by Ashton, Hugh
“I apologise, Watson, for my seeming heartlessness. A somewhat ironically amusing side note has just struck me.”
“That being?”
“That Charles Conk-Singleton paid me by cheque, did he not, in order to investigate the case? Since he no longer currently retains control over his funds, I am free to cash the cheque that he paid me. He has therefore himself defrayed the costs of the investigation that has resulted in his arrest. There is a certain sweet irony in that, do you not agree?”
I was reluctantly forced to agree with Holmes’ views on the matter.
“There was also,” he added, “the matter of a handsome reward he offered me, though the exact amount was never specified by him, to be paid on the conviction of those responsible for the forgeries. My personal opinion is that I will never be paid that reward, and I must therefore content myself with the two hundred guineas that he has paid me as a fee.” So saying, Holmes divided the last of the wine between our two glasses, and sat back, a half-smile of contentment on his face.
Sherlock Holmes & the
Enfield Rope
Editor’s Note
When searching in the deed box, I came across this adventure, sealed in three stout envelopes, all bearing the now familiar “SH” and “W” seals, but otherwise unmarked. On opening the envelopes and reading the story, it was obvious to me why this account of Holmes’ doings had never been published.
Though Watson sometimes made oblique references to Sherlock Holmes’ work for the British Royal Family in some cases, he would naturally be reluctant to present the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII) as he is exhibited here. Later generations, of course, are aware of the all too human traits associated with “Bertie”, as the Prince was known to his intimates, and are less likely to be shocked by them than would be Watson’s contemporaries. The political implications described here are also less important than they would have been at the time, of course, but the Prince’s gloomy prediction regarding his nephew was to be sadly fulfilled in August 1914, some 17 years after the events described here.
Quite apart from the Royal connection, the case is interesting to Holmes scholars for the way in which Watson has to impersonate Holmes at one point, and suffer as a result of the deception.
-oOo-
I was constantly reminded, during the course of my association with the celebrated detective Sherlock Holmes, of his indifference to many of the matters that we normally associate with civilisation. While it is true that his manners at times could grace a Court occasion, there were other moments when his general behaviour smacked of bohemianism, if not downright eccentricity. I encountered him in one of these latter moods when I walked in on him one day, following a morning spent attending my cases, and beheld him wrapped in his dressing gown, unshaven, and seated cross-legged in front of the fender, filling the atmosphere with the blue fumes from his pipe, and adding to the noxious atmosphere by holding a smoking kipper, transfixed by a toasting fork, in front of the flames.
“Holmes,” I remonstrated. “It is half-past three in the afternoon. I am at a loss as to why you are still in a state of undress at this hour, and why you are performing this operation with a kipper. The smell, if I may speak frankly, is intolerable. I shall open the window, unless you particularly wish me not to do so.”
“I have good reasons for keeping the window closed,” he replied, a little testily. “Indulge me a little, if you would. As to the first charge you bring against me, I was awake all night, and have only just arisen from a belated slumber. As to the second, it is connected with the first.”
“On what business were you engaged that required you to be awake all night? And if you require something with which to break your fast, I am sure that Mrs Hudson would oblige, though she might think it eccentric to be providing kippers at this time of the day.”
To my relief, Holmes laid down the fish, where it smouldered gently on the fender. “I am assisting Lestrade with the Henley case,” he commented. The name meant nothing to me, and I raised my eyebrows. “It is a crime of a singularly obnoxious nature,” he explained, “and one that is not capable of a simple explanation. Much of the solution will depend on the speed with which a vile odour, such as the one of burnt kipper, will dissipate in a closed room.”
“I would recommend,” I suggested, “that this particular room remain closed for a very short time and that you open the windows as soon as possible. I seem to remember your telling me yesterday that Lady Enfield was due to call on you in less than an hour’s time today. You particularly wished me to be present, as I recall.”
Holmes smote his brow. “You are perfectly correct, Watson. My apologies for my inattention. The interest presented by the puzzles at the Henley boathouse had driven the proposed visit from my mind. May I ask you to open the window while I make myself somewhat more presentable for the benefit of our distinguished guest.” I hastened to carry out this command, disposing of the blackened kipper as I did so, while Holmes took himself to the bedroom, from which his voice presently emanated. “Watson, if you would be kind enough to summarise any information about the lady in question from the reference works on the shelves, I would appreciate your doing so.”
I collected the information from Burke’s and Who’s Who, informing Holmes, “She appears to be the second wife of Lord Enfield. Born in America, née McDougall, daughter of a Chicago flour and wheat magnate, but has lived in this country since the age of fifteen and is now aged thirty-seven. Little more of interest, I fear, unless you are interested in the hunts with which she rides to hounds, or the charities of which she is patron?”
“Those are of little interest at present,” commented Holmes, emerging from the bedroom and now clad in conventional attire, appearing considerably more presentable than when I had first entered the room. “My thanks to you for your disposal of the fish.” He sniffed the air. “It is no longer as apparent as it was, I feel.” Seizing a pen, he wrote a few words on a piece of paper, and rang the bell for Mrs Hudson, to whom he presented the sheet, instructing her to send it as a telegram. “There, that should put Lestrade on the right trail.” He strode to the window and started to close it, the odour of kipper having, as he had remarked earlier, significantly weakened. “I fancy I see the lady in question arriving now, though I might have expected her to use a private carriage rather than a hansom cab.”
We heard the sound of the bell downstairs, and a visitor being admitted. Presently there was a knock on the door, which I opened to a handsome lady in early middle age. She was undeniably one of the most beautiful and fashionable ladies to have graced Holmes’ rooms, but there was an air of concern that lined her face, and gave her the appearance of a woman a little older than I knew her to be from my previous researches.
Holmes rose to meet her and shook her hand before ushering her to an armchair.
As she sat, she sniffed the air. “Am I mistaken, Mr Holmes, or is there a smell of fish in this room?”
I was forced to turn my face away at this question, and developed a cough to cover my amusement, hardly hearing Holmes’ reply to the effect that it was the result of an experiment that he had been conducting.
“No matter,” she said. “I had already heard from other sources that your methods and personality were, shall we say, eccentric. I am pleased to note that at least some of the rumours surrounding you are true.”
Holmes raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? And what are the other rumours, if I may ask?” he asked, in high good humour.
Our visitor replied in a similar vein. “Why,” she replied, “they say that you are never wrong and never beaten by the problems presented by a case.”
“Then they are in the wrong,” declared Sherlock Holmes bluntly. “Dr Watson here will tell you that I have not always solved my cases, and that I make mistakes in my reasoning – not often, it is true, but enough to acquit me of any charges of infallibility that may be brought against me.”
Lady Enfield laughed. It was not the timid repressed giggle of a
Society lady, but that of a full-blooded woman who was capable of appreciating life in all its richness. “All the better. Had you been in agreement with those two assessments, I would be forced to concur with the opinion formed of you by one of your detractors.” Holmes cocked his head on one side expectantly. “My acquaintance – I will not dignify him with the name of friend – informed me that you were the most insufferably arrogant man on earth, to his knowledge, at any rate.”
Instead of Holmes becoming angry at this slur on his character, he in his turn threw back his head and laughed. “I would assume that acquaintance to be Lord Witherfield,” he commented.
“How the heck— I mean, how in the world would you know that, Mr Holmes?” she asked, her British manner of speech slipping for a moment, revealing her American upbringing.
“Oh, Watson will inform you that I have my methods,” he replied airily. “But may I enquire what brings you here in such a hurry, without the knowledge of your husband, or indeed, without your servants being aware of your visit?”
Our fair visitor started. “Maybe some of the tales they say about you are true, Mr Holmes. How...?”
“Simplicity itself. You did not arrive in a private vehicle, but a hansom cab. This, I assume, was to avoid the notice and attention that would have been apparent, and would eventually have come to the attention of your husband, had you used a private carriage and employed your grooms and coachmen. I observed you conversing with the cab driver as you approached this building, and it was obvious to me that you were unfamiliar with the exact location of my lodgings, the whereabouts of which you could easily have ascertained from your servants before leaving home. If additional proof were needed, I need only remark on the state of your shoes. I am sure your maid would never permit you to leave the house with your shoes in that condition, if I may be permitted to say so.”
“Well, Mr Holmes, you have indeed hit the nail on the head. I am here without the knowledge of my husband, or indeed, as you rightly say, without the knowledge of the servants. It concerns a very delicate matter indeed. You may be relieved to know, Mr Holmes,” she smiled, “that the man who told me you were never wrong also informed me that you were among the most discreet of men, and never betrayed a confidence.”
“I can confidently assert that to be the case, at any rate,” replied Holmes, “and the same goes for Dr Watson here, naturally.”
“In that case, I will speak freely,” replied Lady Enfield. “You may know that I married young, to a man who is considerably my senior.”
“I had heard that,” replied Holmes. “It is not, after, all, altogether uncommon for our noble families to ally themselves with American capital in this way.”
“Do not mistake my meaning here,” replied our visitor. “Albert – that is to say, my husband – is the kindest and most loving of men. I really have nothing to complain of in regard to his treatment of me. He is, however, a little older than myself, and this can create a certain – shall we say ‘tension’? in our marital relations.” The last phrases were delivered in a mumble, during which she gazed at the floor. Holmes said nothing in reply, and waited motionless, his fingers steepled. After a pause of a few minutes, Lady Enfield regained her composure and continued.
“As you may know from your reading of the Society pages in the newspapers, it is common for me to attend functions without my husband. It was at a ball that I met and deepened my acquaintance with—” Here, our fair visitor seemed to be overcome with embarrassment once more, and words seemed to fail her. Wordlessly, Holmes poured a glass of water from the carafe standing beside him and handed it to her. She accepted it with a word of thanks, and after a few sips, continued her story. “Forgive me if I do not speak his name out loud. I am under an obligation to him not to do so, and yet…” Her voice tailed off.
“Maybe I can be of some assistance here?” suggested Holmes. “At whose ball or party did this occur?”
“It was a soirée held by the Duchess of Essex. A small affair, attended by twenty people at the most.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Holmes. “In that case, I am able to make a guess as to the identity of the gentleman in question.” He scribbled in his notebook, and tore out the leaf before handing it to our guest.
She glanced at the paper and nodded. “Yes, it was he,” she confirmed, handing the paper back to Holmes, who tossed it into the fire. “I ask you, Mr Holmes, could you have resisted such an appeal?”
“In my particular case,” replied Holmes, with a wry smile, “I feel I am unlikely to be exposed to such temptation. But your point is well made, nonetheless.”
“Do not think badly of me because of this,” she went on. “He turned my head. Even though at my relatively advanced age I should be immune to flattery, he said to me such things as I have not heard said to me before.” She ceased, seemingly sunk in reverie.
“But there is a problem?” Holmes suggested, after a pause of a minute or so.
“Yes, there is. The Prin— I mean to say, the gentleman in question, is fond of gaming, particularly the game of whist, baccarat no longer being played by him since the scandal of a few years ago. He has been known to lose – and sometimes to win – several tens of thousands of pounds in one night.”
“And no doubt on average he loses more than he wins?” asked Holmes.
She confirmed this with a nod. “Now we come to the reason for my consulting you. His pockets, though deep, are not bottomless. You have heard of the Enfield Rope?” she asked suddenly.
“Naturally,” replied my friend. “A necklace of the finest South Sea pearls of incomparable lustre and colour, beautifully matched in size and all perfectly formed, which has been in the possession of your husband’s family for nearly one hundred years. It is said to be priceless.”
Lady Enfield gave a bitter smile. “Would it were priceless, or at any event, that no value could be set upon it!” she exclaimed. “The gentleman under discussion, finding himself embarrassed following a particularly heavy loss at the tables, and knowing of the existence of the Enfield Rope, requested that I lend it to him. A request from that quarter is equivalent to a command from anyone else, and I had no choice but to comply.”
“I assume he wished to use it as security for a loan?” Holmes asked.
“That is so. He explained that it was to be returned to me as soon as his monthly allowance was paid to him on the 25th of the month. And indeed, on the 26th of last month, he returned… this.” She reached into the bag she had brought with her and extracted a double rope of the finest pearls I have ever beheld.
“I fail to perceive the problem,” Holmes frowned at her.
“The problem is,” she replied firmly, extending the jewels to Holmes, “that this is not the Enfield Rope. These are fake, Mr Holmes. As fake as a three-dollar bill.” Her American origins showed themselves once more in her agitation.
Holmes took the necklace from her hand, and examined the pearls. Suddenly, he placed the jewels to his mouth and appeared to be biting them. “I agree,” he replied after a few seconds, handing the necklace back to her. “These are some sort of counterfeit, composed of resin of some type, if I might hazard a guess. Have you made any conjectures as to the fate of the genuine pearls?”
“I have my suspicions. My chief fear, though I personally think it unlikely, is that he has retained the original gems, and continues to use them as security for loans. That is, if he has not sold them outright, but I do not believe that to be the case.”
“And you would wish me to…?” Holmes leaned forward in his chair, and fixed our visitor with a steady gaze.
“Mr Holmes, I cannot lie to you. Quite apart from the matter of these pearls, I feel that I have been badly used by him, though in my heart I still feel a good deal of affection for him. I confess that I had heard rumours before our friendship, but perhaps foolishly, I felt that they would not apply to me, and that I could introduce some stability, as we might put it, into his life.”
“And that was not the case, obvi
ously?”
“No. He has taken up with at least two others since we parted less than two months ago, though I would like to believe that these are trifling affairs, and not on the same level as the friendship that exists between him and me. But even leaving this out of consideration, I have done a foolish thing as regards the pearls, and I do not know how I will ever face my husband should he ever discover the truth. As I told you, he is a kind and generous man, and has treated me well – perhaps better than I deserve. It would be repaying him poorly were he to suffer the loss of the pearls. The other may come to his ears, as it has come to the ears of many husbands who have also been betrayed in this way. That last is a matter between him and me alone, though.”
“Where is your husband now?”
“He is abroad in Baden-Baden, and returns in two weeks’ time. Almost certainly he will want to see me wearing the Rope on social occasions, as it is one of the family treasures.”
“Will he notice the substitution, do you think?”
“Almost without question. He is knowledgeable in these matters, and observant with regard to them.”
“Then you wish me to retrieve the pearls within that period?” She nodded. “And, forgive the question, but there may be some expenses involved in their recovery. How do you propose to meet them?”
For almost the first time since she had entered, I detected what appeared to be a look of relief on our visitor’s face. “That, Mr Holmes, is one of the least of my worries. I am independently wealthy, and can pay almost any amount within reason without my husband’s being aware of the fact.”
“Up to the full value of the necklace?” enquired Holmes.
“Yes. It would be a strain on my resources, but it could be managed. I am confident that with your abilities, such an eventuality would not arise. I need hardly add that the fee for your services, in the event of your success, would be considerable.”
