The Lost Casebooks of Sherlock Holmes (111 page)

‘You are admirably informed, Mr. Holmes,' said Lord Holder with a faint smile.

‘However, why should it be the cause of trouble now?'

His lordship shook his head.

‘It is not yet the cause, but I fear it may be. In a matter of weeks, we shall begin the ceremonies attendant on the coronation of His Majesty Edward VII. Lord Adolphus Longstaffe must play his part as herald to the Prince of Wales, and the Queen of the Night will be the clasp at the neck of his robe.'

‘Where is it at present?'

‘Just so, Dr. Watson. At present it lies in a velvet-lined box, within a safe of two-inch steel, inside the strong-room of our bank. That is where it is usually kept, except on ceremonial occasions or when securely on display.'

‘Why should it be at risk on this occasion if not on others?'

Lord Holder folded his hands uneasily.

‘The Queen of the Night has appeared in many places. It has been photographed, exhibited here and in Paris, and is well enough known to jewellers and connoisseurs. There is hardly a book on
bijouterie
in which it does not make its appearance.'

‘I see no harm in that.'

‘Nor I, Dr. Watson. Yet such photographs and displays give ample scope to counterfeiters. I have it on good authority that in the past three months, since the date of the coronation was announced, a jeweller in Brussels has been commissioned to produce a passable imitation of the Queen of the Night. It is such a commission as a thief might offer, particularly at a time like this.'

‘Raoul Grenier et fils is the firm in question,' said Holmes calmly.

Lord Holder sat suddenly upright in his chair.

‘Mr. Holmes! There are only two or three men in the City of London who know that! It has been held in the strictest confidence! How can you possibly know?'

‘Because,' said Holmes thoughtfully, ‘it was I who gave the order.'

The silence in the room had the quality of the stillness that follows the explosion of a shell or a grenade.

‘You, sir? The thing is impossible!'

‘It is not only possible, Lord Holder, it is the truth. I must ask you to trust me. It is plain that I should not have done this with dishonest intent, for if that were the case, I should not have told you now.'

‘But if an imitation is produced, you make the task of a thief all the more easy!'

‘On the contrary, my lord. In my opinion, what I have done is the sole means of saving the precious clasp from being lost for ever. I need hardly remind you of your own words just now. Much of the value lies in the workmanship. Moreover, this is not the Koh-i-Noor diamond, which stands alone. The Queen of the Night might be broken up and its recut stones sold for a small fortune.'

‘But why should you care about the Queen of the Night? You are not commissioned to guard it, surely?'

Holmes shook his head.

‘I care nothing for it, sir. It is a matter of no importance to me whether it is stolen or not. I play a larger game. In that game, the diamond and its sapphires are no more than pawns. Beyond that, you may summon Inspectors Lestrade or Gregson from Scotland Yard so that I may be handed over to them. Or you may trust me and say not a word to anyone of what has passed between us this morning.'

‘And that is all?'

‘That, I fear, is all, my lord. There is no other course.' It was hard to say whether our guest, who made his way down the stairs half an hour later, was more shaken or shattered. Had it not been for the service Holmes had done him in proving his son's innocence all those years ago, I really believe that Lord Holder would have summoned Lestrade and Gregson, and told them to do their duty.

2

‘Holmes! What the devil was all that about?'

He raised his hand to silence me and went off to his room.

When he came back, he was holding a large buff-colored envelope. He sat at the dining table, laid the envelope before him, and looked up.

‘What was it about? It was about matters that I cannot reveal to anyone but you, my dear fellow, not even to a loyal and impeccable servant of the Crown like Lord Holder.'

‘Has this something to do with the matter of your disappearance some months ago?'

He smiled.

‘Dear old Watson! There is no pulling the wool over your perceptive eyes, is there?'

‘I should hope not!'

‘Then you will recall the proceedings of the criminal tribunal that condemned me to death in Newgate. I described to you how hyoscine wiped many of the details from my mind. With some effort, fragments of them came to me in sleep. I recall a remark of the late Henry Caius Milverton about Colonel James Moriarty, the surviving younger brother of my ancient enemy, the late professor. Milverton apologized for the fact that Colonel Moriarty had been temporarily detained over a dispute relating to a family heirloom. You will recall my saying that the colonel had been looking forward to my rope-dance, as they called it, having cut me to pieces beforehand.'

‘I should not have thought the finances of such a family as the Moriartys would run to an heirloom to dispute about!'

He smiled again at this.

‘It was not their heirloom, I assure you. The Moriartys are consummate thieves, Watson, and I concluded at once that the heirloom in question belonged to somebody else. Then, quite lately, I was invited to the Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria Station, at the behest of Monsieur Raoul Grenier.'

‘The jeweller from Brussels?'

‘The same. He had come over by ferry from Ostend to Dover and so to London, for no other reason than to consult me. The matter was so delicate that it was confided to me on condition that I divulge it at that time to no one, not even to your good self.'

‘Nor Lord Holder?'

‘Lord Holder and the entire world were suspects, to Monsieur Grenier. He knew of the forthcoming coronation, of course, and he well knew that it is a time when the jewels on display are at their most vulnerable. Even the crown jewels of England must leave the Tower of London, where at all other times they are guarded day and night by a regiment of the Foot Guards. I concluded that was assuredly the thought behind the Newgate conspiracy. Grenier himself, incidentally, has been retained by two crowned heads of Europe to alter the ceremonial headgear to fit the skulls of a new generation. It is sixty-four years since our late queen was crowned.'

‘This Monsieur Grenier sounds to me like a very fortunate and prosperous fellow.'

‘Scarcely. He told me that he had been visited by a certain Count Fosco. The count had commissioned him to make a glass replica of the Queen of the Night. My mind went back to that remark of Henry Milverton's about an heirloom. My nostrils scented a Moriarty.'

‘But surely Count Fosco was a name in a novel, assumed to disguise a member of an Italian secret society.'

‘It was that which brought Grenier to me. He guessed that the name was a mere cloak, and yet he dreaded to turn away the man, for fear that a secret society lurked behind him. He could not believe the imitation was required for any honest purpose. It is not uncommon for the owners of such treasures to have high-class copies made so that they may be worn on less important occasions, while the originals are held safely in a bank vault. There are also foolish people who cannot afford such originals but whose vanity is satisfied by an artificial resemblance. Grenier's visitor was neither of these. To use the poor fellow's own words, the man who came to him reeked of dishonesty. Our jeweller knew very well that the original of the clasp belonged to the Longstaffe family—and feared the worst. Either the so-called count proposed to steal the original and substitute the imitation—or the last of the Longstaffes planned to perpetrate a trick of some kind upon his creditors.'

‘Surely not!'

‘I think not. Yet it must be conceded that Adolphus Longstaffe, like his father, has a rackety reputation. Much of the Caversham estate in Suffolk has been sold and the great house at Pickering Park in Sussex with all its lands has been at risk.'

‘Not to mention Portman Square in London and most of Marylebone!'

‘Exactly so.'

‘Mind you, if Lord Adolphus Longstaffe were to go smash, the whole world would hear it.'

‘Quite correct, Watson, and when a man of that sort faces ruin, there is no knowing what he may do. It might seem a mere peccadillo to place the imitation as surety with a bank, while breaking up the original and selling its stones.'

‘But what of Grenier?'

‘I asked him as a great favor to me, for he once received a favor
from
me, to make a cheap imitation of the clasp. Such an insult to his professional reputation! He was to tell no one. At the same time, he must wait until it was too late for our friend Count Fosco to have one made elsewhere before the coronation. Then he would regretfully inform this bogus nobleman that, under such pressure of work as the coronation demanded, he could not fulfil Fosco's commission for several more months.'

‘Then you put Grenier in danger!'

‘I think not.'

He opened the envelope and drew out a number of photographic prints.

‘Count Fosco is a made-up name. There are Italian secret societies to be sure, but not in this case. That part of the trick was a bogey to frighten the dupe. But Grenier is no dupe.'

‘What are these?'

He spread the photographs before him.

‘You will recall our friend Colonel Piquart, to whom we were able to render a service during the deplorable Dreyfus affair in Paris.
*
He became thereafter Minister of Defence in the government of Georges Clemenceau and director of military intelligence. It was the work of a day for him to establish that the address given by Count Fosco in the Boulevard Saint Germain was merely an office where letters had been collected for several months on behalf of Colonel Jacques Moriarty of the Rue des Charbonniers in the slums of Montmartre. Inquire in Montmartre and you will probably find that this domicile is as elusive as the first one. The more accurate Christian name of its lessee is, of course, James, rather than Jacques. See for yourself. I do not think Monsieur Grenier need greatly fear the threats of Count Fosco and the assassins of the Red Circle. This is single and single-minded fraud.'

The photographs showed a man in outdoor clothes striding towards, or from, an ill-painted door in a dark courtyard of some kind. It was plain that these were images obtained secretly, perhaps from a passing vehicle, of a man who had no idea that he was the object of interest. The quality of the prints suffered a little from the conditions under which they were taken.

Several of them gave a clear view of a man who was dark-haired and a little stooped, though with something of a military bearing. He had a withered look to him, beyond his years. In my own medical practice I often connect this last symptom with foreign or colonial service. There had been a good deal of that as France acquired her colonies along the Mediterranean coast of North Africa. From what I could see of him, he looked little enough like a count or, indeed, an Italian assassin.

‘It is incredible!' I said as I stared at the monochrome portraits.

‘Not in the least. Even after all my captors were accounted for, I thought we might hear from one or two of their friends. For me, this is not a matter of jewels and baubles, Watson. Let us call it a contest to see whether Colonel Moriarty shall live in peace and safety. It is plain that neither he nor I can do so while the other remains alive. That is what will bring him to London. Once in London, of course, he will not resist the Queen of the Night, even without a counterfeit to switch for the real clasp.'

‘Can you be so sure?'

He looked at me thoughtfully.

‘You will recall, Watson, the matter of the tie-pin.'

‘I cannot say that I do. Which tie-pin is that?'

‘It is a green emerald tie-pin, in the form of a serpent of Aesculapius. Professor Moriarty was wearing it on that late afternoon in the mist at the falls of Reichenbach. When at last he fell to his death, for one of us must fall to end that long struggle, the weight of his body as he went backwards ripped it from his shirt and it came off in my grasp. Even before he hit the rocks in the torrent, so many hundreds of feet below, I had slipped it in my pocket.'

‘Where is it now?'

‘That is the point, my dear fellow.'

He pushed towards me another item from the envelope, a cutting from a newspaper,
Paris Soir
, dated some weeks ago. The column carried a small announcement in English that if Colonel James Moriarty of the Rue des Charbonniers would call at the Banque de l'Orient in the Avenue de l'Opera, he would find something to his advantage.

‘He has it now?' I asked.

‘For some weeks past. I asked to be informed when it was collected. You may depend upon it, he will recognize what it is. I admit the device is less picturesque than throwing down one's gauntlet in the days of chivalry. Yet he has determined to exact vengeance from me and I can do no more than offer myself. You may depend upon it, he will be in London when the new king is crowned. I would go so far as to say that he will put up at the Dashwood Club in Curzon Street.'

‘Named after Sir Francis Dashwood of the Hellfire Club in the 1760s!'

‘That tells one of its reputation, does it not?'

3

By the evening, I was in a solemn mood. The thought of Colonel James Moriarty evoked all the old fears and perils from which we had so lately escaped. After supper, however, my friend pushed back his chair, got up from the table, and crossed to the fire-place, where he stood with his back to it, hands clasped behind him.

‘My dear fellow, there really is no cause for such gloom. The game will be won by he who has knowledge on his side. I have devoted a little time to repairing the gaps in our acquaintance with a man who must now be our prime adversary. Colonel Moriarty, as his name suggests, was once a military man and a member of the gentry. To this day he is curiously but legitimately the lord of the manor of Copyhold Barton in the county of Dorset. Unfortunately, behind this grand hereditary title he owns not a square inch of land in Copyhold Barton or elsewhere. He has fallen so low that he haunts the worst districts of Paris. His habitation is among the apache street robbers of Montmartre and the ladies of the twilight in the Avenue de Clichy or the Parc de Monceau. That is his true manor and in it he is lord, under the law of the fist and the razor.'