by Mrs Hudson
‘It’s very simple, sir. Mr Phillimore is concealed in a box that is made to look like a huge lead weight. That weight is balanced on the coffin, apparently to make it impossible for the illusionist to lift the lid. When both objects are concealed in a large crate, Phillimore releases himself from his own box and uses the tools he has with him to release his employer.’
‘So they were in it together! Er, in the crate, I mean.’ Inspector Lestrade appeared to be catching up. ‘And they planned to retrieve the ruby later?’
‘Precisely, sir.’
Mr Holmes was beaming with delight. ‘So you see, Inspector, if you wish to check on the safety of the Malabar Rose, you may do so at your own convenience in the Satin Rooms. As I have said, I strongly recommend we leave it there as bait. But if you and Sir John decide otherwise you may fetch the box at once and recover the ruby.’
But Lestrade was pointing towards Sir John, who by now had sunk low in his chair and was holding his face in his hands.
‘I believe, Mr Holmes, that Sir John stood down the guard at the Satin Rooms yesterday afternoon.’
‘Stood them down?’ Holmes asked, a frown distorting his forehead. ‘Sir John? Is this true?’
The old soldier was shaking now, his hands still pressed to his face. ‘I could see no point in it, Holmes. I was aware that you wished the rooms to remain secured, but we had been over them so many times, in such painstaking detail… And the Maharajah was demanding they be returned to their previous state. I was under pressure from the Palace…’
‘But the case, sir! The jewel case! You have it safe?’ Mr Holmes spoke almost savagely.
‘I took it home with me.’
On hearing these words, some of Mr Holmes’ equanimity returned.
‘Then no harm is done. You must send for it at once.’
But Sir John’s face remained hidden behind his hands.
‘That’s just the problem, Mr Holmes. You see, there was an event last night. At my home. I didn’t mention it. It didn’t seem important.’
‘An event, Sir John?’
‘A burglary, Mr Holmes. My house was broken into. A back window was smashed. Mr Holmes, the jewel case is stolen.’
Chapter XVII
Miss Del Fuego’s Last Dance
That night the snow fell deep on London, choking the gutters and sealing off alleyways, muffling the hooves of horses and the grinding of factories, blotting out the view of Big Ben as if a curtain had fallen on it. But no amount of snow was enough to cool the temperatures in Baker Street as the four gentlemen responsible for the Malabar Rose considered what was to be done next. Sir John’s announcement had stunned us all but Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade were the first to recover. Mr Holmes was quickly on his feet, pacing his regular beat in front of the fireplace. His eyes gleamed with energy and it was clear he was not downcast.
‘A second chance, gentlemen,’ he mused. ‘And this time we have a real crime to investigate, with broken windows and physical evidence. Lestrade, who have you got on the case?’
‘I’m not sure, Mr Holmes. This would probably have gone to McAdam.’ Lestrade’s brain was clearly racing. ‘I can get down there straightaway to take over. You’re right, Mr Holmes, this gives us a chance. We know where we are with a common burglary. And at least we know the Malabar Rose cannot have gone very far.’
‘This man Phillimore. You must get a description from his wife, Lestrade. Then alert the ports. Close the doors on him!’
‘Of course, Mr Holmes. We can make life damned hot for him now. But what should we do about the Great Salmanazar?’
‘Keep him under house arrest for now. He was clearly involved. You may soon have sufficient grounds for a formal arrest.’
‘Let’s hope so, sir. Sir John, will you accompany me? I will need to rouse your household and question them about events last night.’
The two men left immediately, the one grim-faced but determined, the other still sadly downcast. After their departure, Mr Holmes continued his pacing.
‘A daring crime. And I am wholly to blame for its success. It is a fault of mine, Watson, that I sometimes forget the intellectual limitations of those around me. I had looked upon Sir John as an equal partner in this venture. It had never occurred to me that when he described himself as a simple soldier he was speaking the literal truth.’
Both Dr Watson and Mrs Hudson clearly felt this mea culpa unnecessary, for both began to protest, but the great detective silenced them with a stern glance.
‘The fault is mine,’ he insisted. ‘But now to make amends. Let’s see, Watson, what would you do now if you were in this fellow’s shoes?’
‘Make for the coast, Holmes. Show a clean pair of heels. I’d want to get out before the alarm was sounded.’
‘Precisely. Let’s see… There was a night train for France from Victoria but, given the late hour of the burglary, it is impossible that he could have caught that. What about the early trains to the channel ports?’
‘If you please, sir,’ Mrs Hudson cut in quietly, ‘I didn’t like to mention it earlier because I thought the other two gentlemen would make a lot of fuss, but I don’t think Mr Phillimore will be heading for the coast.’
‘You don’t?’ Mr Holmes looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You think he might lie low, wait for the outcry to die down? That would certainly be an option, and an astute one. But we must be prepared for both eventualities, Mrs Hudson, so tonight we must act on the assumption that he is heading for the Continent.’
‘And no doubt he would be, sir, but, you see, he doesn’t have the ruby.’
‘What?’ I have never seen Sherlock Holmes look more totally surprised. He paused in his pacing and fixed his gaze upon his housekeeper. ‘Explain yourself, Mrs Hudson,’ he demanded.
‘It’s as I say, sir. He doesn’t have the ruby. He has the case, but the ruby wasn’t in it.’
‘Eh? Not in it? But I thought…’ Dr Watson was clearly at a loss. ‘Then who in God’s name does have it?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘You, Mrs H?’
Yet Mr Holmes did not appear to share his astonishment. Instead a smile of genuine amusement was forming at his lips.
‘You are surprised, Watson? And of course so am I, I cannot deny it. Yet had you observed the recent unusual motions of Mrs Hudson’s carpet bag, your amazement might not be so great.’
‘Her carpet bag, Holmes?’
‘Come, my friend, you are familiar with the item I refer to. A large bag constructed out of carpet. You have one yourself.’
‘Of course, Holmes, I know what a carpet bag is! But what is unusual about Mrs Hudson’s?’
‘Simply this, Watson. If you remember, Mrs Hudson left Baker Street early on the morning after the disappearance of the Malabar Rose. And if you had been observing with any sort of rigour, you would have seen she was accompanied by Flotsam and that she carried with her a spacious carpet bag. Now such a bag is not the sort of item that a woman going about her daily routines of shopping and so forth would ordinarily carry. No, Watson, if someone steps out for an hour or two with a carpet bag on their arm, I would expect one of two things. If the bag is full at the beginning of its journey, the most likely thing is that it will return empty – it has been employed to transport some item to another location. If the bag is empty, I would usually expect to see it return full – it has been taken to collect and bring back some object that would not fit into an ordinary handbag.’
‘I see…’ Dr Watson spoke with no particular conviction.
‘But on the morning after the Great Salmanazar’s show,’ Mr Holmes continued, ‘Mrs Hudson left the house with a bag that bulged in a certain way, only to return with an apparently identical load. I was struck at the time by the peculiarity of it. Mrs Hudson is not the sort of woman to ferry an object around London for no purpose. One of the more likely explanations for her behaviour was that she had exchanged one object for another of the same shape and proportions. At the time, I felt no need to
delve deeper into the matter, but of course I was not then aware that her interest in the Phillimores had led her in such an unlikely direction.’
As the great detective spoke, Mrs Hudson was nodding.
‘You are quite right, sir. You see, as soon as I visited Perch for the first time, I found myself wondering how the old toy-maker might be involved in a jewel robbery. And if you are not a believer in the efficacy of magic, there were not many options left.’
Dr Watson’s frown had deepened to crevasse-like proportions.
‘That’s all very well, Mrs H,’ he muttered. ‘But I understood you to say you actually have the ruby in your possession.’
‘I do, sir. When Flotsam and I went to the Satin Rooms the day after all the excitement I took with me the replica jewel case that Sir John had left us. And despite Mr Holmes’ insistence on a careful watch, I found the guards less attentive than they should have been.’ She turned her gaze to her employer. ‘That’s human nature, sir. I’ve seen it often. A cook who is vigilance itself when preparing an unfamiliar dish can become oddly careless when preparing a familiar one. I don’t believe the diligence of those officers would have wavered for an instant had they thought they were really guarding a ruby, sir. But when asked to stand guard over a room they believed to be completely empty… Well, let’s just say it wasn’t as difficult as it should have been to sneak into the Satin Rooms for a minute or two, and it was a moment’s work to swap the replica for the case I found there. That’s the one I brought away with me, sir.’ She pointed to the jewel case that still stood beside his chair.
‘But where is the ruby, Mrs Hudson?’ Dr Watson spluttered. ‘We must tell Sir John at once.’
Mrs Hudson might have appeared impassive as she considered this question, but from where I stood I could detect a slight stiffening of her jaw.
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather not say.’
‘You’d rather not say…’ The doctor blinked, began to speak, then blinked again. ‘I say, Mrs H, we can’t have that. It’s really not on. Can’t just keep it, you know. And besides, we need to know where it is so that we can look after it properly.’
‘Is that right, Watson?’ Mr Holmes had been watching his friend with amusement. ‘Are you quite sure? I don’t wish to be rude, my friend, but the forces of the Crown have not done a particularly effective job of looking after it thus far. Mrs Hudson is no doubt reasoning that the fewer people who know where to find the Malabar Rose, the safer it is.’
‘But we could put it in safe hands! Get it into the vaults at the Bank of England!’
‘That’s true, sir,’ Mrs Hudson put in. ‘But if you do that, you’ll never see Mr Phillimore again. He’ll just slip away. Now, if you were to use the Malabar Rose as a lure…’
‘My word, Mrs Hudson!’ Dr Watson spoke with the air of a man seeing light after many dark months. ‘I get your drift. It’s just as Holmes said. Our best chance of catching these blighters is when they try to get it back.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Could we do that, Holmes?’ Dr Watson asked eagerly. ‘How would it work?’
‘It’s very simple, my dear Watson. Phillimore is out there somewhere, wondering where the gem has gone. If we could persuade him that it was being held in a certain place…’
‘Sir John Plaskett’s house, for instance, sir.’
‘Indeed yes, Mrs Hudson, that would do very nicely. If we could get word to him that the Malabar Rose was hidden in Sir John’s bedroom, let us say, then he would surely make another attempt on it.’
‘And we could be waiting, Holmes! Splendid!’ But then a cloud of doubt passed over Dr Watson’s face. ‘But how would we get word to him though? We don’t know where he is.’
Mrs Hudson and Mr Holmes exchanged glances.
‘My friend, there is one man in this teeming city who might know.’
‘You see, sir…’ Mrs Hudson took up the explanation seamlessly. ‘If the location of the ruby were mentioned in passing to the Great Salmanazar, might he not try to get word to his accomplice?’
‘But the Great Salmanazar is being held incommunicado in his hotel, Mrs Hudson. He won’t be able to contact his friend from there.’
‘Yes, sir. That’s why we must help him escape.’
*
It was nearly midnight and the city was already deep in snow when the council of war at Baker Street finally drew to a close. The idea was simple. Dr Watson would visit the Great Salmanazar the next day and, in his own inimitable manner, would mention that the Malabar Rose was safe in Sir John’s hands. Then, when our plans were laid, the police guards at Brown’s Hotel would be lured away, allowing the illusionist to abscond.
‘He will be too wary to lead us to Phillimore directly,’ Mrs Hudson explained. ‘You see, he’ll be half expecting to be followed. But he’ll find some discreet way of getting in touch with his partner in crime, you can be sure of that. And once he’s done that, well, you gentlemen are at liberty to seize him straightaway.’
‘And then, when Mr Phillimore comes calling on Sir John, we shall be ready to strike!’ declared Sherlock Holmes.
‘But should we not be telling Inspector Lestrade what we plan?’ Dr Watson asked rather anxiously. ‘He could easily arrange for the police guards to let the fellow escape.’
‘Lestrade and his men, Watson? I made the mistake of trusting them before. I have no intention of doing so again.’
‘Very well, Holmes. I’m sure you know best. But, Mrs Hudson, I do hope you’ve got that ruby hidden somewhere damnably safe!’
*
By the time the clocks struck twelve that night, the household in Baker Street was on its way to bed. I was the first to get there – on Mrs Hudson’s orders – and as I lay with the blankets pulled up to my nose, I could tell from the peace upstairs that Dr Watson and Mr Holmes had also brought their day to a close. Last to bed was Mrs Hudson. Instead of retiring straightaway, she took up another pile of laundry and began to fold it into neat piles. For half an hour by the kitchen fire, her face etched with thought, she lined up the edges of sheets, measured folds, divided and then sub-divided, all with Pythagorean exactitude. At the end of that time, she took up a copy of the Gazette and turned to the pages that listed sailings, then found the columns concerning departures to Canada from the south coast ports. Only after she had studied it for many minutes did she nod to herself and take up the lamp and retreat to her room. By one o’clock, the house was silent.
Silent, but not still. For on the kitchen floor, unnoticed by me as I slumbered, a shadow twitched. As if aware that, in the whole street, it alone was blessed with motion, it paused for a little time before moving again. This time the movement was very clear and determined: and the shadow grew and threatened to fill the room. At the same time, a very faint creak frayed the edge of the silence, as if weight was being lowered on to rusty metal. Slowly and softly, someone crept down the area stairs.
Had I woken then I would have seen the shadow transformed into a dark figure, its form still indistinct as it came close to the kitchen door – so close that it might have been listening, as if to see what stirred. Then, almost inaudibly, something began to scrape at the kitchen lock. A thin wire was slipped between the door and its frame, a connection was made, and with breathless care the inner bolt was worked slowly inwards until it slipped from its hold and the door swung open.
The figure didn’t hesitate, slipping into the kitchen shadows, then turning and pressing the door closed behind. Then silence, a pause to listen. No sound, only the hush of a sleeping house. Then more listening – intense, concentrated listening, as if there was a need to press beyond the silence, to go behind it, to the steady breathing of the hidden sleepers. At last, as if navigating on the extremes of its senses, the figure began to move. Skirting across the pool of street-light that filtered onto the kitchen floor, it crept with clear purpose to a small door in the corner of the room. A small, familiar door. My door.
When I awoke that nigh
t, there was a dark hand over my mouth. Weight pressed down on me, hot breath was on my cheek, an urgent whisper in my ear.
‘Flotsam! Flotsam!’ A small voice, a child’s voice. A voice on the edge of panic. ‘Sssh, Flotsam. It’s me. Blue. It’s me.’
‘Blue!’ I thought the word rather than spoke it, for his hand was still pressed on my mouth. I pushed it away angrily, and recovering my equilibrium gave him a furious push backwards with all my strength so that he stumbled backwards and hit the wall.
‘What are you doing here? How dare you?’ My fury was fuelled by the shock. ‘If you think you can get more out of me, well, you’re wrong. You took it all already. A job, you said! And to think I believed you! I know what you were doing at the Regal Theatre that night!’
I made no attempt to lower my voice. I was too angry for that. Anger shot through me with all the pain that comes from trusting and being deceived.
‘Sssh, Flotsam,’ he begged again. ‘Please. If they catch me, it’ll be the Scrubs for me.’ In the darkness I could see him reach inside his thin, tatty coat to bring out a small canvas bag. ‘Look, I’ve brought it back. What you lent me. Every penny of it. Here, count.’
He threw the bag onto the bed as if not daring to come any closer. It landed on the nest of blankets with a metallic clink.
For a moment I just looked at it, too shocked and surprised to think clearly. But then, as it had landed so close to my hand, it seemed obvious to reach out for it. In silence I emptied its contents onto the blanket.
There was enough light from the kitchen for me to know beyond doubt that he was as good as his word. Three gold sovereigns, clean and pure and perfect. My lost savings restored. Restored by a thief. A cheat. A liar. I looked up uncomprehendingly. He must have seen by the sagging of my shoulders that my anger had gone, for now he dared to come forward and perch himself on the foot of my bed.
‘I’ve been trying to get it back to yer. Honest. But there’s always coppers an’ ’tectives an’ all sorts round here. So it’s took me some time. But it’s all there, it is.’
