The Secret Documents of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  IV

  For most of the journey, Holmes kept me entertained with one of his brilliant discourses on a variety of subjects ranging from the migration of birds to the operas of Herr Wagner, his purpose being, I supposed, to take my mind off the events to come. It was only when the cab was toiling up the hill towards Hampstead that he referred again to his plan, reminding me to keep Gimble and Hobson occupied for as long as possible and to play the part of Sir William, a man desperate for money, to the best of my ability. Soon afterwards, when we were a little short of the gates of Beaumont Grange, he shook me by the hand and wished me luck before, having ordered the driver to stop, he alighted, leaving the cab to go on without him. The last glimpse I had of my old friend was of him vaulting over a fence and disappearing into the shrubbery of the front garden. The next moment, the hansom had turned in through the gates and I saw Beaumont Grange for the first time.

  It was a large, ugly house built of dark red brick, with a low roof of grey slates which, despite the sunshine of that June evening, gave it a malign air as if it were crouching there, ready to spring on anyone rash enough to approach too close. The weed-grown drive and the neglected garden, composed entirely of dark-leaved laurel and holly bushes, heightened this impression of glowering suspicion.

  As Holmes had instructed, I paid off the cabby and, with a feeling of trepidation mingled with excited anticipation, I mounted the steps to the front door where I rang the bell. Almost at once, I heard the sound of keys being turned and bolts being drawn and the door opened to reveal a huge man with the coarse, battered features of a prizefighter: Billy Hobson, I assumed. He was incongruously dressed in a butler’s sober attire which ill suited his broad chest and massive shoulders. A bulge in his right-hand pocket indicated where he was carrying his gun.

  ‘I am Sir William Fox Hardy and I have an appointment with Mr Gimble,’ I said, trying to speak normally, although I was much alarmed, for Holmes’ sake as well as my own, by his vast bulk. ‘Here is my card.’

  He made no reply as he took it, merely indicating with a jerk of his head that I was to enter. No sooner had I crossed the threshold and the door had closed behind me, than he ran his hands expertly over my torso, removing the jeweller’s box which held the brooch and which he examined before returning it to me. Then with another gesture, of his thumb this time, he invited me to follow him across the hall to a door on which he knocked. A faint, hoarse voice having called out ‘Enter!,’ he flung open the door and ushered me inside and then departed.

  For the first few seconds, I stood there motionless, trying to compose myself after my alarming encounter with Hobson and straining my ears to catch the slightest sound coming from the hall of bolts being closed. At the same time, I looked about me to familiarise myself with both the room and its occupant.

  Knowing Gimble’s interest in jewellery and antiques, I was surprised to see that the room, though large, was sparsely furnished with a few shabby chairs and a sofa covered in worn brown leather. A wooden bedstead, on which were heaped some rough blankets, was pushed against the far wall. Nearby stood two other items which seemed out of place even in this mean setting. One was a large iron safe, painted green, the other a work bench littered with tools and equipment which I took to be the implements of Gimble’s trade as a jeweller.

  At first glance, Gimble himself was also a disappointment. He was an elderly, white-haired little man, very hunched about the shoulders from the years he had spent stooped over as he cut or examined precious gems at close quarters. There was a myopic look about his eyes as well which also suggested such skilled and delicate work. Indeed, at first sight, the general impression was of a mild, inoffensive benevolence.

  However, as I crossed the room towards the desk where he was sitting, I was aware that behind this benign façade lurked a much more malevolent nature. The pupils of his eyes were as sharp and as hard as needles, putting me in mind of a snake’s cold, fixed stare.

  ‘Sir William Fox Hardy?’ said he in a low, harsh tone. ‘Pray be seated.’

  As I took the upright chair facing him, he held out a skinny hand, not to shake mine as I had first supposed, but to take the jeweller’s box which I was still clutching. It was quite clear from his abrupt manner that any transaction between us was to be conducted as speedily as possible and I wondered with some alarm how I was to extend these preliminaries in order to give Holmes time to reach the house and inspect the lock on the front door.

  Opening the box, Gimble took out the brooch and held it up to catch the light from the window; for a few seconds, his demeanour changed, his features softening and his eyes taking on an unwonted tenderness. But the look vanished as quickly as it had come, the pupils growing small and hard again, his lips clamping shut into a thin line. Picking up a jeweller’s eyeglass, he began to examine the brooch minutely stone by stone.

  A little unnerved by his silence, I ventured to remark, ‘It is very fine, is it not? How much will you offer me on its security?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds,’ he said abruptly.

  Remembering Holmes’ advice that I was to act in character, I decided it would be opportune to protest.

  ‘Is that all? It is surely worth more than that?’

  ‘Then take it elsewhere,’ he rasped, thrusting the brooch towards me across the desk.

  ‘Could you not raise it to two hundred and fifty? It belonged to my late wife.’

  ‘I am not in the business of buying sentiment, Sir William,’ said he. ‘It is a commodity which has no value on any market.’

  He had begun to push back his chair as if to indicate the interview was over. I, too, half rose to my feet, my throat dry with apprehension for the moment had come when I had to simulate a coronary seizure. Feeling my heart begin to pound at this prospect, sending the blood racing through my veins, I deliberately succumbed to these giddy sensations and, giving a loud cry, I clutched at my throat and toppled sideways on to the floor.

  Lying there on the shabby carpet which smelt unpleasantly of old dust, I kept my eyes closed as part of the deception. I therefore had to rely on my ears alone in order to follow the subsequent events. I heard Gimble give an exclamation of alarm and then the sound of his feet hurrying past my head as he scuttled across the room. Seconds later, the door was opened and Gimble’s hoarse voice called out, ‘Hobson, come here at once! Sir William is taken ill!’

  The footsteps returned towards the desk, a double set this time, Gimble’s lighter and less certain tread accompanied by Hobson’s heavier gait. Although I still kept my eyes closed, I was aware of the latter’s huge frame bent over me and felt his hand fumble clumsily at my neck as he loosened my collar. A little further off, I could hear Gimble’s voice, shrill with anxiety, crying out, ‘You must fetch a doctor at once!’

  As it was imperative that Hobson should not leave the room while Holmes was attempting to pick the lock on the front door, I thought it prudent to feign a partial recovery.

  Groaning a little, I opened my eyes and attempted to sit up.

  ‘No, no!’ I gasped. ‘There is no need for a doctor. It is only a mild attack, such as I have suffered before. Give me a little time to recover and I shall soon be well again.’

  With Hobson’s assistance, I staggered shakily to my feet and felt about for somewhere to sit down, putting all my weight on Hobson’s arm so that he was obliged to support me.

  It was while he was bending down to lower me into a chair that the blow was struck although, at the time, it happened so quickly that I was conscious only of a rush of footsteps behind me followed by Hobson’s bellow of surprised outrage as he was whirled about to confront Holmes. The next second, Holmes’ left fist came flashing upwards to strike Hobson’s chin with a dull, sickening thud.* He went down like a felled ox, first to his knees before he slumped slowly forwards to lie face down upon the floor.

  ‘Take his gun, Watson!’ Holmes cried and, as I hastened to retrieve it from Hobson’s pocket, he added, ‘Keep Hobson covered, my dear fellow, w
hile Mr Gimble and I exchange a few pleasantries.’

  Grey with terror, Gimble sank down on his seat behind the desk, while Holmes, in a leisurely manner, drew up a chair and sat down facing him.

  ‘Now, Mr Gimble,’ he began in a pleasant, easy tone, ‘you will oblige me by handing over the key to your safe where I believe the Vatican cameos are kept.’

  ‘I know nothing about any cameos,’ Gimble protested. ‘All I have in there is a few pieces of jewellery which I am holding for clients of mine.’

  ‘Then you will have no objection if I inspect them,’ Holmes replied.

  ‘I have every objection!’ Gimble, who had recovered a little from the initial shock, retorted. ‘Who are you, sir?’

  ‘My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am here on the express invitation of His Holiness the Pope.’

  It was evident that Gimble was familiar with Holmes’ name for I saw his top lip draw upwards in a snarl like a cur brought to bay. But he was too old a dog to offer any resistance. Taking a key from his pocket, he handed it to Holmes who, crossing the room, unlocked the door of the iron safe. A few seconds later, he returned, carrying a shallow box covered in worn red leather with a coat of arms stamped in gilt on its lid. Setting it down on the desk, he opened it to reveal its white silk interior in which were lying the Vatican cameos, depicting three men in profile, each one cut with superb delicacy from some translucent semiprecious stone. Two of them were framed in a narrow band of gold. But the central cameo, which was larger than the others, was obviously the most valuable for its setting was more ornate, the upper portion of the frame widening out to form an arabesque of fretted gold, ornamented with seed pearls and a single red stone which glittered in the light like a fiery Cyclopean eye.

  ‘Signor Graziani was right,’ Holmes murmured. ‘They are indeed exquisite.’

  He was about to add some other comment when he was interrupted by the sound of wheels drawing to a halt outside the house, followed shortly afterwards by a loud knocking on the front door.

  ‘I believe my visitors have arrived,’ Holmes remarked and strolled out into the hall, leaving me to guard Gimble and the comatose figure of Billy Hobson and to wonder who these visitors could be.

  The mystery was soon solved when Holmes re-entered the room, accompanied by Inspector Lestrade and three uniformed officers.

  ‘I trust this evidence you spoke about this morning is enough to …’ Lestrade was in the middle of saying, when he came to a sudden halt and stared about him, his sharp, ferrety features expressing utter astonishment at the scene which confronted him and which to him must have seemed quite bizarre. I saw his eyes dart swiftly from the open safe to the desk on which were lying the diamond brooch and the leather-covered box containing the cameos. From these, his gaze passed to Gimble, cowering in his chair, and then to the prostrate form of Billy Hobson. Finally, it came to rest upon myself, still standing there with Hobson’s revolver in my hand. Made suddenly aware of the ridiculous figure I must be cutting, I sheepishly lowered the gun and placed it on the desk.

  ‘Evidence, Inspector?’ Holmes was saying, striding forward. ‘Here are the cameos which I have no doubt Signor Graziani will identify as those which were stolen from him outside the British Museum, and which both Dr Watson and I can testify were found in Gimble’s possession. If you need further evidence, I suggest you examine the rest of the jewellery in the safe. Most of it was no doubt legally acquired but I am convinced that among it you will also find stolen jewellery which Gimble was proposing either to break up and sell as separate stones or to return to the rightful owners on payment of a considerable fee, as I believe he intended doing with the cameos. They are a priceless part of the Vatican collection, for the safe return of which the papal authorities would have been prepared to pay handsomely. Am I not correct, sir?’ Holmes demanded, turning to Gimble.

  ‘I have nothing to say,’ he retorted in his rasping voice.

  ‘We will see about that when we get you to Scotland Yard,’ Lestrade told him grimly. ‘I am arresting you now on the charge of receiving property knowing it was stolen. Reynolds, take him outside,’ he ordered, addressing one of the uniformed constables. ‘The rest of you deal with the other man.’

  As his subordinates hastened to carry out his orders, one seizing Gimble by the arm and escorting him out of the room, the other two struggling to lift Hobson’s huge, recumbent frame and drag it into the hall, Lestrade turned to my old friend.

  ‘Well, Mr Holmes, I think I owe you an apology. When you called at the Yard this morning, I confess I was a little sceptical of your story. Me and my colleagues have been trying for years to find the evidence to put Gimble behind bars but he’s always proved too fly for us. As for the Armstrongs …’

  ‘You have arrested them?’ Holmes interrupted eagerly.

  ‘They have been taken in for questioning. I followed your advice and had my men look for them in the places you suggested. They were picked up this afternoon at two thirty in Victoria station. You may speak to them when you call at the Yard a little later, as we have arranged. And now, before I go, I had better make sure this safe is locked. I intend returning later to collect up its contents and go through Gimble’s papers. In the meantime, I shall leave Reynolds on duty here.’

  Shutting and locking the safe, he pocketed the key before adding with an unexpected twinkle in his eyes, ‘I shall leave the task of taking charge of the cameos to you, sir, seeing as how it was your expertise which recovered them.’

  ‘That was magnanimous of him, was it not, Holmes?’ I asked as the door closed behind him.

  Holmes gave an amused chuckle.

  ‘Oh, Lestrade has his good points,’ he conceded. ‘As I have remarked before, he is the best of a bad lot,* although when I saw him earlier today, it took a great deal of persuasion before he finally agreed to come here at the time I suggested. It was only when I promised him he would receive all the credit for the case that he consented. He is certainly in need of it after his bungling of the Merrivale affair. As I told him at the time, it was quite obvious the hall porter was the culprit. Come, Watson. It is time we also left. Before we arrive at Scotland Yard, we must first collect Signor Graziani from Claridge’s. His evidence will be vital in identifying the cameos.’

  ‘Signor Graziani will be delighted when he hears the cameos have been found,’ I remarked.

  ‘No doubt. But I shall keep that particular piece of information to myself until we are at Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Why, Holmes?’ I asked, a little surprised at this decision.

  ‘Because I can never resist a touch of the theatricals,’* he replied lightly, as he picked up the two boxes containing the cameos and the diamond brooch and slipped them into his pocket. ‘I shall merely tell him that the police need a few more facts from him.’ Knowing my old friend’s love of the dramatic, I assumed he would produce the cameos as a final flourish so that all of us, including Lestrade, could witness Signor Graziani’s astonishment and joy when the cameos were returned to him.

  We left shortly afterwards, walking the short distance to Heath Street where we took a four-wheeler to Claridge’s hotel. Here Holmes called briefly to collect Signor Graziani who, as he joined us in the cab, expressed his disappointment that the cameos had not yet been recovered. Although I offered my condolences, I smiled inwardly at the thought of the unexpected surprise which lay in store for him.

  V

  On our arrival at Scotland Yard, it was evident that, when Holmes had consulted Lestrade that morning, he had also arranged with him in what order the subsequent events were to take place for, when we were shown into Lestrade’s office, it was empty apart from the Inspector himself.

  After he had invited us to sit down, Signor Graziani remarked, ‘I believe you wish me to add to my statement, Inspector. As I have already told you all I know about the theft, I cannot see …’

  He broke off as there came a knock upon the door and a constable ushered in a man and a woman – the Armstrongs, I ass
umed. The woman was indeed beautiful, with a delicate cast of features which would persuade most men of her innocuousness. Her companion was more insignificant, his nondescript appearance making it easy for him to slip away unnoticed into a crowd with the victim’s luggage.

  As they entered, Signor Graziani turned to look at them but I could see no sign of recognition either on their part or on his. My supposition was proved correct when Lestrade, having questioned them on this very point, received positive denials from all three of them. The Armstrongs were then taken away and Gimble was brought into the room in their place. Once again Lestrade asked both Gimble and Signor Graziani if they had ever seen each other before and, once again, each denied it, our client with a shrug of his shoulders which expressed a growing impatience at this apparently useless parade of suspects.

  ‘I really must protest, Inspector …’ he began as Gimble and his attendant constable turned towards the door.

  It was at this point that Holmes interrupted the proceedings to everyone’s astonishment, including Lestrade’s.

  Pulling forward a chair, he addressed Gimble.

  ‘Sit down,’ he ordered in a masterful manner which brooked no refusal. As the man obeyed, Holmes drew two objects from his pocket and laid them down on the desk. One was a jeweller’s eyeglass, the same one, I assumed, that Gimble had used when he had inspected the diamond brooch and which Holmes must have taken from the man’s room. The other was a tiny packet of tissue paper which, when unwrapped, revealed a square-cut red stone, so similar in size and colour to the garnet set into the frame of the largest of the Vatican cameos that for a moment I was utterly bewildered.

  How had Holmes contrived to remove it? And to what purpose?

  Hardly had these thoughts crossed my mind than he again reached into his pocket and this time produced the leather-covered case containing the Vatican treasures which he also placed upon the desk. Opening back its lid, he revealed its contents.