“Mr. Sholmes, I have sustained a terrible loss!”
Sholmes smiled.
“Your Grace has lost the pawnticket?” he inquired.
“Mr. Sholmes, you must be a wizard! How did you guess——”
“I never guess,” said Herlock Sholmes quietly. “My business is to deal with facts. Pray let me have some details.”
“It is true, Mr. Sholmes, that the pawnticket is missing,” said the duke in an agitated voice. “You are aware that the house of Hookeywalker has a great reputation for hospitality, which must be kept up even in these days of stress. It was necessary for me to give a large Christmas party at Hookey Castle, and, to obtain the necessary funds, the family jewels were pledged with Mr. Ikey Solomons, of Houndsditch. The ticket was in my own keeping—it never left me. I kept it in my own card-case. The card-case never left my person. Yet now, Mr. Sholmes, the ticket is missing!”
“And the card-case?”
“Still in my pocket!”
“When were the Hookeywalker jewels placed with Mr. Solomons?”
“Yesterday morning!”
“And the ticket was missing——”
“Last night,” faltered the duke. “I looked in my card-case to make sure that it was still safe, and it was gone. How it had been purloined, Mr. Sholmes, is a mystery—an unfathomable mystery!”
“No mystery is unfathomable to a trained mind,” said Sholmes calmly. “I have every hope of recovering the missing pawnticket.”
“Mr. Sholmes, you give me new life. But how——”
Sholmes interrupted.
“After leaving Mr. Solomons’s establishment, where did your Grace go?”
“I had to make a call at the Chinwag Department of the War Office, and from there I returned to Hookey Castle.”
“You made no other call?”
“None.”
“It is scarcely possible that a skilled pickpocket is to be found in the Chinwag Department,” said Sholmes thoughtfully.
“Impossible, Mr. Sholmes! Every official of that great Department is far above suspicion of being skilled in any manner whatsoever!”
“True!”
“There is no clue!” said the duke in despairing tones. “But unless the missing ticket is recovered, Mr. Sholmes, the famous Hookeywalker jewels are lost!”
“You may leave the case in my hands,” said Herlock Sholmes carelessly. “I may call at Hookey Castle with news for you tomorrow.”
“Bless you, Mr. Sholmes!”
And the duke took his leave.
Herlock Sholmes lighted a couple of pipes, a habit of his when a particularly knotty problem required great concentration of thought. I did not venture to interrupt the meditations of that mighty intellect.
Sholmes spoke at last, with a smile.
“A very interesting little problem, Jotson. I can see that you are puzzled by my deduction that the pawnticket was lost before his Grace had mentioned it.”
“I am astounded, Sholmes.”
“Yet it was simple. I had heard of the great social gathering at Hookey Castle,” explained Sholmes. “I deduced that his Grace could only meet the bills by hypothecating the family jewels. His hurried visit to me and his agitation could have had but one meaning—I deduced that the pawnticket was lost or stolen. Quite elementary, my dear Jotson! But the recovery of the missing ticket——”
“That will not be so simple, Sholmes.”
“Who knows, Jotson?” Sholmes rose to his feet and drew his celebrated dressing-gown about him. “I must leave you for a short time, Jotson. You may go and see your patients, my dear fellow.”
“One question, Sholmes. You are going——”
“To the Chinwag Department.”
“But——”
But Herlock Sholmes was gone.
II
I confess that Sholmes’s behaviour perplexed me. He had declared that the pickpocket could not be found in the Chinwag Department, yet he had gone there to commence his investigations. When he returned to Shaker Street, he made no remark upon the case, and I did not venture to question him. The next morning he greeted me with a smile as I came down into the sitting-room.
“You are ready for a little run this morning, Jotson?” he asked.
“I am always at your service, Sholmes.”
“Good! Then call a taxi.”
A few minutes later a taxicab was bearing us away. Sholmes had given the direction to the driver—“Hookey Castle.”
“We are going to see the duke, Sholmes?” I asked.
He nodded.
“But the missing pawnticket?”
“Wait and see!”
This reply, worthy of a great statesman, was all I could elicit from Sholmes on the journey.
The taxi drove up the stately approach to Hookey Castle. A gorgeous footman admitted us to the great mansion, and we were shown into the presence of the duke.
His Grace had left his guests to see us. There was a slight impatience in his manner.
“My dear Mr. Sholmes,” he said, “I supposed I had given you the fullest particulars yesterday. You have called me away from a shove-ha’penny party.”
“I am sorry,” said Sholmes calmly. “Return to the shove-ha’penny party, by all means your Grace, and I will call another time with the pawnticket.”
The duke bounded to his feet.
“Mr. Sholmes! You have recovered it?”
Sholmes smiled. He delighted in these dramatic surprises.
The duke gazed with startled eyes at the slip of pasteboard my amazing friend presented to him.
“The missing pawnticket!” he ejaculated.
“The same!” said Sholmes.
“Sholmes!” I murmured. I could say no more.
The Duke of Hookeywalker took the ticket with trembling fingers.
“Mr. Sholmes” he said in tones of deep emotion, “you have saved the honour of the name of Hookeywalker! You will stay to dinner, Mr. Sholmes. Come, I insist—there will be tripe and onions!” he added.
“I cannot resist the tripe and onions,” said Sholmes, with a smile.
And we stayed.
III
It was not till the taxi was whirling us homeward to Shaker Street that Herlock Sholmes relieved my curiosity.
“Sholmes!” I exclaimed as the taxi rolled out of the stately gates of Hookey Castle. “How, in the name of wonder——”
Sholmes laughed.
“You are astounded, as usual, Jotson?”
“As usual, Sholmes.”
“Yet it is very simple. The duke carried the pawnticket in his card-case,” said Sholmes. “He called only at the Chinwag Department of the War Office before returning home. Only a particularly clever pickpocket could have extracted the ticket without the cardcase, and, as his Grace himself remarked, it was useless to assume the existence of any particularly clever individual in a Government department. That theory, therefore, was excluded—the ticket had not been taken.”
“Sholmes!”
“It had not been taken, Jotson,” said Sholmes calmly. “Yet it had left the duke’s possession. The question was—how?”
“I confess it is quite dark to me, Sholmes.”
“Naturally,” said Sholmes drily. “But my mental powers, my dear Jotson, are of quite a different calibre.”
“Most true.”
“As the ticket had not been taken from the duke, I deduced that he had parted with it unintentionally.”
“But is that possible, Sholmes?”
“Quite! Consider, my dear Jotson. His Grace kept the pawnticket, for safety, in his card-case. On calling at the Chinwag Department he sent in his card, naturally. By accident, Jotson, he handed over the pawnticket instead of his own card——”
“Sholmes!”
“And that ticket, Jotson, was taken in instead. That was the only theory to be deduced from the known facts. I proceeded to the Chinwag Department, and interviewed the official upon whom the duke called. There was a little difficulty in
obtaining an interview; but he was awakened at last, and I questioned him. As I had deduced, the missing pawnticket was discovered on the salver, where it had lain unnoticed since the duke’s call.”
“Wonderful!” I exclaimed.
Sholmes smiled in a bored way.
“Elementary, my dear Jotson. But here we are at Shaker Street.”
* * *
* And on pocketing the fee usually awarded to poor Jotson.—Ed.
CHRISTMAS EVE
S. C. Roberts
IN ADDITION TO BEING A NOTED EXPERT in eighteenth century English literature, especially the life and works of Dr. Samuel Johnson, S. C. Roberts (Sydney Castle Roberts) was also a scholar and aficionado of Sherlock Holmes. He wrote analytical works on the subject, such as Holmes and Watson: A Miscellany and Doctor Watson: Prolegomena to the Study of a Biographical Problem, as well as contributing regularly to Holmesian magazines and anthologies. He also wrote parodies and pastiches about Holmes and Watson, including this short play and The Strange Case of the Megatherium Thefts. “Christmas Eve” was first published as a chapbook limited to 100 copies (Cambridge, privately printed, 1936).
Christmas Eve
S. C. ROBERTS
(SHERLOCK HOLMES, disguised as a loafer, is discovered probing in a sideboard cupboard for something to eat and drink.)
HOLMES: Where in the world is that decanter? I’m sure I—
(Enter DR. WATSON, who sees only the back of HOLMES’S stooping figure)
WATSON: (Turning quickly and whispering hoarsely offstage) Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson! My revolver, quick. There’s a burglar in Mr. Holmes’s room. (WATSON exits)
HOLMES: Ah, there’s the decanter at last. But first of all I may as well discard some of my properties. (Takes off cap, coat, beard, etc., and puts on dressing gown) My word, I’m hungry. (Begins to eat sandwich) But, bless me, I’ve forgotten the siphon! (Stoops at cupboard in same attitude as before)
(Enter WATSON, followed by MRS. HUDSON)
WATSON: (Sternly) Now, my man, put those hands up.
HOLMES: (Turning round) My dear Watson, why this sudden passion for melodrama?
WATSON: Holmes!
HOLMES: Really, Watson, to be the victim of a murderous attack at your hands, of all people’s—and on Christmas Eve, too.
WATSON: But a minute ago, Holmes, there was a villainous-looking scoundrel trying to wrench open that cupboard—a really criminal type. I caught a glimpse of his face.
HOLMES: Well, well, my dear Watson, I suppose I ought to be grateful for the compliment to my make-up. The fact is that I have spent the day loafing at the corner of a narrow street leading out of the Waterloo Road. They were all quite friendly to me there.… Yes, I obtained the last little piece of evidence that I wanted to clear up that case of the Kentish Town safe robbery—you remember? Quite an interesting case, but all over now.
MRS. HUDSON: Lor’, Mr. ’Olmes, how you do go on. Still, I’m learnin’ never to be surprised at anything now.
HOLMES: Capital, Mrs. Hudson. That’s what every criminal investigator has to learn, isn’t it, Watson? (MRS. HUDSON leaves)
WATSON: Well, I suppose so, Holmes. But you must feel very pleased to think you’ve got that Kentish Town case off your mind before Christmas.
HOLMES: On the contrary, my dear Watson, I’m miserable. I like having things on my mind—it’s the only thing that makes life tolerable. A mind empty of problems is worse even than a stomach empty of food. (Eats sandwich) But Christmas is commonly a slack season. I suppose even criminals’ hearts are softened. The result is that I have nothing to do but to look out of the window and watch other people being busy. That little pawnbroker at the corner, for instance, you know the one, Watson?
WATSON: Yes, of course.
HOLMES: One of the many shops you have often seen, but never observed, my dear Watson. If you had watched that pawnbroker’s front door as carefully as I have during the last ten days, you would have noted a striking increase in his trade; you might have observed also some remarkably well-to-do people going into the shop. There’s one well–set-up young woman whom I have seen at least four times. Curious to think what her business may have been.… But it’s a shame to depress your Christmas spirit, Watson. I see that you are particularly cheerful this evening.
WATSON: Well, yes, I don’t mind admitting that I am feeling quite pleased with things today.
HOLMES: So “Rio Tintos” have paid a good dividend, have they?
WATSON: My dear Holmes, how on earth do you know that?
HOLMES: Elementary, my dear Watson. You told me years ago that “Rio Tintos” was the one dividend which was paid in through your bank and not direct to yourself. You come into my room with an envelope of a peculiar shade of green sticking out of your coat pocket. That particular shade is used by your bank—Cox’s—and by no other, so far as I am aware. Clearly, then, you have just obtained your pass-book from the bank and your cheerfulness must proceed from the good news which it contains. Ex hypothesi, that news must relate to “Rio Tintos.”
WATSON: Perfectly correct, Holmes; and on the strength of the good dividend, I have deposited ten good, crisp, five-pound notes in the drawer of my dressing table just in case we should feel like a little jaunt after Christmas.
HOLMES: That was charming of you, Watson. But in my present state of inertia I should be a poor holiday companion. Now if only—(Knock at door) Come in.
MRS. HUDSON: Please sir, there’s a young lady to see you.
HOLMES: What sort of young lady, Mrs. Hudson? Another of these young women wanting half a crown towards some Christmas charity? If so, Dr. Watson’s your man, Mrs. Hudson. He’s bursting with bank-notes today.
MRS. HUDSON: I’m sure I’m very pleased to ’ear it, sir; but this lady ain’t that kind at all, sir. She’s sort of agitated, like … very anxious to see you and quite scared of meeting you at the same time, if you take my meaning, sir.
HOLMES: Perfectly, Mrs. Hudson. Well, Watson, what are we to do? Are we to interview this somewhat unbalanced young lady?
WATSON: If the poor girl is in trouble, Holmes, I think you might at least hear what she has to say.
HOLMES: Chivalrous as ever, my dear Watson—bring the lady up, Mrs. Hudson.
MRS. HUDSON: Very good, sir. (To the lady outside) This way, Miss.
(Enter MISS VIOLET DE VINNE, an elegant but distracted girl of about twenty-two)
HOLMES: (Bowing slightly) You wish to consult me?
MISS DE VINNE: (Nervously) Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
HOLMES: I am—and this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.
WATSON: (Coming forward and holding out hand) Charmed, I am sure, Miss—
HOLMES: (To MISS DE VINNE) You have come here, I presume, because you have a story to tell me. May I ask you to be as concise as possible?
MISS DE VINNE: I will try, Mr. Holmes. My name is de Vinne. My mother and I live together in Bayswater. We are not very well off but my father was … well … a gentleman. The Countess of Barton is one of our oldest friends—
HOLMES: (Interrupting) And the owner of a very wonderful pearl necklace.
MISS DE VINNE: (Startled) How do you know that, Mr. Holmes?
HOLMES: I am afraid it is my business to know quite a lot about other people’s affairs. But I’m sorry. I interrupted. Go on.
MISS DE VINNE: Two or three times a week I spend the day with Lady Barton and act as her secretary in a casual, friendly way. I write letters for her and arrange her dinner-tables when she has a party and do other little odd jobs.
HOLMES: Lady Barton is fortunate, eh, Watson?
WATSON: Yes, indeed, Holmes.
MISS DE VINNE: This afternoon a terrible thing happened. I was arranging some flowers when Lady Barton came in looking deathly white. “Violet,” she said, “the pearls are gone.” “Heavens.” I cried, “what do you mean?” “Well,” she said, “having quite unexpectedly had an invitation to a reception on January 5th, I thought I would make sure that
the clasp was all right. When I opened the case (you know the special place where I keep it) it was empty—that’s all.” She looked as if she was going to faint, and I felt much the same.
HOLMES: (Quickly) And did you faint?
MISS DE VINNE: No, Mr. Holmes, we pulled ourselves together somehow and I asked her whether she was going to send for the police, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said Jim (that’s her husband) hated publicity and would be furious if the pearls became “copy” for journalists. But of course she agreed that something had to be done and so she sent me to you.
HOLMES: Oh, Lady Barton sent you?
MISS DE VINNE: Well, not exactly. You see, when she refused to send for the police, I remembered your name and implored her to write you … and … well … here I am and here’s the letter. That’s all, Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: I see. (Begins to read letter) Well, my dear lady, neither you nor Lady Barton has given me much material on which to work at present.
MISS DE VINNE: I am willing to answer any questions, Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: You live in Bayswater, Miss Winnie?
WATSON: (Whispering) “De Vinne,” Holmes.
HOLMES: (Ignoring WATSON) You said Bayswater, I think, Miss Winnie?
MISS DE VINNE: Quite right, Mr. Holmes, but—forgive me, my name is de Vinne.
HOLMES: I’m sorry, Miss Dwinney—
MISS DE VINNE: De Vinne, Mr. Holmes, D … E … V …
HOLMES: How stupid of me. I think the chill I caught last week must have left a little deafness behind it. But to save further stupidity on my part, just write your name and address for me, will you? (Hands her pen and paper, on which MISS DE VINNE writes) That’s better. Now, tell me, Miss de Vinne, how do you find Bayswater for shopping?
MISS DE VINNE: (Surprised) Oh, I don’t know. Mr. Holmes, I hardly—
HOLMES: You don’t care for Whiteley’s, for instance?
MISS DE VINNE: Well, not very much. But I can’t see …
HOLMES: I entirely agree with you, Miss de Vinne. Yet Watson, you know, is devoted to that place—spends hours there …
WATSON: Holmes, what nonsense are you—
The Big Book of Christmas Mysteries Page 36