“You must send for the police, at once.”
“The police!” He spoke loudly, winced at his lapse, then glanced back toward Alice. “Is that really necessary? Must we involve the police?”
“Yes, we must.”
Bromley drew in his breath, struggling to control himself. “Yes, certainly we must.”
Eight
Inspector Lestrade came into the sitting room accompanied by three other policemen. He wore a dark suit and bowler hat, while the others all wore the standard uniform, a navy jacket with a row of brass buttons and a navy helmet with the silver insignia over the brims. All the servants were waiting there, along with Holmes, me and Bromley. I had sent Michelle home earlier. She had left muttering about injustice, and said she would try to wait up for me.
Holmes introduced Bromley to Lestrade. The inspector nodded severely, then pulled off his glove and ran the fingertips of his right hand along the V of his narrow jawbone. He smiled at Holmes. “You were in luck. There was no need to send for me. I was already working at my desk. And what a remarkable coincidence! The jeweler Mr. Harter is murdered, you come to visit me the next day, and three days later, one of the most valuable and celebrated diamonds in the country is stolen. Surely there can be no relation between these events, can there?” The final question dripped with irony.
“I shall tell you everything I know,” Holmes said. “But first you might have your men search of the house and grounds. They can begin with the servants’ quarters on the top floor. That way, the servants can retire for the night.”
Lestrade turned to Bromley. “Have we your permission to search the house, sir?”
Bromley nodded eagerly. “Certainly! Although I fear it will be of little use. The hole in the window makes it obvious enough. The thief must have used a ladder. Once he had the window open, he snatched the necklace and fled with it.”
“Hole in the window?” He glanced at Holmes.
“A glass cutter was used,” said Holmes. “Undoubtedly the variety with a suction cup in the center. A very neat job.”
Lestrade turned to his men. “Reynolds, Brown, have a look about, starting with the top floor. Stevens, get a lantern out of the van and check the grounds.”
Holmes raised his slender hand, his fingers spread apart. “Might I first examine the back terrace before anyone disturbs anything?”
Lestrade smiled. “No elephants stampeding about, obscuring the trail? Very well. Stevens, get the lantern, come back here, and wait for Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes gestured with his hand in the direction of the seated servants. “I already spoke briefly with the servants. Mr. Bromley, Henry, Dr. Doudet Vernier, Mrs. Bromley’s maid Sabine and Mr. Bromley’s valet Hodges were all here in this room with me during the time when the diamond was stolen. None of the other four servants was alone during that same time. The two maids, Matilda and Susan, carried the dishes downstairs together, then begun washing them. Mrs. Carlson the housekeeper was talking with the cook, and then joined in the washing and drying.”
Lestrade shook his head. “Better and better! Alibis for all.” His smile vanished, and he said softly, to Holmes and me alone: “But they could all be in on it together.” Holmes only shrugged. “And the guests—what about them?”
“They had all departed before the diamond was stolen.”
Lestrade nodded. “Some suspects at last!” He turned to Bromley. “I shall need all their names.”
Bromley frowned. “Certainly, although it is out of the question that any of them might have been involved in the theft—two of our party, in fact, are members of the peerage.”
Lestrade’s eyebrows rose briefly, but he said nothing. He turned again to Holmes. “I want to speak with you. In private.”
“Certainly, although, might Henry accompany us?”
“I suppose so.”
“You can use the library,” Bromley said.
Holmes nodded. “Very good.” He took a candle, and we went down the hallway. He set down the candle, then used a match to light one of the lamps.
Lestrade had crossed his arms. “Tell me everything—and this time, don’t leave anything out, not a blasted thing, all right?”
“Certainly,” Holmes said.
I pulled out a chair and collapsed into it, putting my hand over my mouth to suppress a yawn. I reflected that I should be home lying in bed with Michelle now, both of us completely exhausted, our underwear torn to shreds.
“Would you mind, Inspector, if I have a look around the library while we talk?” Holmes asked. “It also should be searched, and I might as well be employed while we talk.”
“As you please, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes did tell him truly everything this time, beginning with Bromley’s first call at Baker Street, the Indian apparitions that Alice had seen, and their visit to Mr. Tyabji. At the same time he was removing books and searching the shelves of the bookcases. He finally came to our meeting with Harter, admitting that he had made himself into an Indian to test out the disguise.
Lestrade scowled and shook his head. “Badly done, Mr. Holmes—badly done! You should have told me that before. That is withholding critical evidence.”
“I still do not know if Harter’s death was related to the diamond. Nor was I certain that the diamond was about to be stolen.”
“But you had your suspicions?”
“Certainly I had my suspicions. That is my profession.”
“You take your profession more seriously than you take mine—how am I to figure out anything when you masquerade as fantastical Indians and tell me nothing! It is outrageous.”
Holmes hesitated. “You have my apologies.”
Lestrade stared incredulously. “I do believe you mean it.”
Holmes pulled open a drawer to a small bureau. “Well, what have we here?” He held up a stethoscope. “Henry, could this be yours?”
“Absolutely not. Mine is at home in my bag.”
“It seems unlikely that it could be Dr. Cowen’s either. I must ask Mr. Bromley about this.”
“Forget the stethoscope,” Lestrade said. “Tell me more about Murthwaite and this Tibji.”
“Tyabji,” Holmes said.
“As you will—tell me more.”
Holmes related their histories. He then proceeded to a brief account of all that had happened earlier in the evening.”
Lestrade stopped him at one point. “She actually threw her port at her sister?”
“She did.” Holmes told him, complete with approximate times, all that had happened after Alice went upstairs with Dr. Cowen. By the time he had finished, he had also completed his search of the library.
Lestrade had begun to pace about. “So there was about a forty-five-minute period when someone could have come through the window and stolen the diamond. An experienced thief could easily cut a hole in the glass in only a minute or two. More than enough time. They could have somehow been watching the window, waiting until she was left alone and had fallen asleep. But how would they know the diamond would be by her bed? Any of the guests might have alerted the thief, but all of them were respectable members of society except possibly this friend of Mr. Bromley.”
Holmes had crossed his arms. “May I have a look outside now?”
Lestrade nodded brusquely. “Yes, you may, but, Mr. Holmes, do not withhold critical information from me again—do you understand? It is very… tiresome. And frustrating.”
The flicker of a smile pulled at Holmes’s mouth. “I always tell you everything in the end, do I not?”
“Yes—and that is the problem! Next time, tell me something in the beginning.”
We returned to the drawing room. Bromley leaped up from a chair when he saw us. “Have you found anything?”
Lestrade hesitated, then said, “We are not miracle workers, Mr. Bromley.”
Holmes stared at Bromley. “What do you know about a stethoscope in the desk drawer of the library?”
Bromley opened his mouth, then briefly seem
ed to freeze. “A what?”
“A stethoscope. You must have seen Dr. Cowen use one to listen to Mrs. Bromley’s heart.”
“A stethoscope—oh, certainly. Yes, indeed. It is mine. The stethoscope, that is.”
“Yours?” I said.
He nodded eagerly. “Yes, you see—I know it’s presumptuous, perhaps, but with Alice always complaining about her heart… I happened upon one at a market, a used one, and I bought it thinking I might learn to use it, so I could check on her heart myself someday. I did listen to my own heart a few times. Fascinating. Perhaps at some point you might instruct me in its use, Dr. Vernier.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Lestrade’s right hand tapped involuntarily at his side. “Mr. Bromley, would it be possible to wake your wife?”
“Absolutely not—she was most upset. She must be left alone.”
“I would not recommend it either,” I said. “It may not even be possible. She was given a fairly strong sleeping draft. She should not be disturbed.”
“Very well, my interview can wait until morning, but I will want to have a look around the bedroom. First, I wish to speak with you in the library, Mr. Bromley, and then the servants, one by one.”
Bromley nodded. “Certainly.”
The servants—the five women and Hodges—all looked rather grim. I reflected that no one had asked their permission to search their rooms, but of course, the house belonged to Bromley. He followed Lestrade.
Holmes turned to Stevens, a tall, lean man with the sort of impassive expression desirable in a constable. “Let us go out the back way. Might I borrow your lantern?” Holmes took the dark lantern and slid open the cover. We followed the bobbing yellow beam down the hallway, then Holmes stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Please, do not come out until I have had a quick look around.” He opened the door, shone the light on the ground, then advanced, taking huge steps in slow motion like some gigantic predatory insect.
I hesitated, then stepped into the doorway. Stevens was a tall, looming presence behind me. There was an almost full moon, which had lit up the terrace’s large square flagstones. On either side stood a wooden fence about six feet high, and about thirty feet back was a dark brick-and-wood structure, the two-story stables and coach house. Since the Bromleys did not keep horses or carriages, it was vacant. The light breeze on my face felt pleasantly cool after the warmth of the house. I glanced up and could see stars in the swath of sky overhead. It was a lovely London summer evening, the kind you dreamed about during the long, cold, gray, wet winters.
Holmes was methodically sweeping the light back and forth as he advanced, then he turned to look up at the house, most likely at Alice’s bedroom window. He lowered his gaze, then made further sweeps across the terrace with the lamp. Green grass grew in the narrow gaps between the stones.
“Ah,” Holmes exclaimed. He stepped back, then shone the light very carefully on the terrace where it met the brick wall of the house. “Pity it didn’t rain. One might hope for muddy footprints, or at least some sign… But this is hopeless, hopeless. The grass could have been flattened by the ladder ends, but of course, those ends might simply have been resting on the stones.” He shook his head. “Oh, very well, you might as well come on out, gentlemen.” He walked toward the house as we came outside, then he bent over to pick something up. “Recognize this, Henry?” With one hand he turned the light upon a thin silver chain which dangled from his other hand.
“Good Lord,” I murmured. “That’s from the necklace, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He turned his hand, letting the chain slip to one side. “It has been broken.”
I stared up at the dimly lit orange rectangles of the two bedroom windows. The top-floor windows where the police were searching were also illuminated. “The thief must have torn the Moonstone off before he made his escape.”
Holmes laughed softly. “So you might think.”
Tired and slightly annoyed, I refused to take the bait and did not ask for an explanation. My hand went unconsciously to my mouth as I yawned deeply, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. It must be close to midnight.
Holmes crossed the yard to a wooden gate next to the coach house, and I followed. He flipped up the latch, then pulled it open. “Not even locked. How convenient.” He looked around, then bent over and picked something up.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A padlock. An unlocked padlock. This is a very cheap simple device. A child could pick the lock. All the same…”
“It must have taken two men to manipulate a ladder so long it could reach the window.”
“Yes.” Holmes nodded, then turned back to stare at the house. “If there was a ladder.”
“You think we are dealing with a human fly, then?” A prodigious yawn escaped me.
“Go on back inside, Henry, and have a rest in one of the comfortable chairs. I won’t be long.”
“Very well. I am tired.”
I managed to make my way down the darkened hallway to the sitting room. Bromley had returned, but Mrs. Carlson was missing. I sank into a chair, yawned again, then pulled at my bow tie, loosening it slightly. I closed my eyes and immediately fell asleep. Occasionally I heard the murmur of voices, but I responded by drifting deeper into the warm, dark depths.
“Obvious, isn’t it?”
I sat up abruptly. Lestrade had spoken very loudly. Holmes had raised one finger to his lips, but too late. Bromley and the servants were all gone, and the clock on the mantel showed twelve thirty, which meant I had slept for nearly half an hour.
Lestrade went on. “There must have been two of them. The padlock was child’s play. One held the ladder while the other climbed up, cut the hole in the window, took the necklace, and quickly descended. He tore free the chain, which is of little value, and pocketed the diamond. Then they fled with the ladder.”
Holmes’s thick black eyebrows came together over his raptor’s nose, and a small muscle to the left side of his mouth tightened. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps. Sometimes you carry caution too far. Sometimes the obvious is the obvious. The only real mystery here is how the thief knew when he would have his opportunity. If you want to join me for my interview with Mrs. Bromley and further interrogation of the servants, be here at nine in the morning.”
“So I shall.”
“Good night, then.” He turned and left.
“Sorry, Henry,” Holmes said. “I would have wakened you more gradually.”
I raised my arms, stretching them. “Did you find anything else?”
“Nothing.”
I stifled a yawn, then slowly rose to my feet. “Can we go home? Have the police finished their search?”
“Three are still working on the search. They finished the top floor so the servants have gone to bed. The men will probably be done in an hour or two. I shall have a look about myself—although I would wager that we find nothing.”
“And you will be back at nine tomorrow morning?”
He nodded.
“Oh Lord, I suppose I shall try to be here too—I started this business with you, and I shall finish it.”
He laughed. “Poor Henry! I know how you hate getting up in the morning.”
I walked down to Kensington Road, but at such a late hour, it was half an hour before I managed to hail a cab. When I finally got home, I unlocked our front door and went quietly up the two flights of stairs. The lamp on the bureau was set very low. The upstairs rooms tended to get warm in the summer, but the two windows were each open about a foot, letting a breeze waft in. Michelle lay sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, stomach down, one hand spread out just before her face. Her long red hair was swept to the side and spilled across the dimpled fabric of the bedspread. She was wearing only her plain white cotton drawers and chemise, so her arms and her calves were left bare. The thin fabric revealed the curved shape of her body. Her blue silk dress was thrown across a nearby chair, the seat itself heaped with various petticoats, a shift and h
er gloves.
I followed the shape of her white calf as it tapered to her ankle, then came the pale-orangish sole of her foot and the small circles formed by the ends of her toes. A weary pang of longing stirred in my chest. However, I didn’t want to wake her, and I truly was tired. I set one hand on the bed, leaned over and gently kissed the knuckles of the hand resting before her face. She did not stir. As I stood, I drew in my breath, then picked up my alarm clock and set it for eight.
* * *
As a physician, I was the first to visit Mrs. Bromley the next morning. I was to judge if she was fit to see Inspector Lestrade. Sabine dressed in her usual stylish black dress, but without the white apron or cap, led the way. I found that my eyes had fixed themselves on her rather voluptuously abundant, swaying hips, their shape obvious under the dress (another woman who did not believe in corsets!), and then I guiltily looked away. This was what came of an evening culminating only in unfulfilled longings. I had left Michelle still fast asleep. She worked so hard all week long, and Sunday morning was her only opportunity to catch up on her sleep.
Sabine opened the door, and I followed her into the bedroom. Alice was sitting in a chair by the window. She turned to stare at me with half-open eyes. Someone, probably Sabine, had brushed out her hair, which hung about her thin face and slender neck. Shadows showed under her eyes and in the hollows under her cheekbones. She wore an elaborate white silk robe, layers of lace forming the collar which fell to her waist, with more lace cascading forth from the sleeves. All the puffy frills emphasized her long, thin hands and bare feet all the more. She did look dreadful. Some faintly crusty substance adhered to the corners of her mouth, and her lower lip was cracked. Her skin was even paler than usual with an almost bluish tinge.
“How do you feel?” I asked, although the answer was obvious.
She winced slightly. “I have a terrible headache.”
I could sympathize: I had drunk enough the night before, that I had a mild headache myself. “Did you take some laudanum drops?”
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