Free Regarding the Events of One Sherlock’s Scandalous St. Valentine’s Day by Christine Danse Page A

engine's
punchcard slot and found that it was empty.
    A closed box of punchcards
had been left on the table nearby--recent case studies, most
likely. I opened this, riffled through it with my index finger, and
immediately located a card buried amongst the others that was still
warm. On its subject line were the same letters and numbers on the
note I had found: LTYN-7835 . Seeing them this time,
they struck me as more familiar, as if I had seen this code before
or something quite like it.
    Although the engines had been set up with
steam power, they still retained their original crank handles. This
was to my advantage, as I did not have the preapproval to use one
tonight, and when powered by steam, they made considerable
noise.
    Crank-powered, the engine
took twice as long as usual to make its calculation. At last--after
nearly five minutes of cranking--a piece of paper appeared in the
output bin. It read: Freight car LTYN-7835
registered Thomas Harrison departing London 22:00 arriving Paris
02:30 .
    A train to Paris! I dearly hoped she did not
expect me to meet her there! After I found her, I would surely have
to chide her about abusing my station as a Bell detective as well
as her own as an Ada coder (for, no doubt, it was she who coded the
punchcard). God only knew where she was now and what kind of danger
she was putting herself in!
    I went immediately to the
train yard and picked my way through the rubble and tracks until I
found a faded red freight car near the end of a rather long train.
The white letters LTYN-7835 appeared along its side. The door was open but a
foot.
    "Anna?" I called, softly, as I approached. I
had spied at least one guard strolling through the yard with a hand
torch and did not fancy meeting him. I waited until I was at the
door before I called out again. "Anna, are you there?"
    "Jeremy! Is that you?" came her voice, so
small and sweet, from the darkness within.
    I was relieved and angered. "Annette, I have
no energy to play these games! I was looking forward to a nice,
pleasant dinner out with you. Come out at once before we are caught
and I lose my job!"
    "Oh, Jeremy. I'm sorry you're upset. But I
can't."
    "What do you mean?"
    "I'm bound," she said.
    At those words, I hoisted the train door
open wide enough to admit myself and leaped inside like a mad
thing. I could see her only barely. She was on the ground against
one of the walls with her legs stretched out, slumped so low that
she was nearly lying.
    "Wait!" she said, as I began to stride
toward her. "You will need to light the lamp first so that you can
see. There."
    I looked down and saw a gas lamp only a few
feet away. When I stooped toward the thing, my hand brushed a box
of Lucifers on the ground next to it. After I had fumbled the light
on, I turned to my wife (eyes watering from the acrid smoke of the
Lucifer) and was nearly breathless as I took in my first real view
of her.
    Her dark ringlets floated all about her head
like a doll's, and her face was made up as sweet and innocent as
one. She wore a corset; my favorite, the black one with fair lace.
The mound of her breasts curved from the top of this, as soft and
fair as baby's flesh. She wore her patent leather buckle boots,
polished to a shine. But that was all.
    She wore no shirt, no dress, no
undergarments. She was naked from her waist to her shins--all
smooth, alabaster skin. Her legs were splayed open, displaying the
voluptuous, white curves of her womanhood. She had shaved.
    I believe I must have blanched a solid shade
of white. She smiled at me. "Are those for me?" she asked, and I
realized she meant the bouquet of violets, which I had left on the
ground next to the lamp.
    When I began to approach her again, she
said, "Wait!" but I ignored her this time. I reached for her
wrists, which were bound to a rope that hung from the freight car's
ceiling, but I had hardly touched the massive knots before
something struck me soundly and sharply against the shin. I cried
out and recoiled