Free Between the Thames and the Tiber by Ted Riccardi

he had been badly beaten and shot through the left eye. The room bore the signs of a great struggle.
    “An execution,” said Holmes.
    “Indeed,” said I, “within the last two hours is my guess.”
    “How did you learn of this, Lestrade?”
    “The landlady let someone enter around eleven. He was a large muscular man, and he pushed his way in, and frightened her, but she did nothing. He had been there several times before so she gave his rudeness little thought. She said she thought he was an Austrian named Karl Ritter. At around two, she heard an argument, in German, and a shot. She ran out to find help, and while she was gone, the killer escaped. The bobby who eventually appeared notified Scotland Yard. The bobby said that two gentlemen had appeared earlier. From the description, I judged that it might be Holmes and Watson. Hence, I stopped at Baker Street before coming here.”
    As Lestrade spoke, Holmes began his search of the room. So thorough was the search that he did not finish until it was nearly dawn. I saw him take two photographs from the table that had served Vrukonovic as a desk. As he put them in his coat pocket, he snapped his fingers and the trace of a smile went across his face.
    “Let us depart, Watson. I have done what can be done. And Lestrade, have the contents of the room packed and sealed until we can give them a thorough scrutiny. They will provide ample evidence for conviction of the gang, if we get that far. And Lestrade, have Gordonov released immediately. We must follow him to his gang. If you have difficulty with the prison authorities, tell them that I shall go to Mr. Gladstone himself, with whom I am on excellent terms. And Lestrade, please have Gordonov followed. If you do not have a good man available, get Shinwell Johnston to do it.”
    Holmes remained deep in thought on our way home, but once we reached Baker Street he began to tell me what he had deduced.
    “It is obvious, my dear doctor, that Vrukonovic was executed. But by whom? His own gang or some agent from police abroad assigned to wipe out members of the gang? I suspect the latter, though we may never know for sure. The executioner was a large powerful man who was able to subdue Vrukonovic, a well-built man himself. He was known to the dead man, smoked Turkish cigarettes, and drank straight gin, judging from what was left on the table before them. But now we have only one way of locating the gang, and that is by following Gordonov in the hope that he may lead us to them. Let us get a bit of rest, Watson, before Shinwell or Lestrade arrives.”
    I remember slipping into my bed just as the first rays of the sun began to come over the roof of the building across the street. I was asleep at once. The next thing I knew was that I was shaken awake by my friend.
    “Wake up, Watson, it is almost four in the afternoon. And Shinwell is here with his report.”
    Shinwell almost ran in, and spoke in a breathless voice. “From Scotland Yard jail, Gordonov went immediately to the nearest telegraph office where he sent a message to Trieste. A reply came almost immediately. When he left, the telegrapher allowed me to see them. The first one was “Where?” the reply “On schedule, Trieste.” I caught up with him at Victoria where he purchased a ticket for that city. The train leaves in two hours.
    “He may not make it to his destination, for Bobby saw the Austrian police agent Ritter buy a ticket for the same train. Ritter is presumably the one who killed Vrukonovic.”
    “Watson, pack a valise quickly. We shall be on that train to Trieste. Shinwell, purchase a ticket for yourself as well. You will be accompanying us. Pack your weapons, Watson. We shall be among desperate company.”
    Within the hour we were aboard the first of two trains that would take us to Trieste. Holmes was silent, deep in thought. Shinwell made one short visit to us reporting that Gordonov was safely aboard in the next car and that Karl Ritter had also