The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters. Michael Kurland
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she whispered. “A man stumbled toward me. It was the count, his face streaming with blood, his hands reaching…” She shuddered. “He struck me on the temple, a blow that sent me reeling. I fended him off, and he moved away with a cry, but my head swam and I staggered, grasping at the curtains for support.” She looked at Holmes, her brows drawn together in bewilderment. “I do not remember more.”
“That is hardly surprising,” I said, stepping to her side. “Holmes, I really—”
“No, Doctor,” she interrupted. Her voice trembled. “I must know what happened. Mr Holmes, can you tell me who attacked the count, and how did he enter and leave a locked room?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” By some trick of the light, Holmes’s eyes shone like a cat’s. “I shall answer the latter first.” He strode to the far wall and ran his long fingers across the moulding.
“Mr Holmes,” began Jones. “What are you—?”
His question died upon his lips as, with a soft creak, a portion of the wall swung open. A secret panel! I was scarcely able to believe my eyes. Beyond the opening, I could make out the small niche that Holmes and I had explored earlier.
“Good God!” cried Denbeigh. Sheppington bit back a ripe oath.
“Capital, Holmes! A palpable fact!” Jones smiled and tugged on the lapels of his coat. “I asked for facts, and you have provided me with a corker!”
“Mr Holmes, you have exceeded my expectations,” Her Grace said, sounding a trifle breathless. “How did you ever discover this?”
Holmes explained his discovery of the crushed glass. “The traces we found were of the same variety used in the jewels’s display case, and the trail led to an alcove in the servants’s hall that is visible through the door.”
“In addition,” he continued, “the thief did not retrace his steps, as the single set of tracks clearly showed. Therefore, it was clear that the thief entered the servants’s hall at that location, directly from this chamber.”
“So the thief must still have traces of glass in his boots,” I said.
“Exactly, Watson.” Holmes pointed to the area of powdered glass on the floor beside the hearth. “The thief trod in the glass there, and when he exited, he left a trail—Constable! Stop that man!” Holmes cried.
Denbeigh started.
Confused, I glanced about the chamber.
Carolus struggled in the grasp of the burly constable, shouting what sounded like pleas in a foreign language, his face pale with terror. He must have surreptitiously edged toward the door as Holmes outlined the evidence.
“If you examine the soles of his shoes,” Holmes said to Jones, “you will discover traces of glass embedded in the leather—the same glass as that of the smashed jewel case.”
“And the emeralds,” Jones said triumphantly. “He must have taken them after he attacked his master.”
Carolus ceased his struggles and turned to Holmes. “Mr Holmes, you must believe me! I never meant to harm anyone. When my master and Her Grace entered, I hid in the shadows, but I could not stand by and watch the count molest her.”
She shuddered once, then breathed deeply, lifting her chin. I could not but admire her strength.
“Why are you listening to this blackguard, Mr Holmes!” Sheppington pushed his way past his uncle and glared at Carolus. “He has deceived us all.”
“I very much doubt that he is the only person in this room who is not speaking the truth,” replied Holmes with a cold look at the young man. He addressed Carolus again. “But what of the emeralds?”
“I do not have them!” he asserted.
“Then who does?” Holmes asked, his voice implacable.
“I do not know his name, and I never saw his face.” Carolus bowed his head. “He came to me, and threatened to reveal…” His throat worked as he swallowed.
“It is not uncommon for opium addicts to be blackmailed,” said Holmes.
Carolus stared at him. “How did you—?”
Holmes waved negligently. “The characteristic sallow complexion, the wide pupil, a trace of the distinct odour… Your vice was obvious to me the moment we met.”
“I see,” Carolus whispered. “He knew of the secret panel. He instructed me to ensure that the emeralds were displayed in this room and to steal them tonight. After doing so, I was to leave them wrapped in a handkerchief behind a vase in the receiving room. When I checked after arranging for the count to be carried to his chambers, they were not there. I know nothing more!”
“All this sounds extremely dubious to me,” Jones grunted. “Mr Holmes, do you believe this ruffian?”
“I do indeed.” Holmes surveyed the room. He reached into his pocket and then lifted his clenched fist. All eyes were upon him. He opened his hand, revealing the emerald he had discovered beneath Her Grace.
“You may wish to check the jewels you received, Your Lordship, for I believe you are missing one.”
As he spoke, Denbeigh drew himself up and fixed his cold gaze upon Holmes.
“How dare you imply—”
“I recognize that voice!” cried Carolus, pointing at Denbeigh. “It is he!”
“The villain lies to save himself,” Denbeigh said, turning to the door. “I will not stand here and—”
“No,” Her Grace whispered, sagging against me.
“Grandmama!” Sheppington rushed up and supported her other arm, but she had already mastered her momentary weakness.
“Maurice.” Her steely tones cut him off abruptly. “Show us the contents of your pockets.”
Complexion the colour of parchment, Denbeigh turned from face to stern face. A constable approached.
“Do not lay hands upon me!” He gazed imploringly at the dowager duchess. “Mother, you cannot—”
“Show us, Maurice.”
“There is no escape, Your Lordship,” Holmes said and held out his hand.
With a sigh, Denbeigh reached into his coat pocket, then deposited a small parcel wrapped in a handkerchief into Holmes’s waiting hand. Holmes quickly untied the knots and opened the linen. The gems inside glittered with cold fire.
Jones shook himself as if roused from a deep slumber and took charge of the situation. A phalanx of constables removed Denbeigh and Carolus from the chamber, while Her Grace sent instructions to the family solicitor.
“I shall also ensure Carolus is represented well,” she said, Sheppington standing at her side. “For I feel a certain amount of responsibility for this situation.” She dismissed my protestations with a sad shake of her head.
“Your Grace, I am certain you have many questions,” Holmes began.
“Thank you, Mr Holmes, but I am a trifle fatigued.” She gave him a weary smile. “Hilary and I shall call upon you and Dr Watson on the morrow. You may answer my questions then. For now, I would like Hilary to take me home.”
* * * *
The following morning, Holmes and I perused the newspapers over breakfast, and I was relieved there was no mention of the incident.
“It will do nothing to prevent rumours from flying about,” said Holmes in response to my observation. “Fortunately, this sort of occurrence is handled with discretion and seldom goes to trial.”
True to her word, Her Grace, accompanied by Sheppington, called upon us a little later. As she entered our chamber, I was pleased to see that her step was as firm, her carriage as elegant as usual.