by J. R. Trtek
“Talk of a person being worried!” snapped Mrs. Hudson. “It’s not been often that I’m allowed to keep that room tidy, as you well know, Doctor,” the landlady said, swatting each antimacassar with a ferocity that gave me some alarm. “When the spring-clean comes round, Mr. Holmes always declares that floor beyond my touch! As if bullet holes in the walls weren’t enough! I do thank you, though, for helping put a stop to him sticking that knife in the mantel. It was a most destructive way of tacking up correspondence!”
“I was glad to be of assistance in the matter.”
“I purchased one of those pumping pneumatic cleaners,” she continued, “thinking I could treat the carpets on the first floor that way. No need to haul them out here for the beating. But, no, Mr. Holmes simply will not have his quarters disturbed!”
I listened patiently to a few more minutes of Mrs. Hudson’s travail then took the cleaned antimacassars from her and bounded up to the sitting room, where I found Holmes and Miss Adler standing in quiet conversation.
“Watson, I think we have but a few more minor details to see to,” said Holmes. “Then we must wait.”
“And pray,” added Irene Adler.
CHAPTER SIX :
A Most Corpulent Fellow
Holmes stood at our bow window, arms crossed, surveying the street even more intently than had I the day before. All traces of Miss Adler’s presence were absent from the sitting room, save those the detective had left for a purpose. Despite his earlier assertion that Jasper Girthwood would ascend no higher than the first floor, Holmes had, in the end, decided to evict Miss Adler from the maid’s quarters, fearful that any unplanned movement by our guest might be heard in the sitting room below. And so our guest and her baggage were housed in the lumber room at the rear of the topmost floor of 221—lodgings I thought heartless to subject her to, but an arrangement which both Miss Adler and Holmes agreed was the most desirable.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it read nearly half past.
“Holmes,” I said, “would you rather that I not—”
“No,” he said from the window, his back remaining toward me. “I require your presence, Watson, but I must request that you speak only when spoken to, and even then, make no reference whatsoever to Miss Adler.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. You have always steadied me in times such as these, old fellow, more than I have ever troubled to express. Ha! That would be the man, if your description is only half accurate!”
I bolted from my chair and stood beside Holmes, who pointed across Baker Street. There I saw, standing out quite distinctly from the usual crowd, a huge, young gentleman dressed in an Astrakhan coat, cane in one hand, with the same incongruous bowler perched upon his head. He resembled nothing so much as an eccentric bull walrus recently elevated to the Lords. Glancing left as he stepped off the kerb, the man strode slowly and with great effort across the street, aiming directly for the door of 221.
“Mr. Girthwood, I presume,” said I.
“In the flesh,” replied Holmes. “And most superlatively so.”
We heard the bell ring, and when at last our caller had ascended the stair, taking much longer to make that climb than even Stanley Hopkins, Holmes’s comment proved more than valid. The individual whom Mrs. Hudson escorted into the sitting room seemed to me more immense than even Mycroft Holmes, my friend’s elder brother and vital cog in the machine of the British state. Pouches of fat drooped from Jasper Girthwood’s chin and jowls. His hat, once removed, revealed dark curls of hair that wrapped forward on his skull, exuding the smell of lime cream.
“Well, sir, we meet at last!” the man said heartily, stepping forward to grasp Holmes’s hand. Our guest removed his greatcoat and tossed it upon the dining table, much to our landlady’s consternation. Holmes silently shooed her out as Girthwood slapped his hat and cane down upon the coat.
“Please seat yourself, Mr. Girthwood,” advised Holmes. “Allow me to present Dr. John Watson, my associate.”
Our caller grunted at me with a smile, his jowls vibrating. “I take it then, sirs,” he said, “that I’m to do business with the both of you.”
“That is correct,” answered my friend. “Dr. Watson is well versed in the Hope Maldon affair.”
“Ha! You don’t hesitate before jumping, do you, Mr. Holmes? I prefer that quality in those with whom I deal. Gad, sir, give me a leaper to a looker any day, if a bargain’s to be struck before evening!”
“Please be seated,” repeated my friend.
“In a moment, sir, in a moment,” answered Girthwood, warming himself before the coals. “Ah, that is so much better. It’s a damp chill I most heartily dislike. Any chill, for that matter. There’s the great paradox, you see,” Girthwood said, clapping then clasping his hands together. “A man must be careful not to mix business and comfort yet still refuse to do business while in discomfort. Yes, discomfort is the great distracter. Now then, may I?” said the man, gesturing to the sofa, which appeared the only furnishing in the room capable of holding his bulk.
“Please,” said Holmes, taking to his armchair while I claimed the basket-chair. “Pray tell us, Mr. Girthwood, what is your stake in the whereabouts of the Honourable Robert Hope Maldon?”
“You seek advantage in the very first sentence, sir. By gad, you’re the man for me!”
Holmes merely smiled.
“Yes, the man for me,” repeated Girthwood. He then suddenly narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and said, “And what if I should undertake to hire you, sir? You are in the detection trade, correct? I might be a client. Then should I not be the one to call the tune? Allow me to at once make that very offer. Do you accept, sir?”
“Mr. Girthwood,” replied Holmes, who at first reached for his clay pipe then discarded it in favour of the cherrywood. “The card you left earlier this day said you wish to consult me in ‘a matter of import to us both.’ Since the only professional matter of importance I have at present is the disappearance of Robert Hope Maldon, I assume that is the matter to which you refer.”
“Of course it is, sir. Could there ever have been any doubt as to that? A man who states the obvious in one case should be trusted to see the self-evident in the next.”
“If you were to, as you say, ‘hire’ me,” Holmes continued. “I should still require information concerning the circumstances of that employment. Thus, Mr. Girthwood, I repeat, what is your stake in the young man’s whereabouts?”
“By gad, sir, you are a firm one. No weaving in and out for the likes of you. That is the spirit. Life must be a challenge, eh? Met head on, I tell you.” He pulled from his coat a large cigar as Holmes lit his cherrywood pipe. “It is a Corona del Ritz,” Girthwood said as he noticed my friend’s interest in the cigar. “I daresay you’ll find none to better it in this entire city! Would you accept one with my compliments?”
“I thank you, no,” replied Sherlock Holmes. “But in a few minutes, I should very much appreciate a sample of its ash.”
Girthwood stared at my friend, dumbfounded, and then broke into a hearty laugh. “Ha! By gad, sir, you are a find! A veritable treasure! More and more I know I have come to the right address.” He fingered his cigar with delight. “The man for me, indeed, sir!”
“Now then,” Holmes said, “you were about to explain your stake in finding Robert Hope Maldon. Has it something to do with your interest in fine gems? Has that brought you here from America, for what I gather is the first time? Is that the nature of your dealings with Hope Maldon?”
Girthwood’s rapid intake of breath gave me a start. For the first time, he appeared ill at ease. “How did you come by that set of hypotheses, sir?”
“An impetuous stab, Mr. Girthwood.”
“An insufficient answer for my needs,” said our guest warily. “I require some explanation. To whom have you spoken?”
“None but yourself.”
“Then make yourself clear.”
“It is simplicity, I must admit.”
>
“Good. Simple reasons are always the best,” answered our visitor.
“Though all faces possess asymmetry in some degree,” began Holmes. “That quality in yours is most pronounced about the eyes. Your right eye is heavily lined, as if in response to squinting or holding a loupe. That might suggest astronomical work or a study of microscopic cultures, both of which I reject for various reasons, which I care not to explain. It can also, however, suggest jewellery work or watch-making. Yet, if I may say, your hands have neither the steadiness nor the grace I associate with those professions. Thus, I consider instead the possibility that you have frequent need to evaluate gems. Your tie-pin, by itself, suggests that you at least appreciate them.”
Girthwood nodded, admiring his own scarab pin. “A fine stab, I’ll give you that,” he said guardedly. “If a stab it is.”
“As for your recent arrival from America,” continued Holmes. “Your accent clearly places that as your place of origin—the mid-Atlantic States, I should think. I surmise you are relatively unacquainted with London, inasmuch as you, a moment ago, referred to ‘the city’ when we would call it ‘the town’, and during your approach to 221—we were watching at the window, you see—you glanced left before stepping into the street. While London traffic is still rather chaotic and some drivers still insist on choosing either side, we here would be most likely to first turn our eyes to the right to catch sight of any approaching vehicles before leaving the kerb.”
Girthwood’s trepidation receded, and he gave a friendly, if cautious, smile. “A logician of the first water! As I walked here, I kept telling myself that I was coming to the right man, and, by gad, I have. You reassure me, sir. But let me say, Mr. Holmes, that if my hands were filled with truths, deductive or otherwise, I should be very careful when and how I might open them.”
Holmes remained impassive. Girthwood glanced at me but seemed not to notice my presence.
“But, yes, you want to know why I am concerned with Robert Hope Maldon. Well, he is a relatively new business associate of mine, for that, indeed, is what he is. Not that the two of us are partners in a—you would call it a limited, wouldn’t you? Well, sir, the point is that our arrangement is what you might also call somewhat flexible, involving, well, forms of barter, shall we say?”
“Unlawful forms?” asked my friend, setting down his pipe.
Girthwood’s smile vanished and then reappeared in an even less sincere form. “We must tread very carefully here, the two of us, Mr. Holmes. Discretion forces me to merely repeat that Maldon and I have done business in the form of barter. Now it is your turn to try again.”
“What else will you tell me?” asked Holmes, as if our guest were an untrained puppy. He looked down at his pipe but did not touch it.
“I’ll tell you that the man has something of mine, something, which by right of the previous arrangement I alluded to, should have long ago passed into my hands. Instead, Mr. Hope Maldon has kept the object for himself alone.” Girthwood smiled. “Perhaps you already know what that object is?”
Holmes absently crossed his arms. He looked across to me and then stared at the ceiling. “I fear I do not. Perhaps you will tell me.”
After a moment of agitated thought, Girthwood extended his cigar over a tray. “There, sir. There are the ashes you requested.”
Holmes nodded appreciatively.
“Your presumed inability to answer my question reveals a great deal to me, sir.”
“Mr. Girthwood, you expect me to know more than I do?”
“Yes, and now I must weigh your answers most carefully.”
Holmes smiled. “That is the trick, is it not? Is my ignorance real or feigned? Are my answers woven from imagination or reality?”
“To throw me off the scent, yes,” said Girthwood, laughing. “Cat and mouse, sir. Yes, I could tell the moment I stepped into this room. It’s cat and mouse with you all the way, isn’t it?”
“It is that only if you insist that it be so.”
“By gad, I’ll venture that it is the only way to deal with the likes of you, isn’t it?” Girthwood shook with laughter, so much so that he was forced to set down his cigar. “Am I correct, sir?” the man asked of me.
Before I could respond, Girthwood asked Holmes, “Well then, what of her?”
“Her?”
“Oh, come now, sir! Squeak, squeak! Meow! By gad, what a joy!”
Holmes reached for his pipe, stared at Girthwood for a moment, and then said, “You realize that she came here.”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“But you do not realize she left almost immediately?”
“Indeed I do not, Mr. Holmes.” The man looked down while fingering his lapels. “You see, I believe my men would have noticed.”
“Unless your men were themselves noticed,” replied Holmes. “Noticed by their presence or absence.”
Both men smiled at one another.
“You are a prodigious bluffer, sir,” said Girthwood at last.
Holmes said nothing.
“My men didn’t see a thing, sir,” Girthwood said.
“Do you believe I should wish it any other way?”
Girthwood ceased to smile. “If she is not here, then where did she go?”
“I know not,” replied Holmes. The detective toyed with his pipe. “Allow me, Mr. Girthwood, to give you the sum of my knowledge.”
“A partial sum?”
“The sum total,” Holmes said. “I was engaged yesterday by a client, whom I cannot identify, save to say that he is male.”
“Oh, really?” exclaimed Girthwood.
“The client wishes me to locate Robert Hope Maldon.”
“I’ll bet he does,” said Girthwood contemptuously. “With what care do you choose your clients, sir?”
“Some may consider my choices careless,” answered Holmes. “But they remain my choices nonetheless.”
“I won’t argue that philosophy, sir. If I’m going to sleep in a bed, I’ll be the one who makes it.”
“I have since then conducted initial investigations in two or three selected places about town,” Holmes went on. “My findings may, perhaps, prove useful, but they have as yet yielded no hint of the young man’s whereabouts.”
“Your investigations have much in common with mine then,” our visitor said.
“Yesterday Dr. Watson and I were visited by a woman also wishing to locate Mr. Hope Maldon. She believed I might help her, but I informed her that I was already bound to another client for that purpose.”
“And she left?”
“Yes, although she did send round a letter in her own hand that evening.”
“You still have that letter?”
“I believe Watson placed it somewhere. Watson?”
“The mantel, I think,” was my response. “I recall you asked me to place it there.”
“Yes, of course,” said Holmes. “Allow me to—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it, sir!” said Girthwood, who, with great effort, rose. “The mantel, you say?”
“It should be there amid the clutter, if the doctor says it is. Rose-colored paper, was it not, Watson?”
“Lavender, Holmes.”
“Ah, yes, lavender. You may—”
“Perhaps this one,” said Girthwood, already poking among the artifacts strewn along the width of the mantel. “My God!” exclaimed the man, casting eyes upon the king of Bohemia’s snuff-box. He picked up the gift, turning it end over end. Then, self-consciously and with some embarrassment drawing out a loupe from his pocket, he examined the jewels more closely. “Gad, sir! Do you realize the value of the piece you have here?”
“I believe I do,” Holmes told him.
“Have you no deposit box?”
“Dr. Watson employs a firm in Charing Cross. Why do you ask?”
“The fireplace is no place for a work like this!” said Girthwood, examining the amethyst. He widened his eye, allowing the loupe to drop suddenly into the outstretched mat of h
is hand. “Do you have insurance?”
“You mean a policy of some sort?” asked Holmes with an innocent air. “Why, no. Can you suggest an agent?”
“Well put, sir,” said Girthwood, returning the loupe to his coat pocket. “Mince no words, I say, or your enemies will make mince-meat of you.”
“Are we now enemies, Mr. Girthwood?”
“I sincerely hope not,” said our guest, returning the box gently to the mantel and taking up the letter Holmes had dictated earlier in the day. “Yes,” Girthwood said as he began reading the note. “Ha, yes!” He finished reading and placed the sheet back beside the snuff-box then seemed to notice the half-burned envelope in the hearth. “Tell me,” he said, “have you any expectation of hearing from this woman again?”
“I cannot say. I must certainly consider it possible, if not extremely probable.”
“Does your intuition as a ‘private-consulting detective’ tell you anything?”
“It tells me she will not return,” Holmes said. “I believe my initial refusal angered her mightily, and I have found that women’s scorn is characterized by great inertia.”
“You’ve hit the mark there, sir. Well, I shall leave you gentlemen now,” Girthwood declared, stepping over to his cigar to extinguish it. “You may have what is left of the Corona del Ritz, sir, as a token of my goodwill. Perhaps our business will continue, perhaps not.” He strode to the table to collect his hat, cane, and coat; Holmes made no effort to rise and assist him. “Allow me to leave a message, which I suggest you convey to your male client and to any female visitors you may have in the days to come: the rara avis is mine. Can you remember that?”
“But of course.”
“Good,” said the man, his face flushed. “It seems we can make no more meaningful progress today, sir. Any additional exchange of information would most decidedly not be in my favour. Perhaps a time will come, Mr. Holmes, when the opportunity for further negotiations will arise.”
Holmes nodded from his chair.
