“He is only being polite, I think.”
“Well, it must grow tiresome. It would drive me crazy being married to someone like him. I would want to scream at him or pound him with my fists—anything to get a rise out of him.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be pounded by your fists. That would hurt.”
She gave my hand a squeeze. “I would never pound you with my fists. Squeeze you to death, perhaps.” She rolled over and got on top of me, resting on her elbows. A strand of long red hair fell on the left side of my face, tickling my cheek. “I suppose you must be exhausted. Still, you must earn your supper.”
“Slave driver,” I murmured. She began to kiss me, and I put my arms around her.
Ten
Monday was another busy day at the clinic, and I actually had a few patients of my own on Tuesday. Wednesday morning I had decided that if I did not hear from Holmes by noon, I would head over to Baker Street. However, just after ten, he burst into my consulting room, a tall, lean figure all in black, the long frock coat swirling about him, his top hat in one hand, his stick in the other.
“Henry, I have a cab waiting—you must come at once if you want to see Mr. Tyabji’s parcel opened.”
“I most certainly do!” I sprang to my feet, grabbed my coat and followed him through the doorway. I rapped gently twice at Michelle’s door, then opened it. She was inside with one of her female patients. “I shall be with Sherlock. I don’t know when I shall return.”
We went out the front door. Above the red-brick houses across the street, the sky was a uniform gray, and the air was filled with a mist of light drizzle. Holmes grasped the handle of the half-length hansom door and pulled it open. He stepped up, sat and slid over to the other side, making room for me. I sank into the leather seat and closed the door.
“Ready!” Holmes cried to the driver. “And remember, a sovereign for you if you make good time to South Lambeth Road!”
I sank back into the seat as the carriage departed, the driver obviously taking Holmes’s encouragement to heart. “So you have heard from Mr. Tyabji?”
“I received a telegram half an hour ago. I left at once, pausing only long enough to send Lestrade a telegram at Scotland Yard, then came to fetch you. Lestrade is closer to the river, but he may be occupied, and the telegram may take some time to make its way to him.”
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, making us jerk forward. We heard someone cursing and swearing, then we were off again. We swept past a small man with a huge mustache who shook his fist at us.
“I hope your driver gets us there in one piece.”
“Oh, he will. I have employed George before. He knows the streets of London better than most, especially the side routes, which are less likely to be blocked by traffic. He drives fast, but not terribly recklessly.”
I laughed. “Only moderately recklessly, I suppose! Have you seen anything of the Bromleys these past two days?”
“I stopped there yesterday. Mr. Bromley, as usual, is worried about his wife, who still seems to be recovering from Saturday night’s excess. He told me she seems to alternate between bouts of melancholy and of almost manic excitement, but she seemed perfectly well when I spoke to her. Indeed, her relief at being rid of the diamond is palpable.”
Holmes and I both leaned to the right as we swept tightly round a turn. I saw a buxom woman with an umbrella and a dog on a leash shake her head disapprovingly. Holmes stared calmly out at the London streets as they hurtled by. His cheek had a slight flush, and his gray eyes glistened with excitement. His two gloved hands held the top of his stick, which was thrust between his long legs. By the time we crossed Vauxhall Bridge into south London, I felt rather seasick from all our jostling about. South Lambeth Road had fewer men in black top hats and frock coats; there were more dark jackets and bowler hats. Street vendors with their carts were at every corner hawking their wares.
We took a sharp left turn and soon pulled to an abrupt stop before Tyabji’s house, a stop which once again jerked us forward. Holmes smiled at me, then pushed open the doors and stepped out into the street. “Very well done, George! Here is your sovereign. Drive about where you will, and let your noble steed cool down—perhaps you may spot a horse trough. Return here in half an hour and wait for us.”
The short man perched up top on the driver’s seat had a dark scarf wrapped round his throat. He wore a black jacket, leather gloves, and an odd hat with a large brim that kept the rain off his face. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. We’ll be here.”
Holmes started quickly for the door, and I followed. “Do you really think we shall be done in half an hour?”
Holmes flashed me a quick smile. “It is one way to ensure that his horse has a rest after its exertions on our behalf.”
Sunil was dressed in his usual impeccable black suit accompanied by the red slippers. He gave a slight bow, ushered us in and led us to the sitting room. Tyabji rose from a chair to greet us. He wore a proper British gentleman’s dress, including an elegant black frock coat. Close by, however, was Murthwaite, once again in his Indian garb, the light tan linen trousers and tunic with red sash. The red turban hid his bald crown and most of his gray hair. The outfit certainly suited him better than the antique vestments he had worn to the party!
“Ah, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Vernier, how good of you to come so swiftly.” Tyabji gestured at a table with elaborately carved legs and latticework, upon which sat a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “This came to my door about an hour and a half ago.”
Holmes forehead was creased with concentration. “Who delivered it?”
Tyabji nodded at Sunil, who spoke. “It was not the usual postal man, sir. It was a tall, thin gentleman in a well-tailored tweed suit. He merely said this was for Mr. Tyabji. I asked him to wait and speak with my master, but he shook his head and walked away quickly. I saw him get into a cab waiting down the street.”
“Tall, you say? I don’t suppose he had a beard?”
“No, sir.”
“Very good, thank you.”
At that moment, a piercing bell sounded. Sunil glanced at Tyabji, then turned and left the room.
“That is most likely Inspector Lestrade,” Holmes said, and indeed, the inspector soon stepped into the sitting room, followed by a constable in his blue uniform and helmet.
Lestrade wore a long overcoat and held his bowler in his hand. He gazed around the room at the exotic furnishings and shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting Ali Baba’s cave.” Holmes introduced him to Tyabji and Murthwaite. He shook their hands. You could tell he was surprised that Murthwaite was an Englishman. At last he turned to the table. “So this is the package? Well, Mr. Holmes, should we make a wager as to whether it contains the diamond? If it does not, we will have wasted the morning.”
Holmes smiled. “I am not a betting man, but I would give you odds.”
Lestrade smiled back. “But I still would not take the bet! Shall we have a look? Who should do the honors?”
“It was addressed to Mr. Tyabji,” Holmes said.
“Right enough.” Lestrade turned to him. “Would you go ahead and open it, sir?”
Tyabji undid the string, then removed the brown paper to reveal a rather large matchbox, one with the manufacturer’s name on top and a strip of frictional material on the side. The box was slightly swollen in the middle.
Lestrade made a gruff laugh. “It would be genuinely amusing if that contained only matches. Too fat for that, I think. Go ahead and open it.”
Tyabji managed to slide it open. A folded piece of paper fell out, and he took up an object wrapped in white tissue paper. He quickly pulled away the paper and held up a large diamond that had to be the Moonstone. “Good Lord,” he murmured. “How did you know, Mr. Holmes?”
Lestrade shook his head. “The very question I also have.”
“You shall know soon enough.” Holmes bent over to pick up the folded piece of paper and opened it. “As I expected.” He handed it to Lestr
ade.
I leaned over to read it. The letters were in large print. Return the Moonstone to its rightful home in the Indian temple.
Lestrade made a low whistling sound. “It must have been Indians—it must have been. Who else would possibly have…?” He noticed that Tyabji was glaring at him. “Not you, sir—not you, of course. You would hardly steal it, then alert Sherlock Holmes and myself, and deliver it to yourself. That would make no sense.”
Holmes smiled. “We agree on that, Inspector.”
Tyabji held up the stone, turned it slightly, letting the light from the windows play upon the facets. “What a lovely thing!” All of us stared at the diamond, taking in its beauty. A small fragment of silver chain remained, only an inch or two. Before, I recalled noticing a yellowish tint to the gem in daylight, but now it appeared absolutely colorless and translucent. Sunil clasped his hands together and bowed slightly to the stone, mumbling something in a foreign tongue.
“What a charming moment! The illustrious Mr. Sherlock Holmes and the illustrious Inspector Lestrade in a rare moment of accord, both agreeing that these Indian fellows could not have stolen the diamond. How inspiring to see the police and the famed detective working together so nice like! Please don’t make any sudden movements, gentlemen—you especially, Constable. These revolvers are not for mere show, and my compatriots would have little compunction in using them.”
We had all been so transfixed by the diamond that we had not heard the three men enter the room. They stood near the doorway, two tall ones on either side, each holding a revolver, and a shorter one in the middle, who had just spoken. They wore nondescript black overcoats and bowlers, and black masks with cut-out eye holes hid their faces. The shorter man was stout, with a roll of fat showing under his mask. Curiously enough, one of the men had oddly long yellow hair resembling a woman’s, which fell to his collar, concealing his ears. However, his broad shoulders and chest resolved any uncertainty as to his sex.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Lestrade said sternly.
“Obvious, isn’t it? It’s a robbery, is what. We’ve come for the diamond.”
“But how did you know to come just now?”
The man laughed. “Tell him, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes was the only one who did not seem in the least bit disturbed by the appearance of the three men. “That is rather obvious, is it not? You must have been watching the house. You waited until you saw that Inspector Lestrade and I had arrived. You must have come in the back door.”
The man nodded. “Very good, sir, although as you say, it was obvious. Now if you will be kind enough to set the diamond on that table, and then, please back up against that wall there. By the way, the decor here is most impressive. I wouldn’t be surprised if this splendid carpet was one of the flying variety. And I like how the elephant statue there in the corner goes so nicely with those formidable beasts on that wall tapestry.”
All of us backed away from the table except the constable. His blue eyes were hard, and despite the leather helmet strap resting in the groove between his lower lip and chin, his jaw had thrust forward. The short man shook his head. “Come now, Constable—you too. My friends would willingly shoot you if need be.”
“Do as he says, Williams,” Lestrade said. The constable backed away.
“I am obliged to you, Inspector. It is good to see that you value the lives of your men.” The three of them slowly advanced, all in a neat line. The revolvers were of a silvery steel with the barrels held at stomach level, and they gave me a queasy feeling in the belly.
The short man picked up the stone and turned it slightly in the light. “It’s amazing, all right. Pity. Take a last long look, gentlemen. You won’t be seeing it again.” He laughed. “No one will be seeing it, matter of fact.”
“You cannot!” Tyabji exclaimed. He took a step forward. There was a bang, an explosive one in the confines of the room, and Tyabji froze.
“Are you all right!” I cried. Tyabji sucked in his breath and nodded. The gunpowder smoke had an acrid smell.
“That was what is known as a warning shot. The next one will be to the body. You’ll be able to repair that hole in the lathe and plaster, sir. A lucky thing he didn’t damage one of these splendid tapestries.” The stout man twisted his hand, swallowing up the diamond in his grasp, then thrust it into his coat pocket. “Yes, it is a pity, although perhaps it’s for the best. The stone is about to have a litter of pups, a bunch of babies, each one worth a tidy sum on its own. So you see, the diamond will not truly die. Its descendants will live on, each a monument to its noble sire!”
Holmes gave a sharp laugh. “Please—take the diamond if you must, but spare us the melodramatic language and clumsy metaphors.”
The man shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, sir! I would have thought you might appreciate a bit of poetry from thieves. Downright ungrateful, it seems. However, I assure you, I am finished. There remains one last bit of business, and then we shall leave you—in the cellar, that is. No, no, do not move yet. Let me explain. You will depart in two separate parties, proceeding down the hallway and through the kitchen to the stairway to the cellar. You will descend the stairs. All the while, one of the gunmen will be behind you. Once you are all settled in the cellar, we shall lock the door and leave you. By the way, you will find the cook down below. She has not been harmed, merely bound and gagged.
“Do you understand the procedure? No questions? Very good! I think the constable, Inspector Lestrade and Mr. Holmes should go first. They are the most dangerous. Remember, if anyone tries anything funny, my men will fire. Your Webley service revolver takes a .455 caliber bullet, a frightfully large piece of lead. In the confines of a narrow hallway, such a bullet might well pass cleanly through two or three men. Detectives you may be, but I’m sure you do not wish to conduct experiments upon the penetrating power of the .455 bullet through human bodies. You may proceed, gentlemen.”
Lestrade, Holmes and the constable started for the door. One of the gunmen stepped well back, the barrel of his revolver following them as they crossed the room, then he followed them through the doorway. The short man hummed softly to himself. After two or three minutes, his compatriot shouted, “Next!” in the distance. “Your turn, gentlemen.” We started for the door. I eyed the man with the yellow hair nervously. The shade was bizarre, not a natural tint at all. He must be wearing a cheap wig. It almost glowed against his black mask, derby and overcoat collar.
Tyabji and Sunil took the lead, Murthwaite went next, and I followed the three of them down the hallway and into the kitchen. The other gunman stood by the doorway to the cellar. He stepped back and let us pass. As soon as I went down onto the steps, the door slammed shut behind me with a bang. It made me start. I stumbled and nearly knocked over Tyabji. “Sorry,” I said.
Lestrade pushed past us, back up the stairs and tried the doorknob. “Damnation,” he muttered.
A muted voice said, “Farewell, Inspector. I trust, I pray, we shall not meet again.”
Beside me, Holmes shook his head. “There is a man who is certainly in love with the sound of his own voice. I wonder if he has read Dickens. His speech has a certain archaic extravagance.”
Tyabji’s sigh was a groan. “To have the diamond in my hand at last—and then to lose it in an instant. May the Moonstone’s curse fall upon those wretched thieves!”
Murthwaite put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “There, there, Geoffrey—it would have been nothing but trouble. It surely is bad luck. Alice was right about that. I wouldn’t wish it on either of you.”
Lestrade still stood on the steps. “Let’s try to break the door in.”
Holmes laughed. “It is solid oak. I would not recommend it. And even if you managed it, they still have their revolvers. Besides, we will never catch them. Doubtless another confederate was waiting with a carriage in the alley. They will have removed their masks and will be joining the busy traffic on South Lambeth Road, soon to be lost in our great metropolis
of four million souls. A needle in a haystack would be easier to find.”
Lestrade shook his head angrily. “So are we to simply wait down here for the rest of the day? Even if we can’t catch them, I don’t find this cellar comfortable quarters.” The sweep of his hand took in the bare beams, the dust, the cobwebs, and the moldy-looking foundation walls. Two tiny windows let in some gray light.
“Nor do I.” Holmes turned. “There is a coal chute in the far corner. The opening is not large, but one of us should be able to squeeze through—far easier than breaking down that particular door.”
Sunil, as the smallest and thinnest, was the lucky volunteer whom we hoisted up through the opening. Moments later, he unlocked the cellar door, and we all trooped back upstairs, including the cook, whom we had untied. “They were kind enough to leave the key in the door,” Sunil said. This remark prompted a terrible scowl from Inspector Lestrade. He spoke briefly with Tyabji and Murthwaite, then went outside, pausing in the small porch.
“Well, that is the end of the Moonstone,” Lestrade said. “Blast it! We almost had it.”
“Do not give up, Inspector. I still have my hopes that the Moonstone may be recovered.”
“How would that be possible? You said yourself it is lost in the vast metropolis. We certainly don’t have a complete list of all the London dealers in illicit gems, one which would allow us to intercept the jewel before it is cut up.”
“All the same, I think I know where it may be found.”
Lestrade gave him an incredulous look. “Tell me, then—at once.”
“Give me a day, and then you will know.”
“I grow weary of these games of yours, Mr. Holmes! One of these times I shall have to take you into custody for withholding information from the police.”
“And then you will never have your answers. A day only, sir. We shall talk tomorrow afternoon, late, in your office. And I warn you, tomorrow we may have a long night before us.”
The Moonstone's Curse Page 20
