by Ashton, Hugh
“A piece of thread which once held a button to a garment which has been torn off.”
Holmes was once again employing his lens, and he shook his head. “No, that is not the case,” he said. “If it had been employed in the manner you suggest, we would see some signs of folding, and wear on the outer surface of the thread. As it is, it is perfectly obvious that this has never been used in that fashion. Observe the small fibres protruding at right angles to the direction of the thread. They would not be present were the thread have been used in a garment. But why, Watson, why?”
He cast around the room, and suddenly turned to me. “Were you sitting in that chair there while you were reading?”
“Why, yes.”
“And you moved the chair, I see?”
“I may have turned it slightly to catch the light, yes.”
“But it was not here?” Holmes gestured to a spot near to where the glowing speck of phosphorus had lain.
“Not at all,” I answered. “What makes you assume that it should ever have been there?”
“The indentations on the carpet clearly indicate that the chair has been positioned here in the recent past. Maybe the carpet is not ideal as regards showing the footprints of those who have walked upon it, but for a heavy item of furniture, such as that armchair, it retains the impressions admirably. See, are these not obvious to you?” He pointed at a small square depression, almost invisible, in the carpet, which was echoed by three others, the four forming a square corresponding to the legs of the armchair in which I had been sitting.
“Now that you point them out, I can see them, but without your aid, I freely admit that I would never have seen them.”
“How many times must I impress the point upon you, Watson, that you see but you do not observe? But no matter.” He stood with his hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets, gazing at the floor, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly his head jerked upwards, and he remained motionless, staring at the ceiling, again rapt in some inner deliberations. After a full minute, he abruptly appeared to pull himself together, and addressed himself to me.
“I think I have seen all that is required here at present,” he said to me. “Come, show me the cabinet from which the jewels and this Mace have been abstracted.”
-oOo-
I led the way downstairs to the library, and as we were about to enter it, Holmes stopped me. “Do you know which room Lord Darlington is using as his bed-room?” he asked.
“That one there,” I replied, pointing to the oaken door next to the one we were about to enter. Holmes merely nodded, and we entered the library.
Holmes appeared to notice the portrait that had caught my attention the previous evening when I had entered the room in company with Lord Darlington, but he proceeded immediately with moving it to one side, before beginning an examination of the cabinet, initially concentrating on the lock.
“Yes, as we were told,” he remarked. “A Bramah lock. I think we can rule out any possibility of its being picked. As you are aware, such a lock can be picked only with extreme difficulty, and then only by an expert in these matters. Even for me, the opening of such a lock can take as long as fifteen minutes.” He then moved to an examination of the cabinet itself. “The hinges would appear to be somewhat frail, relative to the cabinet itself. Let us see.” His overcoat pockets proved to contain a small tool-kit, stored in a canvas roll. Taking out a metal spike and a hammer, he gently tapped out the hinge-pins of the cabinet.
“I had believed,” he said to me, “that it would be possible to remove the door easily once the pins of the hinges had been removed in this way, but it appears there is some sort of internal lip or flange preventing this.” He replaced the pins. “Did Lord Darlington inform you of the method by which this is secured to the wall?”
“I saw for myself when it was opened that the bars of the frame are let into the masonry of the walls.”
Holmes tugged at the cabinet, but failed to move it. “We must therefore assume that it was opened with a key,” he said. “We have been informed of the existence of one key only, on the Earl’s watch-chain. Therefore—” He broke off his discourse, and pointed at the wooden panelling that covered the walls. “Watson, do you see?” His voice was hoarse with excitement.
“I think I do,” I replied. “There is now a slight gap in the panelling. Your assault on the cabinet appears to have loosened one of the wooden panels.”
“I wonder…?” he remarked, half to himself. His ever-ready pocket knife came into play once more, this time inserted between the wooden panels, and he used it gently as a lever. Without warning, the panel next to the cabinet came away, revealing a cavity, into which Holmes plunged his hand. “I can feel the side of the cabinet,” he reported. “And there appears to be some sort of grip or handle here. Ah.” He made some sort of effort, and withdrew his hand from the cavity in the wall, a metal sheet in his grasp. “This, Watson, is the side of the cabinet. I can now,” placing his hand once more into the cavity, “extract from or place into the cabinet whatever I please.”
“Wonderful!” I exclaimed. “You have solved the mystery of how the jewels and the Mace were removed.”
“Other than the fact that Lord Darlington informed us that he heard the sound of the door closing,” he reminded me.
“I had forgotten that.”
“Can you remember the sound you heard last night when the cabinet door was closed?”
“I believe I can do that.”
“Was it similar to this sound?” he asked, replacing the metal sheet, with some obvious effort, as a metallic clang filled the room.
“Not unlike, certainly.”
“And let us remember that there are two thick oak doors between here and Lord Darlington’s bed, and also that Lord Darlington, by his own admission, is somewhat hard of hearing. A man wakened from sleep is unlikely to have a clear recollection of the sound that woke him. I think, Watson, we have now solved the mystery of how the jewels were taken. We still do not know why they were abstracted, or by whom. Truly a house of mysteries, eh?” He replaced the wooden panel, covering the cavity in the wall, and stepped back. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” he said, referring to the portrait of Earl Edward now hanging once more above the cabinet. “There is something to be said for those old days, do you not think?”
“Certainly not,” I replied, indignantly. “How can you say such a thing? The blessings of modern civilisation make for a much more peaceful and harmonious life.”
“I must confess I was not altogether serious in making that judgement,” he replied. “Still, there is something to be said for the simplicity of the past ages. Come, though, I hear voices outside, at least one of which I take to be that of our host.”
We left the library, and as Holmes had surmised, the Earl was standing in the entrance hall, talking to Bouverie, and presumably giving him orders. He broke off as we approached.
“Ah, Mr. Holmes,” he exclaimed. “I am delighted to see you, even though the occasion is a sad one.”
“So Dr. Watson has been informing me,” replied my friend.
“And I see that he has been showing you the library?”
“Indeed he has.”
“Do you have any idea as to who might have abstracted the contents of the cabinet?”
“It is impossible for me to say at present,” replied Holmes.
“I understand. You have only just arrived here, naturally. Bouverie has shown you to your room?”
“He has indeed, thank you.”
“Will you take tea now?” Holmes accepted the invitation with alacrity.
“Good, good,” replied the Earl. “This way, Mr. Holmes, please,” as he led the way to the drawing-room, where Lady Hareby awaited us, seated behind a table on which stood a steaming teapot and plates of assorted dainties.
Holmes bowed slightly to her as he took her hand and introduced himself.
“Ah, the celebrated Sherlock Holmes,” she murmured. “I do hope that you will entertai
n us with stories of your exploits while you are here.”
“I am afraid that my talents do not extend in that direction,” replied Holmes. “Should you require entertainment, you must look to my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson here.”
“Ah, I fear that Dr. Watson provides poor entertainment,” she replied, with a half-smile in my direction, which did not escape Holmes’ keen eye.
“Is that so?” he answered, releasing her hand, which he had retained in his own grasp throughout this exchange, for a somewhat longer time than etiquette would seem to permit. “Then you must work harder to persuade him.”
There was an undercurrent to this conversation that, as you may well imagine, was disturbing to me, and I rapidly attempted to divert the flow by requesting a cup of tea from our hostess. This tactic appeared to have had the desired effect, as the topic now turned to the everyday business of tea and refreshments.
At one point the conversation turned to pet cats, and Holmes enquired of Lady Hareby if any of these animals were kept as pets at the Hall.
“No,” she replied. “We used to have some at the stables, but I never went near them. I find them to be dirty and flea-ridden.” She shuddered delicately. “And we do not keep any in the Hall. My father-in-law’s retrievers would feel jealous, I fear.”
While we were partaking of the tea and cakes, I noticed that Holmes appeared to be in a state of suppressed excitement, perhaps discernible only to myself as a result of my association with him. When we had finished the repast, Holmes stretched himself and yawned, apologising as he did so.
“I am sorry,” he said to the company at large. “I slept very badly last night, and the journey up here was a little fatiguing. If I may, I would like to go upstairs and rest a little?”
“By all means, my dear fellow,” replied Lord Darlington. “Do you have everything you need in your room?”
“I am certain that I have everything I require, other than a book Watson has in his room that I lent to him before he came here from London, and to which I would now like to refer. Watson, would you please come upstairs with me and let me have that volume?” This last was delivered looking at me, and accompanied by a surreptitious wink that reassured me that Holmes was, for purposes as yet unknown to me, being less than open about matters.
-oOo-
AS soon as was polite, Holmes and I thanked our hostess, and made our way upstairs.
“Let us talk in your room,” said Holmes. His eyes fairly burned with excitement. Once inside my room, he turned to me. “I have found the Mace!” he exclaimed.
“Where is it?”
“It may be a good idea to leave it where it is for now,” he replied, somewhat vaguely. “That depends partly on the answers to the questions I am about to put to you. Firstly, did it rain last night? I assume it did, given the state of the fields on the way from the station, but I wish to be certain, and would also like to know what time the rain fell.”
“It did indeed rain last night. I am unsure as to what time it stopped, but it started at about one or two o’clock, I would say.” I had a recollection, though I had not actually remarked the hour myself, of Lady Hareby mentioning the time of night at some point in our nocturnal conversation.
“Did the noise disturb you?”
“I believe it woke me, yes. The lead roof of this building certainly resonates when water falls on it and the noise of the water dripping on the leaves of the creeper covering the walls is disturbing.”
“Hmm...” Holmes sauntered over to my bed. “Watson?” His tone was sharp. “I fear you are withholding something from me. How can you expect me to take on a case of this type if I am provided with only part of the information I need?”
“What are you talking about?” I was aware that my voice probably betrayed my anxiety, but I had no wish to confess the events of the past day and night to Holmes.
He shook his head. “I see a curled blonde hair on the pillow here, Watson. The only person I have observed here with such hair is Lady Hareby.” He paused, and regarded me with a look that was more questioning than censorious.
I sighed. “As always, Holmes, you are correct in your deductions. However, though you are correct in inferring that Lady Hareby occupied this bed for part of last night, any other inferences you may have drawn are almost certainly mistaken.” Despite myself, my voice had grown louder, and even to my ears sounded a little shrill.
A look of concern came over Holmes’ face. “My dear fellow,” he exclaimed. “Though I may sometimes chaff you a little over your partiality with regard to the fair sex, I trust that I know you well enough not to accuse you of immorality.”
“Thank you,” I replied, a little mollified by his words. I proceeded to give him an account of my dealings with Lady Hareby, during which he said little. At the end, he stood a while in silence, thinking.
“I really do not see that you have any reason to reproach yourself,” he said to me. “It is hard to know how you could have done any other than what you did under the circumstances. And what you have told me also gives me pause for thought. It was raining, you say, when you became aware that she had entered the room?”
“That is so.”
“And was it the noise of her entry that woke you, do you think?”
“Upon reflection, it may well have been, though I had ascribed my waking to the noise of the rain on the roof, I suppose that the noise of her opening the door could have been the cause.”
“And she was in possession of a key to your room?”
“On both occasions, yes.”
“Which presumably means that she has keys to every room in the house, would you not say?”
“I would assume so.”
“In any case, it would seem advisable to wedge a chair under your door-handle tonight to prevent any more unwanted nocturnal invasion. It seemed to me on my observing her just now that she has, shall we say, set her cap at you, for whatever reason, and quite apart from any feelings of morality you may entertain on the subject, I feel it would be extremely inadvisable to accede to any wishes she may have in this matter.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Cheer up, man. You have nothing for which you need blame yourself in any way, embarrassing as the situation has been for you so far, and indeed, will continue to be so. I happen to know that you are not the first man to have been placed in such a position, even with Lady Hareby. ”
“Indeed? Lord Darlington intimated as much yesterday while we were fishing.”
“Yes, my researches in London yesterday were most illuminating. I discovered that Lady Hareby has acquired a somewhat unenviable reputation, especially since her husband’s accident. At least one other member of the nobility, two Members of the House of Commons, and a Queen’s Counsel were mentioned to me in connection with her name, as well as a prominent Harley-street specialist. I do not consider that any kind of liaison with this woman would be to the advantage of any reputation other than her own. She does, indeed, appear to have acquired a kind of dark glamour surrounding her name.”
I confess that in many ways I felt relieved. It appeared that I could perhaps regard myself as being, in one particular regard at least, as being the superior of those whom Holmes had just listed.
“Thank you for those words,” I told him. “They have put my mind a little at ease.”
“And now,” replied Holmes, “for the Mace.”
“You know where it is?”
He nodded. “Follow me,” he said, leading the way out of my room to that formerly occupied by Lord Hareby.
“I looked carefully around that room. I saw nothing,” I objected.
“You observed nothing,” Holmes reminded me again. “You saw everything, I am sure, but you failed to make the necessary connections.”
“Those being?” It was actually a relief for me to be engaging with Holmes in this kind of sparring, as opposed to his questioning me about personal matters.
“Remember, Watson. How were the curtains when you entered the room? Like this?” adj
usting them as he spoke.
“Yes, indeed.”
“And we agreed, did we not, that no-one could have entered through the window?”
“We did.”
“What, however, if the purpose of opening the curtains was the opposite of entry?”
“You deduced, though, did you not, that no-one had used the creeper to assist with climbing up the wall? Would you not say that the same is true of an attempt to climb down the creeper?”
“I never claimed that a person had climbed down,” he replied. “Simply that it was a method of exit.”
“If not the exit of a person, then of what?” I asked, incredulously.
For answer, he forced open the window, and thrust one arm through the opening, a look of concentration on his face. “Aha! We have it!” he fairly shouted in triumph, bringing his arm inside once more. In his hand, delicately gripped at one end between his forefinger and thumb, was a twisted stick-like object, about two feet long. At the other end to that which Holmes was holding, a blackened disk seemed to be affixed, or rather, had been driven in.
“The Mace!” I exclaimed.
“I believe so,” he replied. “See here,” pointing to the end in which the disk resided. “Here are the slits in which the previous coins have resided.”
“So I see,” I remarked. “It appears to be coated with some kind of substance. From the creeper covering the wall, do you think?”
Holmes shook his head and smiled. “No, Watson. Let us conduct a little experiment. Let me stand here, and you close the curtains to shut out the light. I did so, and could not restrain my cry of astonishment.
“It shines in the dark, Holmes!” Sure enough, the Mace, held in Holmes’ hands, appeared to float in mid-air glowing with a faint green light, which faintly illuminated his face.
“As I suspected,” he replied. “Open the curtains.” I did so, and the glow faded from the Mace. “Now,” continued Holmes. “You met and conversed with Lord Hareby, did you not? In your opinion, if he were to be awoken in the dead of night, and were to see this in mid-air at the end of his bed, what would be the result?”
