The Moonstone's Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  Holmes glanced at a chair. “May I sit down?”

  You could see Cowen weighing just how rude he wished to be. At last he said, “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Holmes sat, leaned his stick against the wall and set his top hat on his lap. “I have come to some disturbing conclusions which involve Mrs. Bromley, and I need your advice on how to proceed.”

  Cowen watched him warily. Light from the window shone on his long sloping forehead and bald crown. He gave a slight nod.

  “I shall come directly to the point. It is my belief that Mrs. Bromley herself stole the diamond.”

  I was so surprised I almost said something, but Holmes gave me a quick warning glance.

  Cowen stood up and lowered his hands, forming fists. A look of alarm was immediately replaced by one of truculence. “Is this your idea of a joke? A very cruel and sick joke?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Such a suggestion is preposterous, simply preposterous.”

  “I do not think so. It is the only real explanation. Who but her could have signaled to someone from the window at exactly the right time? Are we to believe some thief was lurking about, then by happenstance managed to break through the window just when she and the diamond were left alone? That was always the problem. No, she first staged that incendiary encounter with her sister and her friend, and then when she was alone at last, she alerted her waiting accomplice, probably by signaling with a light.”

  “But why would she ever do such a thing!”

  “You know the answer to that as well as I, Dr. Cowen. Because she was terrified of the jewel. It had cast a dark shadow over her life. She would do anything to be rid of it, anything.”

  He shook his head resolutely. “I don’t believe it for an instant. You are desperate—you are coming up with the wildest and most improbable hypotheses. It is insulting.”

  “Nevertheless, I am going to have to discuss the possibility with Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. We shall see what…”

  “You cannot—you cannot.” Cowen raised his clenched fists and shook them. For once, he seemed more dismayed than angry.

  “That is what I wanted to discuss with you. Could she tolerate an inquiry—and possibly even a trial? Could she…?”

  “No, no,” he groaned, even as he shook his head wildly. “You cannot do that to her. You cannot. It—she would never survive such an ordeal. You would kill her—you would… Do you want to destroy her life, to ruin her? Is that what you want?”

  “Calm yourself, Dr. Cowen. I assure you, I bear her no ill will. It is simply a matter of justice. If she stole the diamond, she must suffer the consequences.”

  “How can you mouth such blathering platitudes! A woman’s life is at stake here. Could you really do such a thing to her?”

  “I must tell the police what I know. It is my duty.”

  “Duty.” Cowen paced to the window and stared out of it. Even with his back to us, you could see the tension in his shoulders, in his arms. His every muscle seemed taut. A sort of muted groan came forth. He turned and came back to Holmes, stood just above him, threateningly. “She would never do such a thing—never. The diamond is already hers.” He gave a harsh laugh. “What crime would there be in stealing what is already yours? The police would surely mock you.”

  “Come, come, Dr. Cowen. You surely know of her life-interest in the jewel. It was not truly hers. She stole it to give to Mr. Tyabji so it would be returned to India. That was her way of countering the curse and escaping the fearful burden of the Moonstone.”

  “But—but—she was asleep when I left—knocked out. The chloral hydrate—she could not have signaled! She was unconscious.”

  Holmes gave a long weary sigh. “Dr. Cowen, you are letting your feelings run away with you. You must not stretch the truth. You already told me and the police that Mrs. Bromley asked about the jewel just before you left and that you saw it on the dresser. Obviously she was still awake when you left.”

  “But the chloral hydrate!” This last was like some fevered incantation. He shook his head. “No, no, she could not.”

  “Come now—it would have taken only a few seconds for her to get out of bed and wave the candle before the window. Possibly she even set the necklace on the window sill. And then she went back to bed and was asleep at once.”

  “But who is this accomplice?” He laughed. “She knows no one—she is a recluse—she could not possibly…”

  Holmes shrugged. “Someone could have helped her recruit accomplices. Perhaps her maid Sabine, or Hodges.”

  “No, no—they are Bromley’s tools—she dislikes them both, especially Sabine.”

  “Does she now? That is interesting. All the same, I’m sure a clever woman like her could have found someone.”

  Cowen began to pace again, his arms held stiffly at his sides. “You cannot do this to her. You cannot. You cannot. I won’t let you.”

  “Again, Dr. Cowen, I assure you, there is no malice on my part. She is an exemplary woman in many respects, but…”

  He shook his head wildly. “No—stop that—stop that! She did not do it—I swear she did not do it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Cowen swallowed once, his cheeks and forehead over the black beard paling slightly. “I cannot plead with you? I am willing to beg.” His voice was suddenly soft, muted. “You are determined?” The man was so crestfallen, so humbled, that for the first time, I actually felt sorry for him.

  “I am.” Holmes spoke almost as softly as him.

  Cowen drew himself up, even as his broad chest swelled. “She did not do it, Mr. Holmes. It was I. I stole the Moonstone.”

  “Cowen!” I exclaimed. Again Holmes gave me a warning look. I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Is this true?” Holmes asked. “Or is it merely desperation speaking again?”

  Cowen smiled bleakly. “Come now, Mr. Holmes. Be logical. You are right about the timing of the theft being the real mystery. There is an easier explanation than Mrs. Bromley signaling someone. She was very nearly asleep when I left the room. I stepped outside, waited a few minutes, then quietly re-entered the room. I knew at once that she would not wake up any time soon. I simply took the Moonstone and put it into my medical bag.”

  Holmes was frowning. “And the hole in the window?”

  Cowen was still smiling. “I came prepared with a glass cutting tool in my bag. I cut the hole in the glass, then opened the window. I also tore the chain from the necklace and dropped it out the window. I then quietly closed the door and left the house with the Moonstone. I told you all not to disturb her for a few moments, time enough to make a theft through the window possible. Come, sir, is this not a more plausible explanation than Mrs. Bromley having found some mysterious unknown accomplices?”

  “It would explain why there was no trace of the ladder, no one seen on the street. And the padlock?”

  “It was simple to find a key for that lock. I silently opened it before I left.”

  Holmes nodded. “Another very plausible explanation. However, there is one problem.”

  Cowen stared at him. “What would that be?”

  “Why on earth would a respectable doctor like yourself do such a thing? Why take such a terrible risk? You could be ruined—you could go to prison for years. Why would you do such a thing?”

  Cowen swallowed once. “The money. I needed the money.”

  Holmes laughed softly. “Come now, Dr. Cowen. In that case, you would not have given the Moonstone to Mr. Tyabji. I am not an utter fool. If your story is true, then the reason is obvious enough.”

  Cowen had begun to pale again. “Is it? Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Say it, then, or would you prefer that I do?”

  He turned and went back to the desk, sank back against it, his big hands clutching at its edge. “Very well, it is because I care for Mrs. Bromley. I care for her… deeply.”

  “So deeply you would go to prison for her?”

  “Yes. Yes!
I could see what the Moonstone was doing to her, how it has made her suffer! She was hardly more than a child when I first met her, and already the wretched thing haunted her, and her mother as well. I saw what the Moonstone did to Charlotte—I saw her gradually become more and more fearful, more and more eccentric, until finally in despair she took her own life. I have seen similar changes in Alice. I thought her marriage might possibly help matters, but it has not. Bromley’s cloying solicitude is only an act. Could I stand by and watch another beautiful and sensitive woman go mad and take her own life? I could bear it no longer. I resolved that if any chance arose where I might steal the diamond, I would do so. Fate gave me that chance, and I took it.”

  Holmes’s smile was faintly ironic. “Fate?”

  “You care for her that much?” I asked.

  Cowen’s mouth twisted into a brief smile. “I love her.”

  “Oh, Lord,” I murmured.

  Holmes nodded. “Your story makes sense, Dr. Cowen. It is a compelling one. All the same, I shall have to let Inspector Lestrade choose between the two alternatives.”

  “For God’s sake, Mr. Holmes—leave Alice out of this! Do not drag her into this affair. Simply tell Lestrade that I did it, that I have confessed, and I swear…” He stood up resolutely. “I am a gentleman, after all, and my word means a great deal to me. I give you my word of honor, Mr. Holmes, that I was the one who took the Moonstone.”

  Holmes stared briefly at him, then nodded. “Perhaps, after all, the lady may be left out of this business.”

  “Oh, thank God! Then some good may come from it. Let the Moonstone’s curse fall upon me and me alone.”

  Holmes slowly stood and grasped the handle of his stick firmly. “I must think this over, Dr. Cowen. Give me a day, and I shall get back to you with my decision.”

  “You will not go to the police first? You will not say anything about Alice? You must promise me that!”

  “You lay a heavy burden of responsibility upon me. Given her fragile nature, I have no desire to have Mrs. Bromley dragged into a courtroom. I shall do nothing to bring charges against her until I consult with you first.”

  “If someone must pay… I would go to prison for her—I would gladly go.”

  Holmes shook his head. “Let us hope it does not come to that. I shall see you tomorrow. Oh, and until then, stay away from Mrs. Bromley.”

  Cowen nodded. His color was returning to normal, and he looked suddenly exhausted. He walked around the desk and collapsed into the leather-backed chair. Briefly he clutched at his forehead, then set down his hand. “Tell the page to fetch Mrs. Bartlett.”

  Holmes softly closed the door behind us. I spoke to the page, then followed Holmes out into the bright daylight. I shook my head. “You were right after breakfast when you said I would hear things that might surprise me. My God, I would not have believed it! Cowen, of all people. He must be telling the truth.”

  The corners of Holmes’s mouth rose in a typically bittersweet sort of smile. “Do you think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Sometimes what people leave out is just as important as what they reveal.”

  “What is that supposed to mean!”

  “All in good time, Henry. And now we must be off to the chemist’s!”

  “The chemist’s? Why a chemist?”

  “Why else? I must have a special concoction prepared.”

  We took the cab to a chemist’s shop on Queen’s Gate not far from the Albert Hall and from the Bromleys’ home. The store was a well-known one, which took up the corner of the block, on either side in large letters over the windows was SAUNDERS PHARMACY. Inside the large plate-glass windows sat two tiers of long shelves. On top were the tall glass carboys filled with liquids of violet, green, pink and blue, symbols for the illiterate that the chemist resided within. On the lower shelf was a wide assortment of ointments, medicines, poultices, tinctures and the like, many in packages with abundant flowery script extolling the virtues of their contents.

  We went through the front door, which made a bell ring. A young man was helping an older woman, while an older man, very tall and emaciated, stood with his big bony hands resting on the countertop. His almost skeletal face contrasted with his abundant gray hair and the mustache which hid his upper lip and spilled well over the corners of his mouth. Behind him were shelves lined with stoppered bottles of all conceivable sizes and shapes, filled with liquids of every imaginable color and shade, a rainbow of pharmacopeia.

  Holmes went straight to the tall man. “Mr. Saunders, I believe.”

  Saunders nodded. The placid blue of his eyes somehow emphasized the fierce intensity of his gaze. “Yes, sir. How may I serve you?”

  “My name is Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

  Saunders spread his thin fingers apart upon the counter and stood taller. “I thought I recognized you, sir, but I could not be sure. I am well acquainted with your reputation, Mr. Holmes. It is an honor to have so distinguished a personage under my humble roof. Certainly, it is with far more than my usual enthusiasm that I once again ask, how may I serve you?”

  “I need to have a special draft prepared in your customary blue laudanum bottle. One of your clients has such a bottle near her bedside, and it must be identical to that one.”

  “One such as this?” Saunders reached under the counter and withdrew a small bottle with a tan label framed in red, with red print. In large capital letters at the top were LAUDANUM and POISON. Below in smaller print was written the dosage of laudanum for different ages, varying from two drops for a three-month old up to thirty drops for an adult. At the bottom was written SAUNDERS and the address of the store. If one could ignore its potential contents, the bottle itself was actually beautiful, made of pale-blue glass which went from the circular neck to the square sides in a graceful curve, the sides themselves gently rounded. The glass looked so thick that the bottle could probably be dropped without breaking, doubtlessly a safety precaution.

  “That is the exact one!” Holmes exclaimed. “Excellent.”

  Saunders gave him an inquisitive glance. “But you do not want my usual preparation of laudanum, that celebrated formula which is unique to Saunders?”

  “I do not, sir. I need a mixture of laudanum and chloral hydrate in a dosage which would render someone completely unconscious for several hours if one were to drink the entire contents of the bottle.”

  “The entire contents? Not merely a few drops?”

  Holmes gave a brusque nod. “Yes, the entire contents. And the challenge for you is to make the dose strong enough to completely knock someone out and yet not so much that it might kill them. This is, as you may well imagine, a matter of life and death. If you have any uncertainty about the dosage, you should err on the lower side.”

  “Sherlock?” I murmured. He glanced at me and placed his forefinger vertically over his lips.

  Saunders had been smiling, but his smile had gradually vanished. “This sounds grave indeed. I would be wary of such a request coming from anyone else but you, Mr. Holmes. I have my suspicions of why you might want such a preparation.”

  Holmes smiled faintly. “Do you now?”

  “I think so. You have come to the right person. There are those in London who are so incompetent that they would blunder and create a mixture that might kill rather than sedate. However, as you must know, I need more information to estimate the precise dosage.”

  “Of course you do!” Holmes exclaimed. “I already made some inquiries. You are well respected in your profession, but you have just helped reassure me of your knowledge. This would be for a woman weighing about one hundred and twenty pounds who has been taking a regular dosage of laudanum on the order of ten drops a night.”

  Saunders rubbed at his thin chin with his fingers. “All right, then. The balance should probably be of chloral hydrate, since it has the most immediate effect and causes a deep unconsciousness. The opium will retard breathing and help keep the person asleep even after the chlo
ral hydrate begins to wear off.”

  “Exactly my thinking,” Holmes said.

  Saunders shook his head. “You would have made quite a chemist yourself, Mr. Holmes.”

  Holmes smiled. “It is something of an avocation—more, however, in the sense of chemistry as science rather than chemistry as pharmacology. However, as you may well imagine, I know a great deal about poisons.”

  “I’ll wager you do!”

  Holmes raised his hand. “One other thing. The bottle itself should not be completely full. The liquid should only come up to the tops of the letters spelling out ‘laudanum’ on the label.”

  “Easily done, sir! We’ll just mix up the right amount, and then fill it to the desired height with the flavored solution of alcohol I use. It will not take long at all.”

  He turned away and began to hum softly to himself. All the many colored bottles on the shelves had labels with the contents written in precise block letters. He took down a huge rounded bottle filled with an amber liquid and pulled off the cork. Still humming, he seized a measuring beaker and carefully poured in some of the amber liquid.

  Unable to contain myself, I turned to Holmes and whispered fiercely. “For God’s sake, what is this all about?”

  Holmes’s gray eyes stared coolly at me. “Isn’t it obvious? Mr. Saunders understands.”

  I swallowed once. “You think… you think that Mrs.…” He shook his head fiercely, and I realized I must not say Alice’s name out loud. “You think she might try to drink down the whole bottle?”

  The corners of his mouth flickered briefly upward. “Accidents happen, Henry.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Have you completely forgotten our conversation this morning? I am beginning to think it was a mistake to bring you along. Mr. Saunders hardly knows me, and yet he is willing to trust my judgment.”

  I drew in my breath and eased it out slowly. “Forgive me. It is only… All this talk of life and death, all these vile potions…” I gestured at all the bottles “…make me uneasy.”