by David Marcum
“You don’t really think you were the only man to. I bet on the Met, too!”
“Well, I’ll be looking for a cab, on Hallowe’en Night mind, to let me home before pay. And I don’t know how I’m going to explain I lost my pound to the Missus!” Hopkins heaved a sigh and growled, stamping the tip of his walking-stick into the floor. “It wouldn’t have been very loyal to bet against the Yard!”
“Ah.” Lestrade slapped Hopkins on the back. “You had the right idea, you just didn’t think it through. I too put down a pound for the Yard... but I also put five down on Mr. Holmes to solve it. That settles my loyalty and my common sense at the same time.”
“You stacked two-way bets up for and against yourself?” Hopkins stared.
“Gambling’s evil, Hopkins. I hope you learnt a lesson today.” Lestrade placidly held up a purse bulging with notes and coins. “You also missed the private pot on whether or not Mr. Braddon would leave after the lecture. Mr. Holmes put up twenty just to give the devil his due. Why, you’re looking a bit peaky, lad. Shall I see you home after supper?”
The Adventure of the Queen’s Teardrop
by Tracy Revels
“Ring for tea, Watson,” said my good friend, Sherlock Holmes, dropping the newspaper he had been reading into the pile of clutter beside his chair. “We will have company within the hour.”
“Oh? You have an engagement?” I asked, rather surprised, as he had not mentioned any pending cases on this lovely autumn afternoon. “A client?”
Holmes shook his head. “It has been three days since the theft of the Queen’s Tear from the Lellouche Museum of Mineralogy. Three days since this singular event which, if our correspondents in the press are to be believed, has baffled all of Scotland Yard. Seventy-two hours is normally approaching the limits of Inspector Lestrade’s patience and - aha, here is the man himself. His footsteps are most distinctive. Come inside, Inspector, and make yourself at home.”
Our friend from the official forces had indeed materialized in the doorway as Holmes spoke. He shot a rather chagrinned look at Holmes’s smug face, then tramped inside and dropped onto the sofa with a disgusted huff.
“You know it all, I suppose?”
“Only what has been published in the newspapers,” Holmes answered. “Why don’t you tell us the entire story, especially the parts of it which the press has omitted?”
Lestrade’s sharp cheeks turned dusty red with frustration and embarrassment. He tugged roughly at his shirt cuffs as he spoke, his voice crabbed and irritated.
“Barney’s a bad egg, no doubt. Petty thievery, smash and grab. He’s done five years in prison for making off with a countess’s jewel box when he was a footman in her employ. He’s like a raven with eye for anything that sparkles, and he’s full of charm, I’ll give him that. He’s a handsome devil, too. He talks like a gentleman, and he could probably make an honest living if he wasn’t so light-fingered. True, I never took him to be especially clever, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what he did with the Queen’s Tear.”
Holmes gave a pointed cough. “From the beginning, if you will.”
Lestrade snorted. “Then we’d need to go back to the days of the French Revolution, where the story starts. But your history is better than mine, I’d wager.”
“Let us consult a reliable source,” Holmes said, and leisurely stretched out his arm to pluck down the good old Index. He flipped through it, muttering softly, until he found the entry. He read aloud from the text.
“‘The Queen’s Tear is a teardrop-shaped blue diamond, twenty carats, said to have been in the possession of Marie Antoinette when she was imprisoned in the Conciergerie. According to legend, she offered the diamond as a final bribe to her jailer, in hopes of escaping the guillotine. When the wretched sans-culotte took the stone and betrayed her to her executors, it was said that the diamond acquired a curse.’”
“Rubbish!” Lestrade snorted.
“What rare diamond has not collected bad luck and misfortune?” Holmes asked, before returning to the Index. “‘The jailer was himself executed during the Thermidorian Reaction, and the diamond was briefly in the possession of the unhappy Empress Josephine before being returned to Louis XVIII, who feared it as an ill omen. Thus it was passed along to a series of notables and each,’” Holmes read with an arch smile, “‘has come to some unfortunate demise, including suicide, murder by brigands, and falling overboard during a storm in the Channel. The diamond’s current owner, the Comte du Castlenau, permits it to be exhibited at various museums.’” Holmes glanced up from the Index. “Clearly, this entry requires some updating, as the gem is now in the possession of a thief. The stone is valued at over fifty-thousand pounds.”
I gave a low whistle as Holmes returned the Index to the shelf. “When did the Queen’s Tear arrive in London?” Holmes asked.
“A little over a month ago,” Lestrade said. “The owner of the Lellouche Museum of Mineralogy is a distant kinsman to the Comte. The Museum is a single room, nothing more than an attachment to a shop, Lellouche & Company, which trades in jewelry with historical significance. The shop sells antique and estate pieces, and jewels associated with royalty. Anytime a special piece is on display at the Museum, it attracts a crowd to the shop, which is accessed through an archway. Monsieur Etienne Lellouche, the proprietor, said they’d had quite the flood of people in to see the Queen’s Tear, but three days ago the museum was empty at the ten o’clock hour. The old soldier who watched the display had stepped away to the lavatory, and Lellouche was assisting one of his regular customers in the shop when he heard the sound of glass shattering. Lellouche raced through the archway to see the display case on the floor and a man bolting into the street.”
“Did the proprietor recognize the man?”
“He did. Barney - full name Bernard Reginald Thompkins - had been nearly a daily visitor, so much that Lellouche had begun to suspect him of devilry and more than once had shooed him out of the museum. Fortunately, Herring, one of our lads, was on the corner when Barney came flying out of the store. Herring heard the shouts, saw the rascal, and gave chase. Herring’s a flyer and plays on our rugby team, and he’s the size of a steam engine! I don’t doubt that when Barney looked back he was alarmed to see who was bearing down on him.
“They made five blocks before Barney took a turn and crossed a street. At just that moment a nurse with a perambulator got between them, but Herring had Barney in his sight the whole time, even if the near-accident slowed him a bit. There was a young woman standing in an open doorway, as if she’d come out to see what all the fuss was about. Barney sprung up the stairs, pushed the lady back into the house, and slammed the door.
“Herring ran up and banged on the door. He could hear the lady screaming and crying for help - he said it was the most awful racket he’d ever heard, and he was afraid the blackguard was killing her. He tried kicking the door in, but it was too stout. Another constable, Hill, came up at just that moment. Together, they forced the door open and found the girl swooning on the floor. The brute had mauled her, but she was brave and pointed them toward the hallway and the back of the house. The men caught Barney trying to shimmy over a high brick wall in the garden. They pulled him down and turned him inside out, but couldn’t find the stone.” Lestrade gave a tired sigh. “Might I beg a cigarette?”
Holmes nodded and passed over his silver case. I caught an odd expression on his face, part amusement and part dismay. “I assume you subjected the nefarious Barney to a more thorough search once you had him in custody at the station.”
Lestrade shook out a match and pitched it in the fireplace. With a groan, he rose and leaned against the mantel. “That we did. Stripped him naked as his mother bore him, but couldn’t find the gem. Of course, this whole time he’s claiming he’s been framed, that he only ran away because he was frightened when he bumped into the glass case and broke it. He say
s he knows no one will believe a man with a criminal record, but swears he’s as innocent as a lamb and we’re the ones leading him to slaughter.”
“He swallowed the Queen’s Tear,” I said, wondering why it was left to me to point out the obvious. “It is the only possible solution.”
“We thought of that,” Lestrade said, favoring me with a look of reproach. “Our police surgeon gave him a draught that... well, let us just say it produced results in a very short amount of time. Unpleasant for everyone, but no Tear was shed, you might say. Plus, the stone was securely attached to a thin gold chain, and there’s been no sign of it either.”
Holmes leaned his head back in the chair and put his fingers together. “Tell me about the household, and the lady who was assaulted.”
Lestrade fished a notebook from his jacket. “The house belongs to Mrs. Abigail Ames, the relic of Winston Ames, a curator at the British Museum. She’s elderly, blind, and a bit daft, and was sound asleep upstairs when the whole thing happened. There’s a housekeeper named Agnes who was at the market. The lady who was attacked is Miss Celeste Templeton, a paid companion to the widow. It’s a female household - not a butler or footman in sight - and the widow’s only son is currently living in America.”
“What can you tell me about Miss Templeton?”
Lestrade scowled. “Holmes, surely you’re not suggesting that a lady who was nearly ravished by a villain is in league with him? I saw the girl’s wounds, they’re quite real, and her dress was nearly torn from her body!”
“Still, I would like to know more details.”
Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well, if you insist - Miss Templeton has been with Mrs. Ames for a little under a month. She is a former governess, thirty years of age. Quite a good-looking lady, but nothing exceptional or suspicious in her background. The housekeeper, however, is a frightful looking woman, arms like a bear, in her fifties if I had to guess. She’s silent, shifty-eyed, and not at all happy to have policemen in the place. If you insist on an accomplice, take her.”
“I assume you have inspected the premises thoroughly? And not allowed false modesty to deter you?”
Lestrade’s face reddened again. “Certainly not! I’ll admit, I’m not fond of plundering through a lady’s linen, but I did it. Even the older lady’s corsets got shaken out. I promise you, Holmes, the Queen’s Tear is not sewn up in a pair of bloomers.”
My friend seemed to struggle against a smile.
“What about Mrs. Ames’s jewels?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be simple to hide one gem among others?”
“Of course it would - and we do have some wits about us,” Lestrade muttered. “We turned out every jewelry box in the house and swept through all the lady’s trinkets. The stone is not there.”
I glanced down at the notes I had taken. “What about the old soldier who was supposed to guard the stone? Or the owner of the museum and store? Could this be a fraud?”
Lestrade shook his head. “Gregson has been working that end, and he tells me there’s nothing afoot in that direction. Impeccable credentials and genuine dismay on both their parts, and a thorough search of the premises has turned up nothing.”
“Has a reward been offered?” Holmes asked.
“Not yet. The Comte is travelling in the East at the moment, and hasn’t heard of the theft. Monsieur Lellouche would like nothing more than this business to be settled before word of it reaches his relative.”
“So what would you like me to do?” Holmes asked. “If all of Scotland Yard’s best scent hounds have failed, how could I possibly be of assistance?”
“Work your magic!” Lestrade snapped. “Time is of the essence. I believe Barney planted that stone somewhere in the house, but I won’t be able to hold him much longer without evidence. And if one of the ladies is an accomplice - not that I believe it for a moment! - I can’t confine them much longer either. So far, I’ve kept a constable at the door around the clock and none of the ladies have exited the house, but Mrs. Ames says they all have tickets to sail for America next week to visit her son in New York. The lady’s almost a hundred years old, and if I hold her back and she dies, I don’t want to think of the scandal.” He slapped his hat on his head and made for the door. “You’ll come then, within an hour? I’ll be there, to make sure they can receive you.”
A short time later, we were ensconced in a hansom cab, making the trip to Mrs. Ames’s residence. Holmes tapped his cane against my knee.
“It is helpful, in a situation like this, to put oneself in the position of the villain. It is a useful mental exercise, to engage the imagination and, for a brief time, take the place of the criminal. You have no objections to playing the role of the sinister Barney?”
“None at all,” I chuckled.
“Very well - you are now a man of low character, with a taste for acquiring shiny things. You wander into the Museum of Mineralogy and spy the Queen’s Tear lying inside a glass case. Your instinct might be to smash the case and seize the diamond, but having spent time in prison, you know it is better not to be too hasty. So what do you do?”
“I begin to ‘case the joint’, if that is the proper slang. I watch the museum to find out when it is busy, and when the guard is either absent or might be overpowered.”
“A sensible precaution. Do you seek confederates in your enterprise?”
I gave the question some thought. “If I have in the past, I might, but if all my crimes have been committed solo, then I am unlikely to change my normal course of action. The more people who know of my intention, the more chances there are for me to be betrayed.”
“Excellent, Watson! You may yet acquire membership in London’s criminal fraternity. Now, let us imagine that the optimal moment has come. You are suddenly alone in the museum, the guard has gone away, and the owner is distracted in the adjoining room. You smash the case, seize the stone, and do what?”
“Run for my life!”
“Of course! But a whistle blows and you glance behind to find a constable bearing down on you like a steaming locomotive! What do you do now?”
“I run faster!”
“Watson.”
I could see from the sudden twist to his lips that perhaps my answer lacked merit, even if it possessed humor. “Very well, I see I cannot escape him. I will get rid of the jewel.”
“A difficult task with a prime specimen of the blue-bottle type at your heels.”
“So I look for any place for safety. I cross a street and see an open doorway with a lady standing at the threshold. I flee there, thinking I can get the door between myself and the officer. Then I hide inside the house or, more likely, escape through the back yard.
“You would make a very efficient criminal indeed,” Holmes said, with a show of muted applause. “But permit one more question - what would you do with the lady?”
“I suppose I would push her down, or thrust her in a closet if one was handy.”
“You mean you would not stop to ravish her?”
In that instant, I understood the point of our mischievous exercise. “Of course not. I would be so desperate to escape the forces of the law that I would never think to have my way with her, even if she were the most beautiful of ladies and I the grossest beast of a man. One crime at a time, I would think!”
Holmes threw back his head and indulged in a rare moment of unrestrained laughter. “One crime at a time! Watson, I believe we should adopt that as the new motto of this agency. But along with having coined a slogan, you have hit upon the central problem with Lestrade’s little melodrama. A man carrying fifty-thousand pounds worth of diamond in his pocket has no time for sating his lust, no matter how helpless the maiden. It makes no sense that he would pause, even for the few moments that it took the hardy constable to summon help and break down the door.”
“So the lady is an accomplice?”
“It seems likely that she is a confederate. Let us, for the moment, work on that hypothesis. If she is an accomplice, then this is not a bit of random larceny, but has been carefully planned and timed for a moment when the museum is generally free of crowds and lax in its security. The lady’s place of residence is also no accident, as it is within a quick gallop from the store. The attack is an extra bit of staging to divert attention to Barney and away from his partner in crime. It is quite clever, in its daring - all Barney had to do was reach his associate, pass the gem to her, and be willing to endure the indignities that searching for the lost stone would entail. When the diamond was not found, Barney would either be released or given some minor sentence for breaking the glass and resisting arrest. He could then reclaim his prize.”
“But all the residents of the dwelling have tickets for America.”
“Barney may as well.” Holmes buried a chuckle. “Or he may not. Perhaps the criminal is being conned. His lady-friend would have no trouble disposing of such a bauble in the American underworld, and then escaping her unsavory associate forever.”
I shook my head. “You have a low opinion of women, Holmes.”
“On the contrary, my dear Watson, I have a high opinion of them - they possess brains built for scheming, and nature and society has required them to become manipulators of the first order. I would not be shocked if our Miss Templeton, rather than the roguish Barney, is actually the mastermind of the plot.”
This announcement did not sit well with me. It seemed a bit too arrogant, and too easily fell into Holmes’s twisted notions about the untrustworthy nature of females. “Well,” I said, “if you cannot find the Queen’s Tear, then you may have to conclude that yet another woman has beaten you.”
“Watson, old friend, that is exactly what I am afraid of.”