The Stone of Destiny

by Richard T Ryan

  Grudgingly, she found herself saying, “I will support you, Dennis, but I want you to know that I think you are wrong.”

  “Oh Mo Chuisle, thank you,” he said.

  “I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she said. “And if you do it again, you’ll have to recognize Mr. Sherlock Holmes by yourself.”

  “My apologies, Kathleen. But you know how I feel.”

  “All too well,” she replied, “and I wish I felt different, but I don’t Denis. We are friends, comrades-in-arms, nothing more. I’m sorry.”

  “No apology is necessary, but if you should have a change of heart…,” he left the sentence unfinished.

  “You’ll be waiting, I know,” she said.

  The exchange seemed to have cleared the air, and Lyons began to focus on the task at hand.

  He was outlining things in his mind, when suddenly Kathleen asked, “And what will you do, if we should encounter Mr. Holmes?”

  “I will endeavor to bring him over to our way of thinking.”

  “And if that should fail?”

  “Then I will tell him, ‘Mr. Holmes, we have the stone. If you will not side with us perhaps you can persuade the powers that be in England to consider our position. After all, it seems to me that you need the stone far more badly than we do. For you, it has meaning. For you, it embodies centuries of tradition. For us, it is nothing more than a bargaining chip. If we lose it, so be it.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said. “When you think logically and refuse to allow your emotions to override your common sense, you can be quite convincing.”

  Flattered by her praise, Lyons could only manage a quiet, “Thank you, Kathleen.”

  A few minutes later, the conductor announced that Killarney was the next stop.

  “How long do you plan to stay here?” asked Kathleen.

  “It’s a rather larger city than Clonakilty. I should say that if we fail to encounter Holmes or Watson within three days, we can return home knowing that the stone is safe.

  “If I cannot meet with Holmes and force the issue, then I will be guided by your counsel and settle for my symbolic victory.”

  While Kathleen secretly hoped that they would not encounter the detective, she was beginning to have serious misgivings about the entire expedition.

  After the train pulled into Killarney, she and Lyons checked into their hotel. She was staying on the second floor and he on the third. Having gotten settled, they decided to have a late lunch before paying a visit to the cemetery.

  As they exited the hotel after dining, Lyons said, “Muckross Abbey is about a mile away. We can either get a carriage or hope this good weather continues and walk.”

  “I’ve never been to Killarney. Let’s walk,” she said.

  As they strolled through the streets, she stopped several times to look into various shop windows.

  Although he was anxious to get to the graveyard, Lyons indulged her. “After all,” he thought, “she has been a faithful companion and a good friend – and there is always the chance that she may change her mind.”

  After several visits to various shops, it was nearing twilight when they finally found themselves at the entrance to Muckross Abbey. The graveyard was deserted save for a solitary figure, smoking a cigarette near the giant yew tree.

  Lyons hoped he would leave, but it soon became obvious that he was a worker there rather than a visitor. Once that realization had sunk in, Lyons gave him no further thought.

  After strolling about the graveyard for 30 minutes and examining the various tombstones, Lyons went to the graves that he always visited, and from that vantage point he could see that all appeared well with the stone.

  Now that he could relax, he said to Kathleen, “I don’t know about you, but window-shopping makes me terribly hungry. Why don’t we treat ourselves to a nice dinner and perhaps there’s a show we can take in after.”

  “That sounds delightful, Denis. And if truth be told, window-shopping has a similar effect on me.”

  As they walked back toward town with the sun setting, Lyons noticed the man was still sitting under the yew tree, shovel by his side, smoking yet another cigarette.

  Without anything more than two glances at the man, Lyons promptly changed his mind and decided that a worker who didn’t appear to be working at all was probably someone worth keeping an eye on.

  Chapter 37 – Killarney, Feb. 26–27

  “Holmes, I’ve just changed my clothes. There’s no mud on my boots for you to observe, no cigarette ash on my trousers, so how could you possibly know where I’ve been all day?”

  He laughed and said, “Watson, sometimes the answer to the question is standing in plain sight.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “While not following you, I too have visited both Killegy and Muckross Abbey myself, and, as luck would have it, I arrived at both after you had departed.”

  “Yes,” I sputtered, “but that still doesn’t explain how you knew I was there?”

  “Did you speak to anyone, Watson?”

  And then it hit me, “The gravediggers!” I exclaimed.

  I watched as Holmes smiled at me, nodded and said, “Exactly. And by the way, you might have been a bit more generous with Edgar; he has proven quite helpful.”

  “Who on Earth is Edgar?”

  “The fellow at Muckross Abbey. He thought you were rather high-handed.”

  “What?”

  “I am not done with you, my good man,” said Holmes, imitating my tone with the gravedigger perfectly.

  In spite of myself, I had to laugh and Holmes joined me.

  “And this Edgar fellow, is he in your employ?”

  “As I said, thus far he has proven to be a tremendous help. His knowledge of local customs and traditions – especially regarding burials and tombstones has proven invaluable. I hope to find out in the very near future just how accurate his observations have been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were incredibly lucky today. It seems that shortly after you left Muckross Abbey but before I arrived, a young couple visited the cemetery. The woman was said to be quite attractive with long auburn hair. Her companion was tall and thin. Both appeared to be in their thirties. Sound like anyone you might know?”

  “Kathleen Donnelly and Denis Lyons! Did they visit a particular grave?”

  “Indeed, they did,” replied Holmes.

  “So then you know where the stone is!” I exclaimed.

  “I’m afraid not, my friend, but I do have a much better idea. I should like to think that we are getting extremely close.”

  At that moment, the waiter arrived with our dinner. After he had left, Holmes said, “No more talk of that tonight. Tell me what you thought of the Herbert tomb at Killegy.”

  We spent the rest of the evening talking about what I had done and seen that day, and although I tried to steer the conversation back to the stone on more than one occasion, Holmes was having none of it.

  The next morning, I knocked on Holmes’ door for breakfast, but there was no answer.

  After I had been seated in the dining room, I asked the waiter if he had seen my dinner companion from the evening before.

  He replied that he had. He said that my friend had come down about an hour earlier, eaten a light breakfast and then departed.

  When I had finished my own meal, I made my way to the front desk and asked if there were any messages for me. After checking, the clerk handed me an envelope. It was addressed to J.H.W. in a script that I knew to be Holmes’.

  Upon opening the letter, I read.

  “Watson,

  I have high hopes of bringing this business to a conclusion tonight. May I suggest that you spend the day enjoying the sights of Killarney, but I m
ust stress that you avoid both Killegy and Muckross Abbey and their environs at all costs. I have it on good authority that Ross Castle on the other side of Lough Leane is worth a visit, and since it is a locale that may yet come into play, a full report of the structure and its surroundings and defenses may prove invaluable. I have reserved the hotel’s small private dining room for this evening. I shall meet you there at 7.

  S.H.”

  I must confess that I was more than a bit put out at not being included in Holmes’ plans, but since I was well-acquainted with my friend’s methods, my fit of pique soon passed.

  With several hours to kill, I told the concierge that I was hoping to visit Ross Castle. He informed me that it was less than three miles away. As the warmer weather was still with us, I set out on foot for the castle, which I reached after a walk of about 45 minutes.

  I will admit that initially I found myself terribly underwhelmed by the structure. However, after securing the services of an attractive young woman as a guide, my opinion began to change as I found myself admiring the array of defenses for such an innocuous looking edifice.

  She informed me that Ross Castle, which had been built during the Middle Ages, featured a tower that had been surrounded by a square bawn, where the livestock had once grazed, and which, in turn, was defended by round corner towers on each end.

  “The castle is constructed of stacked and mortared stone with thick walls and includes five inner stories plus the roof,” she said.

  At every level, one seemed to encounter another method for eliminating attackers. The front entrance was actually a small anteroom that could be secured by an iron grill or “yett.” Pointing up, she said, the chief feature of this room was a “murder hole,” allowing those defending the castle to attack anyone who managed to make it into the room from above.

  The spiral staircase in the front left corner had been constructed in a clockwise direction. I knew that this had been done so that attackers ascending the stairs would, in most cases, have their swords in their right hands. Thus attacking and parrying would be impeded because of the wall while those defending, facing down, would have their swords swinging at the outer part of the staircase giving them a distinct advantage. Another little nicety, I gleaned from my guide, was that the stairs had been deliberately constructed of uneven heights to interfere with an attacker’s stance and gait.

  As we ascended, she told me that the castle also boasted two machiolations, which are stone structures at the top of the castle that jut out from the wall with a hole in the bottom. At Ross Castle, one can be found over the front door and another on the back wall. The one at the front would allow those under siege to drop stones or boiling oil on attackers at the front door, the only entrance to the castle.

  Finally, we arrived at the roof. Pointing to the parapet at roof level, she told me that it was “crenellated” and featured a series of ups or “merlons” and downs or “crenels.” Defenders could conceal themselves behind the merlons while counterattacking by firing arrows or guns through the crenels.

  Looking east from the roof of the castle across Lough Leane, which glistened in the bright sunlight, I imagined that I could make out what I believed were the very top branches of the yew tree at Muckross Abbey. The thought gave me pause, and I wondered how Holmes might be faring.

  After examining every inch of the castle, I looked at my watch and saw that it was just past three. I had no idea why or how this castle might figure into Holmes’ investigation, but I had taken copious notes as my friend had requested, should he need them.

  I decided that I had better start heading back to the hotel. Although dinner was at 7, I had worked up quite an appetite. I thought I might enjoy some sort of light repast before the evening meal.

  I gave my guide a generous gratuity, which brought a smile to her face, and then I headed back in the direction of Killarney.

  As I walked, I tried to imagine how the events of the evening might play out.

  Although we were meeting our quarry in a public place, I found myself unable to escape a terrible sense of foreboding that had intruded into my thoughts, and like an unwelcome guest, refused to leave.

  Chapter 38 – Killarney, Feb. 27

  The next morning, Lyons told Kathleen he had some business to take care of, but that he would join her for lunch.

  He took the train to Kenmare where he met with Santry.

  “So far everything appears to be in order,” Lyons said. “Kathleen and I visited the cemetery yesterday, and the only unusual thing I saw was a worker lounging about under the yew tree.”

  “What was odd about that?” asked Santry.

  “We were there for about an hour. I saw him when we entered and again when we were leaving. At first, I was inclined to ignore him since I believe that he works there.”

  “You are sure it wasn’t Holmes?” asked Santry.

  “I am, unless Holmes can add several inches to his stature and has dyed his hair bright red, No, I do not think that it was he.”

  “He hoodwinked us all once,” reminded Santry.

  “Please don’t remind me. If everyone knew, our faux pas would be on a par with the Cork Catastrophe.”

  Lyons continued, “At any rate, we will return to the cemetery this afternoon, and if I see him lounging about, I may well ask you to have a chat with him tomorrow.”

  “If that’s what it takes,” said Santry, flexing his muscles as he stretched.

  “You’ve seen nothing unusual here?” asked Lyons.

  “Nothing,” replied Santry. “This village is so quiet, it makes Clonakilty look positively exhilarating.”

  “Only two more days,” said Lyons. “If you don’t hear from me by noon tomorrow, head home, and I will meet you in Clonakilty to plan our next move.”

  “Right,” said Santry.

  “I’m back to Killarney,” said Lyons, who shook his old friend’s hand and then headed for the train station.

  During the short ride to Killarney, Lyons tried to anticipate the argument that he knew he would have with Kathleen, and then inspiration hit. He had finally devised a method that might bring the issue to a head.

  After disembarking from the train, he headed to the hotel, where he had arranged to meet her for lunch.

  As they ate, they discussed what their next steps might be, and once again, they ended up agreeing to disagree.

  Lyons was still intent on forcing the issue while Kathleen remained content to settle for a symbolic victory.

  “Suppose I developed had a new plan. Would you hear me out?”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  “It’s a bit hazardous, but, you know what they say, ‘No risk, no reward.’”

  “So what’s the idea?” she asked impatiently.

  “Thus far, very few people know that we have the stone. What if we can make getting the stone back a cause celebre for the English people?”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  “We dig up the stone and carry it to an obvious Irish landmark, such as Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin. Then we arrange to have photographs taken and send them to every important newspaper – both here in Europe and America. We tell them that just as the Irish are being held captive by the British, we are holding the Stone of Destiny prisoner. When we are free, we will liberate the stone and return it to its ‘rightful’ home. If the British really want their stone back, they will have to give us our freedom.”

  “Denis, that is inspired!” she exclaimed.

  “Do you think it will work?” he asked.

  “I do,” she replied. “I especially like the idea of involving the Americans. I should think they will understand our plight better than anyone else, and there are many powerful Irishmen in America who may be able to bring some pressure to bear on His Majesty’s government.”

&nb
sp; “We will have to be very careful retrieving the stone and transporting it,” he said.

  “That’s where the Brotherhood comes in,” she said. “We will use the coffin to transport it to Dublin, and we’ll let those along the way know we are coming. We’ll have a squadron of men on the train, and if anyone should try to take it from us, they’ll get what for,” she said.

  “It’s going to take some planning,” he said, “but I should think we can be ready within a week.”

  Her smile was all he needed by way of encouragement.

  “Yesterday, we window-shopped,” he said. “Today, I think we should buy you something pretty – as a sort of celebration.”

  Feeling exhilarated, they set out for Clovers Lane and the shopping district. As they walked, they chatted and then they stopped in front of a small jewelry store.

  “I know you would never let me give you a Claddagh ring,” said Lyons, “but I was wondering – given everything you’ve done – if I might be permitted to buy you a silver ‘warrior’ Celtic cross pendant. I saw one in here on one of my trips that looks a great deal like the stone we are using.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said.

  After they had made their purchase, they set out for the cemetery. As they passed the yew tree, Lyons was relieved to see that there was no one lounging about.

  In fact, they appeared to be the only ones in the entire cemetery. “That’s odd,” he thought, “You would think on such a lovely afternoon, there would be others here.” But there was no one to be seen.

  As they made their way to the graves that Lyons always visited, the ones from which he had an unobstructed view of the stone’s hiding place, he could sense that something was different. It was almost imperceptible, but something had definitely changed in the graveyard. Still, he would have been hard-pressed to say exactly what it was.

  As he stood at his parents’ grave, something fluttering in the distance caught his eye. Looking about and seeing no one, he edged a few feet closer to the Celtic cross above the Stone of Destiny.