The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters. Michael Kurland
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are well?” I asked.
“Thanks to your assistance and care,” she replied. Settling upon the sofa, her grandson beside her, she declined our offer of refreshment with a weary air.
“There is still much to be arranged,” she confessed in quiet, dignified tones. “My son’s perfidy extends further than I had suspected.”
“Yet you did suspect something amiss,” said Holmes. He leaned against the hearth, regarding her gravely. “You instructed Viscount Sheppington to monitor His Lordship’s activities. He was unable, or possibly unwilling, to disguise himself as effectively as Lord Maurice, and thereby gained a reputation as a connoisseur of certain unsavoury practices.”
The young man’s countenance darkened. “When I began, I did not realise I would be haunting venues where a disguise would be essential, Mr Holmes. That fact was quickly brought home to me, but by that point, I was already tarred by vice’s brush.” He shrugged. “I can only hope that the rumour-mongers will soon discover another object of interest and I can endeavour to restore my character.”
Her Grace took his hand and pressed it gently. “I never meant for you to suffer so, dear boy.”
“Do not vex yourself, Your Lordship,” said Holmes. “The most cursory glance at the newspapers will supply a variety of individuals with reputations far more scandalous than yours. Besides, isn’t it often considered desirable for a young scion of the nobility to have a faintly dubious past, above which he can rise?”
“I say!” cried Sheppington.
Her Grace assayed a faint smile, yet her lips trembled. “We can only hope that is indeed the case, Mr Holmes.”
I rose from my chair. “But why? Why did His Lordship court exposure and disgrace?”
“For the money,” said Sheppington. “Although his vices were few, they were costly. Gambling at cards and on the horses, and his mistress alone…” He glanced at his grandmother, his cheeks colouring.
Holmes nodded. “When His Lordship encountered Carolus smoking opium in a den of depravity, he conceived of the plan to steal the emeralds. He was familiar with the count’s house and its hidden doorway, for it had been in your family for many years, had it not?”
“We resided there for several years while he was a child,” she said. “Even then, Maurice was always poking into corners and winkling out everyone’s secrets.”
“Through his unsavoury associates,” continued Holmes, “His Lordship knew he could dispose of the gems, or alternatively, he could hold them for ransom. Either way, he would benefit.”
“Unfortunately for Carolus, he became my son’s dupe,” said Her Grace. “And yet I cannot help but be grateful to him, for he defended me from the count’s advances at some considerable risk to himself.”
“Addicts are not necessarily criminals or depraved individuals,” I said, not looking at Holmes. “Indeed, there are several private clinics that have successfully weaned these unfortunate individuals from the sources of their addiction. If Your Grace would consider arranging for his treatment at one such facility, it would certainly repay his actions on your behalf.”
“An excellent suggestion, Doctor.” She nodded. “If I may, I shall ask for a few recommendations.”
“Of course.” I bowed.
“Now I must broach a more delicate matter, one I wish to conduct without intermediaries.” She stood, opened her reticule, and withdrew an envelope. “Mr Holmes, your assistance in this matter has been invaluable to me and to all of my family, even the one exposed by your investigations. I hope you will accept the enclosed as a token of my gratitude for your efforts.”
“I was honoured to be of service.” Holmes accepted the envelope, setting it to one side.
“And you, Doctor,” she said, turning to me with a smile. “How can I ever find the words to thank you?”
Momentarily speechless at the warmth of her regard, I bowed again. “It was entirely my pleasure.”
“I know you would not accept any gift of great value, but I hope you will permit me to present you with this small keepsake.” She pressed a small, gold locket into my hand.
“Your Grace!” I said, opening the locket. Inside rested an exquisite miniature portrait of the dowager duchess, obviously painted at the time I first met her. “I am honoured and will keep it always.”
“And now, gentlemen, if you will excuse us,” she said. “I have an appointment with my solicitor. Hilary, will you see to the carriage?”
“Of course, Grandmother. Thank you, Mr Holmes, Doctor.” He hurried out the door.
Holmes gravely bowed over her hand, and she allowed me the pleasure of seeing her to the door. Her carriage waited at the kerb. With a wistful smile, she pressed my hand before turning and crossing the pavement. Sheppington handed her into the brougham, then joined her.
I returned to our apartments, unaccountably melancholy. Had not Holmes solved the case to Her Grace’s satisfaction? Taking my seat beside the fire, I picked up a medical journal but did not open it.
“She is a woman of immense strength, Watson.” Holmes sounded almost kind. “I am certain she will weather any storm of gossip or public exposure regarding her son’s behaviour with her usual dignity.”
I sighed. “You are right, of course. I wish there were some way for me to assist her through this horrible period. If there were not more than thirty years separating our ages…”
A quiet knock on the door interrupted me.
“Come,” said Holmes.
Mrs Hudson entered, a small crease between her brows. “A messenger brought this at the behest of Viscount Sheppington.” She held out her hand. In her palm rested a small gold cigarette case.
“Good Lord, Holmes.” I glanced at the table where I had last seen it resting. “Isn’t that the case from—” I stopped, remembering in time the gentleman’s request for anonymity.
Holmes laughed. “It is indeed, my dear fellow.” He took the case from Mrs Hudson. “Was there a message?”
“Only that he would endeavour to be vigilant, but that it might be necessary to call upon you in future.” She shook her head. “I hope you understand it, Mr Holmes.”
“Thank you, Mrs Hudson.”
I gazed in consternation at my friend, for it was impossible for me to conceal my disappointment at this evidence of Her Grace’s continuing kleptomania.
He waited until she departed before continuing. “Take heart, Watson. It is a small flaw in an otherwise sterling character, and yet I suspect we have not seen the last of Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Penfield.” He glanced out the window. “Since the afternoon has turned fine, I suggest we take a turn about the park.”
“Excellent idea, Holmes.” As I collected my coat and hat, I glanced at the locket depending from my watch chain and smiled.
* * * *
Editorial Note: Carla Coupe’s story is very loosely based on the radio program “The Adventure of the Elusive Emerald,” scripted by Anthony Boucher and Denis Greene, originally broadcast on December 21, 1946.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND ROUND, by Mark Wardecker
It is with much reserve that I begin this account of the mystery which awaited my friend Sherlock Holmes and me at Sherrinsthorpe Manor in Kensington. In fact, not since recording the tragedy of the Cushing sisters have I felt such misgivings about publishing one of Holmes’s cases, and in that instance, my reticence did finally prevent the story’s inclusion in most subsequent anthologies. Still, the masterful way in which Holmes illuminated such an obscure conspiracy demands no less than that a record be published. Only this and the fact that the