Canterbury, officiating in vestments that rivaled the state gown of the bride, intoned the long service, punctuated by glorious song, choruses from Jephtha and Susannah as well as more traditional wedding hymns. The choirs vied with one another and with the distinguished soloists to shine on this grand occasion. Being so far to the rear of the Cathedral, I paid more attention to the music than the actual service, which I was unable to see, though the service itself was enlarged to include all the pomp the occasion could command.
    As the bride and groom turned to leave the church, another peal of brass and organ announced their union. Again the congregation rose, this time with happy relief; there was a counterpoint of conversation as the couple went out to the steps to the state carriage that was waiting to carry them back to Buckingham Palace, where a state reception would fill the afternoon.
    “We will have a chance to talk with the Prince now, as he waits for his carriage,” said Mycroft Holmes, scanning the crowd. “I will be glad to have this behind us. I can hardly blame Police Commander Winslowe and Superintendent Spencer for washing their hands of this occasion; they are conspicuous in their absence, but no one in their position can feel entirely sanguine about the police inthis situation. Were I serving intheir capacity, I, too, would want to wash my hands of Prince Oscar’s safety—hence my own perplexity inthat regard.”
    I moved to the far aisle with him and joined the throng coming out to see the newly married couple get into the carriage to begin their ride to Buckingham Palace with an escort of the Coldstream Guard. Mycroft Holmes was not far behind me, taking a moment to