by David Marcum
Holmes pulled up his chair and leaned forward, so that he was looking his man squarely in the face. “Firstly; are you a member of any political society?”
Oblonsky looked somewhat taken aback by the question, and I confess that I shared his surprise. “I gave my word that I would tell you the truth,” he said, “and so I will. Yes, I am a member of a group for progress in the world.”
“The name of your group?”
“That I cannot tell you, because we have no name. It is safer thus, and more in keeping with our beliefs.”
“Well, would you say your group is nihilist? Anarchist?”
“No, not nihilist, no!” Oblonsky spoke with passion. “We abjure them, their despair, their violence, their bombs and killings. We are not nihilist. Anarchist?” He inclined his head one way, then the other. “Perhaps. We oppose ourselves to violence, whether done by the greatest nations or by the meanest person. We hope for a day when there will be no money, no property, no distinctions of rank, no need for prisons and armies. We meet to discuss how this may be achieved.”
“So you look forward to a day when there will be no man and no master?”
“We do, Mr. Holmes.”
“I take it that you kept your views on social matters from your master.”
“But no, I told Sir William my beliefs. One day he found some papers recording our discussions, and he asked me about them. He was insistent that I tell him. So I told him.”
“What was his response?”
“He laughed loudly and slapped me on the shoulder. ‘You’re a rum bird, Oblonsky,’ he said.”
Homes then turned his attention to the events of the fatal morning, beginning with the point-blank question, whether Oblonsky had introduced poison into the sandwiches. The valet repudiated the suggestion categorically, swearing that he had no idea how the poison had been put into the sandwiches, except that he had not done it himself.
“Well, somebody did it,” was Holmes’s blunt reply. “Now, what can you tell us about the diamond jewels that were found in your bag? Did you steal them?”
“I did not,” he assured us.
“Do you have any idea how they came to be there?”
“None.”
“Somebody put them there.” Holmes got to his feet and paced the little cell two or three times. He turned to the prisoner: “You understand, I’m sure, that these two questions are at the crux of this case. If we can answer them, you will be a free man. If not, your life will be forfeit. So let us do all we can to find the answers. I believe you and Sir William arrived at the castle three days ago, did you not? What rooms were you given?”
“We arrived on Thursday evening and were put in the East wing, Sir William on the second floor, and I on the third.”
“Who else was in the East wing?”
“General Lamb occupied the room next to Sir William.”
“I see. Was anybody else on the third floor with you?”
“Yes, General Lamb’s manservant Griggs. He was on the upper floor, as I was. Our rooms were opposite each other on either side of a narrow passage. His room looked out on to the parterre, mine on to the courtyard.
“At first, Griggs and I did not hit it off very well. He held himself deliberately aloof, not acknowledging my presence at all. It was uncomfortable. But soon he became more friendly towards me, helping me in my duties at times. We were on good terms in the end.”
“When did you first notice this change of attitude in Griggs towards you?” asked Holmes.
The prisoner glanced upwards as he tried to recall events to his mind. “It was the day before yesterday, in the evening, when he and I were both in our rooms, preparing for the following day. I was fetching Sir William’s hip-flask and luncheon case, which would be needed in the morning. Griggs was also busy preparing for the day ahead. He had left his door open, and as I left my room I glanced through the open door and caught his eye.”
“What was he doing?”
“Exactly what, I cannot tell you. There are a thousand little things that a manservant must attend to in good time if everything is to go smoothly. Just which of these so many tasks occupied Griggs at that moment, I do not know. Unpacking some piece of equipment or clothing, I should say, for when I saw him he was kneeling at a small open case. My sudden appearance at his doorway surprised him and he gave a start. I made a remark to the effect that we both alike had much to do in our line of work. He fully agreed, and for a few moments we shared our experiences. It was from that time that relations between Griggs and me became warm. The bond between men who work side by side is naturally strong. Many laugh at this truth, but I believe this bond has a place in every heart, and the warmth that briefly grew up between myself and Griggs is an example of it.”
“Cast your mind back to that moment when you caught sight of Griggs and spoke with him. Was there anything remarkable about it?” asked Holmes. “Please think carefully.”
The valet frowned, thinking over the question. “No, sir,” he finally answered. “Nothing at all unusual. I had gone into Sir William’s room first, and then into my own, to fetch what was needed for the next morning. I left my room hurriedly to return to Sir William’s room, and it was then, as I was hurrying to the stair, that I saw Griggs and spoke with him. When I was finished in Sir William’s room, I went down to the servants’ hall to complete my tasks.”
“And then?”
“And then I returned to the East wing. As I came up the stairs, Griggs, hearing me return, opened his door, and we had some talk before retiring. He had been giving my earlier words much thought, he said, and they had given him a new understanding. Nothing must stand between two comrades; not the power of law, nor of wealth, nor of social degree. However strongly these chains might bind a man, he should never betray his fellow.
“I was touched by his sincerity in these new-found beliefs, and we clasped hands and swore loyalty to each and all our fellow men. So we parted as brothers.”
“The next morning, I rose at half past six and made Sir William his coffee. I laid out his clothes and equipment for the shoot, and at about a quarter past eight went down to the kitchen. A table was set aside for the use of us visiting staff, where I was able to make a luncheon for Sir William and for myself.”
Holmes closed his eyes and frowned in concentration.
“I entered the kitchen,” continued Oblonsky, “and went to the cupboard and safe, whence I took what I needed for the luncheon sandwiches.”
“You did not bring your own supplies?”
“No, I took what I needed from the castle provisions. For instance, there is at all times a pat of butter in the dairy safe, from which I helped myself. I also cut the bread for the sandwiches from the loaf in use at the time; there is always a loaf available. And so with the ham, salt and pepper, and parsley. Only the mustard I prepared myself. Sir William liked a particular mixture.”
“I see,” said Holmes. “You say that you visiting servants had your own table, but shared the general supplies?”
“Exactly so, sir.”
“Were you alone in the kitchen?”
“Not at all. The kitchen was a busy place, with people passing to and fro, fetching and carrying constantly.”
“Let me see,” said Holmes, his eyes still closed as he painted in his mind’s eye a picture of the kitchen that morning. “You were sitting at the table, others bustling around you on various errands. Did you stay at your table all the time?”
“No, I had to leave the table several times. I had to fetch the bread, the butter, the ham, and the mustard ingredients.”
“Were you alone at the table?”
“No. Wilkins, General Oliphant’s man, was there too. He left before me, but I was soon joined at the table by Truman, Sir Lumsden’s man, and Griggs, my neighbour. We were quite a party!”
“While luncheon for many of the Guns was being prepared by the castle staff?”
“That is correct, and of course luncheon had to be prepared for those not at the shoot, for the family, and for the castle staff too. It was a very busy morning in the kitchen. We at our table had to speak up to be heard above the noise and chatter.”
“Some of that chatter coming from your table, I suppose. What did you talk about? The day’s duties?”
“No; our duties were all decided, and gave little opportunity for debate. Sporting matters, as I recall, were the topic of much of our talk - the prize-fighters of this country and America, and the St. Leger. Two at the table having recently been successful in their bets on the race. We talked about the Whitechapel killings, too, as do people up and down the country; although surely you, Mr. Holmes, know more than any about those ghastly murders?”
“And where else did your conversation lead you?”
“Our conversation turned from the murders to the perfect sandwich, and how it should be made. It is strange, is it not, how talk at a table flows, twisting this way and that?”
“What was your view on the sandwich question?”
“I favour ham sandwiches,” replied the valet. “There I am at one with my employer - or was at one with him, I should say.”
“Tell me about the sandwiches you made, that killed Sir William. Where did you put them?”
“I wrapped them and put them into Sir William’s small hamper.”
“Where did you put the hamper? Is there any way that the luncheon could have been interfered with?”
Oblonsky shook his head. “The hamper went into my satchel, which I carried at my side until I offered it to Sir William. I have been sitting here in this cell racking my brains, but for the life of me I cannot think of how anyone could have tampered with those sandwiches.
“What am I to do, Mr. Holmes? I swear to you that I did not kill Sir William, and yet I prepared the food that poisoned him. The police think me an anarchist, a man who would kill for his beliefs. How can I hope to escape the gallows? What will become of my sister?” Oblonsky’s head fell forward and he covered his face in his hands.
“The outlook is not so bleak as you fear,” my friend answered. “Do not despair; many men have been arrested only to be released later without facing a charge. Assure yourself that though you languish here, I shall be doing what I can to discover the truth behind Sir William’s death.” Holmes stood up and buttoned his coat. “Come, Watson. There is no time to waste. I must be back at Carre Castle before the last of the guests have gone.”
The mists we had seen earlier in the day drifting around Carre Castle had now quite vanished, and the enchanted England of King Arthur had vanished with them, leaving in its place the real England of today: gardeners working in the grounds, a pair of bays being harnessed, and, strolling between the hedges of the parterre, the figure of Lord Henry’s friend, Mr. Willoughby, smoking a cigar. Holmes did not wait to admire the view, however, but entered the castle immediately, and strode briskly down to the gun-room, where we found Inspector Shaw. “Ah, ‘tis Mr. Holmes!” said he. “How was your talk with the prisoner, sir? Did he confess?”
“He did not.”
“He’ll maintain his innocence to the end, I dare say.”
“I dare say he will.”
The inspector glanced shrewdly into Holmes’s face. “You still believe that man to be innocent, do you not? I should like to know how you propose to clear his name. I must warn you, Mr. Holmes, that once we have our man, we’re not quick to let him go. We may not be flashy, but we are dogged.”
“An admirable virtue, inspector.”
“We like to think so. May I ask you, Mr. Holmes, as you don’t think Oblonsky was responsible for Sir William’s death, who the devil was?”
“I prefer not to air my suspicions until they are confirmed.”
“That’s all very fine, but when might that be? You know, don’t you, that half or more of the guests have left already, and the ones still here will be leaving this afternoon? No good having your suspicions confirmed after the bird has flown, I’d have thought.”
“There I agree with you, inspector, and I assure you that the question will be decided, one way or the other, this afternoon.”
“And how do you propose to arrange that?”
“Before I answer your very pertinent question, let me first put a question to you: what is the most damning evidence against Oblonsky?”
“There’s a deal of evidence against him; but the diamonds found in his bag seal it for me. Circumstantial, you may say, but I’d call that a powerful circumstance.”
“You agree, then, that the thief of Sir William’s diamonds is in all probability the murderer?”
“Certainly I do. Why do you think we have Oblonsky in custody?”
“Well, then,” said Holmes, “you will surely agree that we would do well to find the missing jewels, for when we know who has the diamonds, we will know who is behind Sir William’s death.”
A smirk of complacency appeared on the policeman’s face. “I’m afraid you’ve not quite grasped the facts, Mr. Holmes. The missing diamonds, as you call them, are no longer missing. They were found in the effects of the man Oblonsky and are now in police custody in Carre station.”
“Some of them were found, as you say, but others are still missing.”
“The fact remains that diamonds belonging to Voigt were found in Oblonsky’s bag. That’s the fact, whatever your theories say. Oblonsky says he doesn’t know how they came there. Well, I do.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Inspector. Still, I shall carry out my simple plan: I shall make a search of the luggage before it leaves the castle today. I don’t want to miss the opportunity while I have it.”
“I wish you good fortune hunting for those other jewels, Mr. Holmes,” said the policeman. “You’ll need it.”
“Thank you, Inspector. Come, Watson, let us take a turn outside. The cold air may sharpen my wits.”
So we left the inspector muttering about needles in haystacks. For a few minutes we walked in silence, the gravel crunching under our boots and our breath hanging like smoke in the cold air. I was the first to speak: “Are you still in the dark, then?”
Lost in thought, he walked on for a good many paces before answering with the distracted air of a man suddenly woken from sleep. “What? No, there’s little mystery about how and why the Diamond King met his death. My problem now is to prove the matter to the satisfaction of the police, so the real murderer can be taken and Oblonsky released. As the inspector kindly reminded us, time is not on our side.”
“How did you find out what took place yesterday?” I asked him. “Was there some clue I missed? I can’t fathom this business myself, I freely admit.”
“My dear fellow, I found out by asking Oblonsky, who obliged by telling me. Though the importance of what he said was not apparent to the man himself - nor to you, I gather,” Holmes added, with a sly sidelong glance at me.
“I’m sorry to say it was not. Tell me, what-”
Holmes stopped and put his hand on my arm. “Hush! Do you hear that?”
It was a faint rasping sound, repeated regularly every second or so.
“I think the help I’m looking for may be close at hand,” said Holmes, and sped off at such a brisk pace that I could scarcely keep up. We were hurrying alongside a bank of tall hedges that hid the castle from view. Rounding it, we found ourselves in a large yard, on three sides of which the stables were ranged. In a corner, smoke was rising from a pile of damp leaves, and beyond it I spied the source of the noise we had heard: a man in the doorway of one of the stables, sawing wood to repair the shaft of a cart that stood by.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Holmes. “There’s the fellow I need. Now, Watson, it is of vital importan
ce that the servants of the remaining guests attend me in the gun-room in twenty minutes from now. Will you ensure that? Thank you. Do not fail me. I shall meet you there in twenty minutes.”
I carried out Holmes’s instructions, and at the appointed time the following people were assembled in the gun-room, besides myself: Inspector Shaw and his constable, Griggs, valet to General Lamb, and Truman, Sir Lumsden’s man. We were an awkward, silent group, not knowing what to say to each other, and the few minutes we were together there passed painfully slowly. It came as something of a relief when the door was flung open and Holmes strode into the room. Throwing down his coat and hat, he perched on the edge of a bench and began to question the servants about their movements and those of their masters. The answers he received were not very enlightening, serving merely to confirm what we had already heard, and offering, so far as I could tell, no new information to throw light on the mystery. After a few minutes, Holmes turned to Shaw.
“Do you have any questions for the men, Inspector?”
Shaw shrugged and shook his head.
“Nor I. Bye the bye, Inspector,” he added, as we left the room, “I’ll be carrying out that search of the rooms in a quarter of an hour or so. Just the servants’, I think, don’t you?”
Shaw darted an angry glance at Holmes, and moved his hand side to side in a furious gesture of negation, demanding immediate silence. I could well understand the inspector’s anger, for it was most likely that the servants, only a few yards behind, had heard his words, and a search would be rendered quite pointless were they alerted to it. But my friend failed to notice the inspector’s warning, and indeed made matters worse by continuing, “Watson, you’ll help me, won’t you? I’ll start with Truman’s room, and then we can go on to Griggs’.”
I, too, tried to signal to Holmes to remain silent, although by then any harm was already done. Once we turned the corner in the corridor, however, Holmes changed utterly. The absented-minded Holmes who had strolled down the passage with us suddenly tautened in every sinew. Throwing at us a glance of the fiercest concentration, he put his finger to his lips, and, whispering in a hiss, “Follow me!” sped down the corridor. He turned, raced through a dining-hall, and then into another corridor. I realised, as I struggled to match his pace, that we were now in the East wing, at the foot of the stairs. Up he galloped, we following him as close as we could, when we met the carpenter with his tool-bag coming down, the same man whom I had seen half-an-hour ago in the stable yard. “Is it done?” asked Holmes.
