The sweep by all accounts had proven to be excellent at his trade, and from what Nesbitt had been able to glean, he seemed to have a lived a hard life. Plus, Lyons was having difficulty convincing himself that a gentleman such as Holmes would know how to do an honest day’s work. “Consulting detective, indeed!” he scoffed.
As he mulled it over and over in his mind, he suddenly knew exactly how he would bait his trap.
“You may be the toast of London, Mr. Holmes,” he thought, “but I’m guessing that if we should encounter one another, you will find yourself wishing that you had remained there. The last thing you want to do is run afoul of the Brotherhood, and by accepting the King’s commission, you have done exactly that.”
Before heading home, Lyons knew that he had one more call to pay, and it was a visit that he was eagerly anticipating. With his mind made up now that he could see everything clearly, he set out for O’Rahilly Street.
After 20 minutes, Lyons had arrived at the Donnelly home. He was welcomed inside and was delighted to learn that Kathleen was at home.
When she came into the room, he was, as always, stunned by her beauty. Composing himself as best he could, he said, “We need to talk. It’s just twilight out. Would you care to go for a stroll?”
She could tell by his demeanor and the tone in his voice that it was something important. So she said, “I’ll get my coat.”
As they walked along, Lyons told her everything he had been thinking about Holmes.
“If you were to meet Holmes again, and he were disguised, do you think you might recognize him?”
Thinking it over, she replied, “Perhaps. As I said at the meeting, his eyes are quite distinctive. I don’t think I shall ever forget them.”
“That’s what I am counting on,” said Lyons.
After he had finished, she said, “The sweep cleaned my mother’s chimney the other day, and she was quite pleased with him.”
“Did you see him?”
“No,” she replied. “I was at the dress shop.”
“I must admit that does give me pause,” he said. “I wonder if Holmes would know how to clean a chimney, let alone do a good job of it.”
He then proceeded to outline his plan, telling her everything, including the fact that he was favoring Ward as Holmes rather than the sweep.
When he had finished, she exclaimed, “Denis, that is absolutely brilliant! I should not like to be Mr. Sherlock Holmes and have to match wits with you.”
“It’s only brilliant, if it works,” he said.
“I shall do my part. You may count on me.”
“I know that,” he replied. “So, then, I shall set things in motion tomorrow.”
The next morning he awoke, ate breakfast and set out to find the sweep.
After several inquiries, Lyons learned that the sweep was busy cleaning Mrs. Gallagher’s chimney. Within ten minutes, he had arrived at the house. When Mrs. Gallagher answered his knock, he said, “I understand we have a new sweep passing through.”
“That’s right,” she beamed. “He’s up on the roof right now.”
“Pray tell, what is he doing up there?’
“You may ask him yourself,” said Mrs. Gallagher. “Here he is coming down now.”
Lyons looked to his right and saw a man descending a ladder.
“I’m almost done on the roof,” said the man with a broad Northern brogue.
“No trace of an English accent there,” Lyons said to himself.
Taking him in, Lyons saw that he was six feet tall, perhaps a bit less, and he was bundled up against the cold, so it was hard to say whether he were tending toward stout or, in fact, quite lean. He also noticed that the man’s eyes were a dark brown and exceedingly red and bloodshot, as though they were quite irritated. Lyons didn’t find that unusual, given the soot that must be in his face all day.
His hands were absolutely filthy and his clothes, worn and patched in various places, had all seen far better days.
“Can you do another chimney today?” asked Lyons. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather remiss in that area.”
“I could certainly use the work, Mr…,” the man’s voice trailed off.
“Lyons,” he replied. “I’m the schoolmaster here in Clonakilty, and I am not terribly handy around the house. You are?”
“My Christian name is Paul, but I answer to ‘sweep’ as well.”
“How long will it take you to finish here, Paul?”
“Oh, another few hours, sir. I have two more fireplaces to tend to, and then I must do my clean-up work.”
“How exactly do you clean a chimney?” asked Lyons innocently.
“The first thing I do is close the damper. Then I cover the fireplace opening and the floor around it. Then up to the roof and clean the cap if there be one and brush the chimney flue from the top with my brushes and my borer if the soot be very heavy.
“Then after I’ve made certain that the flue is as clean as I can get it, I lower a lantern down the chimney on a string trying to make certain that everything is as it should be. Then I come back in and clean the firebox and smoke shelf, which is what I’m going to do now in the kitchen. Finally, I check to make sure the damper is working all right and that it is safe to use.
“Then I tidy up any mess that I may have made, and if there be more than one chimney in the house, like this one, I do it all again,” he laughed.
“So how long before you’re finished here?” pressed Lyons.
“Another few hours or so, and then I’ve promised to do the O’Grady chimneys. Can I come to your house tomorrow?”
“That would be splendid,” said Lyons. “Do not trouble yourself about lunch. I will provide it.”
“That’s very kind of you sir. Where do you live?”
Lyons gave him the address and directions and said, “I have a few errands to run in the morning. Why don’t we arrange to meet at my house at one o’clock?”
“Whatever you say, sir,” said Paul and then he added, “I’d shake your hand, but,” holding up his thoroughly blackened hands, he said, “I hope you will understand.”
“Certainly,” said Lyons, “I shall expect you around one.”
As he left, Lyons thought, “He certainly appears honest enough, but we will know for certain by tomorrow afternoon whether this sweep is really what he seems.”
Chapter 28 – Cork and Clonakilty, Feb. 19–20
The next day, I traveled to Cork, walking some of the way and riding with farmers for sections. After arriving in Cork, I then continued on to Midleton, where I sent several cables on Holmes’ behalf. I instructed all those receiving them to address their replies to Sgt. George Ward, care of the main post office in Midleton.
Holmes had explained that he was fearful of using the post office in Clonakilty any longer, and he was equally loath to have me use the one in Cork, where I was known by a few people. Although you could have counted them on a single hand, in Holmes’ opinion that was still too many.
I must admit that while I understood the nature of one or two of his inquiries, there were several that baffled me. However, I did as my friend had requested and soldiered on.
I found lodgings for the evening in a modest boardinghouse, and the next morning when I returned to the post office, I discovered that all of the previous day’s communiqués had been answered.
After hiding all of the wires in a special pocket in my bag, I set out for Cork and then Clonakilty. It was early evening by the time I had reached Shannonvale. Mrs. Morten was kind enough to prepare a meal for me, and as I ate, I chatted with her husband.
“So, have you had any luck with your people,” he asked solicitously.
“No,” I said with a tinge of regret. “I’ve a few more families to try, but I’m beginning to lose hope. Howe
ver, I shall persevere,” I assured him. “I haven’t come this far to leave the job unfinished.”
After I had eaten my meal, I bade my host goodnight.
As I was about to leave, he said, “Mr. Ward, a word.”
“Yes,” I said.
He looked almost embarrassed, but finally he said, “Will you be staying another week? I have a possible tenant for your room next week.”
Since I had no idea how long we would be required to stay in the area, I paid him in advance for another week and said, “You must let me know immediately if that should happen again. I do like the room, and as I said, I am determined to finish my quest.”
The next morning, I made my way to Clonakilty, where I called upon two more O’Sullivan families and then treated myself to lunch in the public house. While I was eating, I noticed a young lad standing outside without a hat or gloves and doing absolutely nothing.
Knowing Holmes’ penchant for using youngsters to follow people, I wondered if this boy had been assigned to me. I decided to pay another visit to the local cemetery. There was plenty of open ground, which would make it very difficult for him to hide.
Although he stayed with me for a few moments, when I arrived at the cemetery, I was alone. Determined to be on my guard, I headed back through town, intending to meet Holmes near his cottage.
It was by pure chance that I spied the boy trying to conceal himself in an alley as I walked by. I pretended to take no notice, but I thought to myself, “Our quarry may not know we are here, but they most certainly suspect that someone is coming their way.”
I considered confronting the youngster but then thought better of it. So I decided to try another way, I was heading for the church when I saw a young woman of about 20 grab the boy and say, “Michael, Ma has been looking everywhere for you.”
I desperately wanted to hear his answer, but he turned from me and said something to her in a voice so low that it was inaudible. However, I was glad to see her prevail and despite the boy’s protestations, she took hold of his sleeve and started dragging him in the opposite direction.
I made my way to the church, entered and knelt in prayer. When no one else came in, I left by a different door. After making certain that I had no unwelcome companions, I headed for the Old Timoleague Road and the safety of Holmes’ cottage.
He wasn’t there when I arrived, so I let myself in and sat down to wait for him.
It was some 20 minutes later that Holmes opened the door and said, “What have you for me, Watson?”
I handed him the wires which he opened and perused one by one.
Before reading the last one, he looked at me and said, “We are definitely making progress, my friend, but this next communiqué is crucial. If I do not receive some assistance, by way of an answer from Mycroft, I shall have to devise an entirely new plan of attack.”
With that he ripped open the envelope, read the cable three or four times. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I broke the silence with the word, “Well?”
“It is not what I was expecting, Watson. I suppose that would have been too much to hope for, but I believe there is enough here to allow us to continue on our present course.”
“Well surely then, if we can continue, you must be on the right track,” I said.
“That is certainly true,” said Holmes. “Now, it is a question of tactics.
“Let us consider,” he said, talking more to himself than to me, “We know who took the stone. We know where it is – in the most general terms. All that remains is for us is to pinpoint its exact location, and after today, I think I have an idea on how we may do that.”
“Besides the wires, did anything else happen today?”
“Oh, Watson. I do apologize. Today has been a day of revelations. Let us prepare something to eat and, over dinner, I shall tell you about my encounter with one Kathleen Donnelly, she of the lustrous auburn hair and the decidedly fetching smile.”
“You met her?” I asked incredulously.
“I shall tell you all about it as soon as we have fried these fish that I just purchased,” he said.
Knowing that to press him would be futile, I asked, “What can I do to help?”
“You may peel the potatoes,” he replied. “The story I am about to tell you is, I think, best savored over a hearty meal.”
After we had finished all the preparation work, Holmes said, “Let me start my story while we are waiting.” He took one chair by the fire while I took the other. After lighting his pipe, he turned to me, and now that I could see his face, I was stunned.
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “Your eyes are brown! How on earth?”
“I was wondering when you’d notice,” Holmes said. “Actually, they’ve been brown since I arrived in Ireland.”
“But how? You have always had gray eyes. And now they are quite brown!”
“Yes, you have made a point of describing the color of my eyes in several of your narratives. I thought that being able to change their color might one day prove invaluable, and I was right.
“As you know Leonardo da Vinci had suggested several centuries ago that the optics of the eye could be altered by placing the cornea directly in contact with water. However, it wasn’t until 1827 that the astronomer Sir John Herschel suggested that making a mold of one’s eyes might enable the production of lenses that would conform to the surface of the eye. And then it was another 60 years or so later that the German glassblower F.A. Muller employed Herschel’s ideas to create what he called ‘a special glass lens.’ His work was duplicated shortly after by the Swiss physician Adolf E. Fick, and the Paris optician Edouard Kalt.
“On one of my trips to the Continent, I visited Monsieur Kalt, and he made two pairs of lenses for me. They do not correct my vision, which, as you know, is quite good, but they do change the color of my eyes.
“And that bit of foresight may well have saved my life today. Now, let me remove these as they do tend to irritate the eyes after several hours, and then I shall bring you up to date on my endeavors.”
Holmes then proceeded to remove an extremely thin glass lens from each eye.
He placed them on a white cloth so that I might examine them. They were so fragile that I was almost afraid to touch them. After I had looked at them, he placed them in a hard case.
“And you say these saved your life?”
“Indeed, they did,” Holmes said.
He paused before announcing, “It was a trap, Watson!”
Chapter 29 – Shannonvale, Feb. 21
“Yes, Watson. It was a very carefully planned gambit, but a trap nonetheless!”
“What on Earth happened?”
“While cleaning Mrs. Gallagher’s chimney, I was approached by Mr. Lyons, who hired me to sweep his chimney. My suspicions were aroused immediately, so I was on my guard.
“We arranged to meet the next afternoon. As soon as I entered his home, I detected just the faintest hint of lavender in the air. No doubt you remember that when we met Miss Kathleen McMahon at Madame Tussaud’s, she too was wearing a rather distinctive fragrance with a hint of lavender.
“At any rate, I set about sweeping his chimney. After I had finished on the roof, I began to clean the fireplace. I was kneeling on the floor when I heard Lyons say, ‘Mr. Holmes?’
“Since I was expecting something of the sort, I ignored him totally. He tried it a second time, and I refused to react, continuing about my business.
“Finally, I felt on a hand on my shoulder, and I turned and found myself looking at Kathleen Donnelly. My respect for her grows daily, Watson.
“She said, ‘Mr. Holmes, would you care for some lunch?’
“I said, ‘I’m sorry m’lady. My name is Paul, Paul Grogan. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.’
“She stared intentl
y at my eyes, Watson. I know she was looking for the gray that you have oft described. And that is why I say; those little pieces of glass saved my life.
“She apologized, of course, and said I reminded her of a sweep that she had encountered at her aunt’s a year or so ago.
“I should think he must have been quite a fellow,” I said, “and we all laughed. However, I could tell she was still uneasy. She rather reminds me of the woman.”
“Now Holmes,” I said.
He continued as though he hadn’t heard me. “After I had finished, Lyons gave me two pounds.”
“I said, ‘That’s far too much, sir. Do you have another chimney I can clean? Perhaps at the school?’”
“Lyons thought that was a capital idea, so I’m to meet him at the school tomorrow.”
“Why are you cleaning the school chimney?” I asked.
“Because from what I could gather, there is no typewriter of any sort in Lyons’ home. I am hopeful of finding one at the school, and should it be a Sholes and Glidden Type-Writer with a defective ‘R,’ well then, we will have our suspicions confirmed and know with absolute certainty that Lyons is indeed involved in the theft of the stone.”
“Well, that is progress,” I remarked.
“Yes, and I found one other thing that has piqued my interest,” said Holmes.
“It seems as though Mr. Lyons has been to Killarney twice this week. I don’t know what it means, but I do find it curious that he went there twice in three days.”
“That is rather odd,” I said. “How did you discover that?”
“He was kind enough to leave the tickets on the nightstand in his bedroom?”
“It could be another trap,” I ventured.
“Indeed, it could,” said Holmes. “Things may get a bit dicey from here on out. They are obviously looking for us. That much is evident from Miss Donnelly’s presence at Lyons’ home and her offer of lunch. If I have successfully fooled them, I cannot help but think that they will brace you next, Watson, so best to be on your guard.”
The Stone of Destiny Page 11
