The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (71 page)

“But would a second housemaid be capable of devising such an undertaking?” Musgrave inquired.

“It was a formidable plan, but the Welsh have many characteristics besides passion and fire,” replied Holmes. “Among them are courage, cunning, and intelligence. Your cousin had a high opinion of Rachel Howells. He told me so. Remember, too, she was engaged to Richard Brunton, a man of first rate education and intelligence. It is most unlikely that he would have allied himself to a simpleton.

“It now appears that the land she chose,” he continued, “was North America. Her transatlantic vessel’s first port of call was probably Halifax in Nova Scotia, or perhaps Boston in New England. From there she has made her way west, settling in the wilderness gold-mining town of Barkerville – an appropriate haven for an avaricious murderess with crown jewels on her mind. No doubt she changed her name and has supported herself there under her new identity.”

“You think it is Rachel Howells who has sent you this letter from Canada, then?”

“It can be no other.”

“The woman must be arrested, Holmes. She is a murderess! We know her abode. Why should we hesitate?”

“No, Watson, we cannot arrest her until we have identified her with certainty as the sender of this enigmatic letter which has, thanks to our dutiful playing of the role she has written for us, both revealed the treasure and laid claim to it. Consider: the murderess hid the second bag in the coffin. The sender of this letter, and she alone, knows that the bag was hidden there and has directed us to it. To bring home guilt to Rachel Howells we must identify her not only as Hurlstone’s second housemaid, and Brunton’s accomplice, but also as the sender of the letter.”

“But how dared she send the message and risk detection?” asked Musgrave.

“Let us put ourselves once again in her place. She has learned long ago from Watson’s published account of the affair of the Musgrave Ritual that Brunton had told her no less than the truth: that the contents of the bags are indeed of immense value. Watson’s narrative has told her also that her share of the treasure remained undetected when Brunton’s bag was recovered from the mere. She ponders how she can lay her hands on her fortune, as she no doubt considers it. How does she reason? How can she secure the treasure but avoid the scaffold? Watson’s account has told her of the legal difficulties and expense encountered by the Hurlstone estate in retaining the crown. Revelation of her own treasure will kindle a similar investigation. To reveal her knowledge of its existence is to put a noose around her neck. At the cost of her life she must not be identified as the treasure’s finder. She needs an untermediary, an agent capable of dealing with the authorities and of meeting the expense necessary to retrieve the trove. She therefore finds a surrogate – or surrogates. In their name she lays claim to the treasure, relying on them to provide her with both a share of the proceeds and continuing anonymity.

“But she cannot act! Reginald Musgrave, she knows, can identify her by sight. She cannot risk claiming her fortune, even indirectly through her agents, while the possibility remains that he might, during the negotiations for its return, meet her in broad daylight.

“She learns of Sir Reginald’s death in the shooting accident. The promptness with which she acts – within ten days; that’s quick work, you know – argues against her having learned of it from the
Hurlstone Village Chronicle
, which she may possibly receive regularly. Musgrave’s death may have been timely reported in the Canadian newspapers but more likely a Sussex crony has sent her a wire. She immediately makes her move by laying claim to the riches in the name of her confederates.

“Our envelope, Watson,
must
identify her surrogates! Its senders have, by directing us to the hideaway in the Norman catacombs of Hurlstone, effectively laid claim to the crown jewels of the ancient Stuarts. The finders of treasure have important rights, which are recognized in courts everywhere.” He turned to Nathaniel Musgrave. “I believe, Mr Musgrave, that your family’s rights vis-à-vis those of other claimants were in any case abandoned when your cousin signed a waiver of any further title when he established your claim to the Hurlstone crown. Yes? Then it is so: the right to our discovery today resides in the sender of this message – and that can only be the confederate, or confederates, of Rachel Howells. It is they, not we, who are the true finders. Knowing what we do, you and I, Watson, have no choice but to attest to that. You, Musgrave, will be wise to consider your position with care. These surrogates will undoubtedly approach you as negotiators but they may not be unreasonable.”

Holmes withdrew the mystery epistle from his breast pocket and examined it again carefully. “So it is report system – together with our extra L – that we have available to us. What in the name of the devil can we infer from them?”

It was then that Sherlock Holmes looked up at me with a startled expression. He had evidently seen something on the envelope which we had missed.

“Watson, do you perchance have friends in the west of Canada?”

“None that I know of,” said I, “save Sir Henry Baskerville, but we have already eliminated him from the equation. Why do you ask?”

“Because just as one inference often suggests another, one logogram can suggest another. But wait! I am not sure …” He scribbled furiously in his notebook. “REPORT SYSTEM l rearranges to …”

I looked over Holmes’s shoulder.

“… to STORMY PETRELS!” he cried in triumph. Musgrave and I stared at Holmes in astonishment. I checked his scribbled notes. It was just as he said. Holmes went on, speaking rapidly, as one whose brain races ahead of his power to communicate: “What or who can these ‘stormy petrels’ be? It is a phrase that I have applied to you, Watson! And to myself! Could it be that this is a reference to us? That it is yet another of those devices which this extraordinary woman has used to manipulate us? No. It cannot be so. The envelope is addressed not to ‘Watson’ but to ‘Musgrave’. And the words appear on the top left hand corner, the space for the sender’s name. ‘Stormy Petrels’ is therefore not a reference to us, Watson – it is the name of the surrogates themselves – the instruments of Rachel Howells!

“Their very name tells us who and what they are: students of my methods and readers of your tales.
Rachel Howells is clearly telling us so.
We are dealing here not with enemies but with friends!” He paused and shook his head in comic disbelief. “What a coup-de-maître it is! I once had occasion to chide you, Watson, in connection with the Vermissa Valley murders in America I think, for suggesting that the recreant Porlock might possibly have enclosed both cipher and key in the same envelope. In that instance we were able to decipher the message by recourse to Whitaker’s
Almanack.
Here we have no such advantage. The sender of
this
envelope has outdone even Porlock: she has combined not only the cipher and its key but the addresser of the message – her surrogates – and its true addressees, myself and the estate of Hurlstone, not in, but actually on, the envelope – leaving the contents blank! There is brilliance here, Watson – scheming, calculated brilliance!”

Musgrave and I were at a loss for words. He appeared as stupefied as I.

“Clearly, we must make contact with these ‘stormy petrels’,” said Holmes to me, briskly breaking the silence. “We must seek them in their haunts. Our enquiries must be made in Canada.

“We know,” I interjected, “that at least one of them is a lady of Welsh origin, fiery, passionate and excitable.!”

“Yes, indeed,” Holmes replied, his eyes atwinkle. “Well, Watson, what say you to a visit to the Pacific coast? Could your practice spare you for some weeks?”

“I have no doubt I can arrange it,” said I, “but what will be our aim? To identify and arrest Howells?”

“As I read it, Rachel Howells is at present waiting anxiously in British Columbia for news of our discovery of the royal orb and sceptre, to which she has, using this flock of petrels as her unwitting agents, effectively laid claim. When she hears of it she will act. She will persuade the group to demand delivery of the treasure, probably by authorizing her to make the arrangements on their behalf. The claim of these petrels cannot be denied but it is within our power to thwart Howells herself.”

“How?”

“By delaying announcement of our finding of the treasure until we can cause her arrest. You, I and Musgrave here are the only persons who know of it Musgrave, you will, I think, find it in your interests to fall in with our plans; this will give us time to visit and confront these people. Our information will startle them: that they have claim to the crown jewels of England – and a murderess in their midst! Courtesy, no less than common sense and common justice, demands delivery of such a message in person.”

“It will be most dramatic,” said I. “But what of the murderess herself? Shall we arrest her in front of her comrades?”

Holmes thought for a moment. “She must be given every opportunity to state her position. She may possibly give us facts of which we are unaware. But then we must act decisively.”

“She will not be the first murderess we have apprehended,” I observed, “nor will it be the first time we have acted as both judge and jury.”

“No, indeed! And here I foresee no difficulty. I will take with me to Canada a copy of the Hurlstone’s village news sheet giving details of her disappearance. It carries an excellent likeness of Howells. Identifying the lady, despite the passage of some twenty years, should be a simple matter.”

“With Howells removed to a barred cell,” said I, “these stormy petrels will be free to pursue their claim to the Hurlstone jewels directly with Nathanial Musgrave. That seems appropriate.”

“I agree,” interjected the master of Hurlstone.

“Quite so, and I feel inclined to render them every assistance,” said Holmes. “A group of your readers in the New World deserves our support, Watson!”

“And so say all of us!” I replied heartily. “Perhaps we should take with us your book on international law –
De Jure inter Gentes,
as I recall. It might prove useful in effecting delivery of the jewels to these Canadians.”

“From what little I know of British Columbia
The Origins of Tree Worship
might be a volume of more interest to them,” suggested Holmes, his expression one of high good humour.

“At the risk of re-creating that space on my bookshelf,” I replied, laughing, “we can safely donate our copy!”

“You know, Watson,” said Holmes the following morning on our return to Baker Street, “in reading your accounts of some of the adventures we have shared over the years I have felt that, on occasion, I have behaved towards you in a cavalier fashion. It is easy to commit the crime of taking good friends for granted and I fear I am guilty of it.”

“I have never taken the least offence,” I assured him, not altogether truthfully. “There have been times, it is true, when I have been oppressed with a sense of the slowness of my wits compared to yours, but I can hardly blame you for that!”

“Well, you have other qualities, doctor. Do not underrate yourself; it is as much an offence as its reverse. Wisdom and common sense have a higher value than mere quick wits. To me you are a brother-in-arms. Besides, this proposed visit to British Columbia gives me an opportunity to show some long overdue appreciation. I of course insist that the expedition shall be at my expense,” he continued. “The new Holdernesse fund is more than able to meet the cost. I can think of no finer way of putting it to use!” Holmes lit a cigarette and we sat in silence, wrapped in our own thoughts, as befits good friends who anticipate the pleasures of a new adventure.

“Holmes,” I interrupted, as the thought struck me, “you have not yet explained how you were able to predict precisely what we would find when we opened the second linen bag in the Hurlstone tomb. How you did so is more than I can fathom. You also explained that our discovery of the orb and sceptre completed the reunion of the ancient jewels with their Stuart Crown. But how did – or indeed how do – you know this? In my account of the Musgrave Ritual I reported, I believe accurately, your comment that there could be little doubt that the diadem once encircled the brows of the Royal Stuarts. You now clearly have no such doubts.”

Sherlock Holmes smiled. “I am glad,” he said, “that you have raised these points, Watson, for we are dealing here with history itself. It is fitting that your account should close with that degree of certainty that leaves no room for dispute or conjecture, Proof you ask for and – if you will accompany me as dangerously far into the outside world as the nether regions of West Central, proof you shall have!”

Half an hour later we stood at the entrance to the National Portrait Gallery in St Martin’s Place.

“Follow me, Watson!”

We ascended the stairways to the upper floor, where Holmes led the way to a spacious, high, rectangular gallery. Turning into it, he led me to the foot of a life-size portrait depicting a young man, magnificently apparelled, the whiteness of his face, lace collar and buff thigh-boots in sharp contrast to the sombre tones of his livery, standing next a table draped with deep crimson velvet. On it lay a magnificent crown and its regalia. The caption made me gasp:
Portrait of Charles I by Daniel Mytens
it read.
The Tudor Imperial Crown of State and the State Sceptre and Orb can be seen in the picture
.

“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “The crown! The jewels! They are the very ones! These are indeed the Hurlstone treasures!”

“Yes,” he replied, “they are. And this portrait was painted from life! We can take pride in having restored to the light this ancient finery which has lain in a dungeon crypt for centuries. As to my prediction of the bag’s contents,” he continued, as though turning to a subject of more interest, “the explanation is a simple one. I had the advantage of having seen this portrait before.”

“How so?”

“As part of an official group assembled to satisfy the authorities of the rightful claim of the Musgraves to the Hurlstone Crown. Reginald Musgrave was here, too. It was his solicitor, I recall, who pointed out that our discovery of the crown provided clear evidence of the success of the Stuart sympathizers in thwarting Cromwell’s edict ordering the destruction of the regalia following the execution of Charles. I was thus able to astonish you, and the current custodian of Hurlstone, with my prognosis that, the crown having been found in the first linen bag, it was likely that the orb and sceptre were in the second. It was the existence of that second bag that gave me the key. The instant I drew it from the open coffin the whole sequence of events that followed Brunton’s death became clear to me. I had no need to open it.”