by David Marcum
The house we arrived at was a charming Georgian which, judging from the state of the paint and the rust along the bannister, had seen better days. The neighboring houses on the row seemed to be shrinking away from it, as if disgusted by its weatherworn condition. A hefty, broad-shouldered constable, who tipped his hat and introduced himself as Herring, opened the door. Lestrade stood in the hallway, sneering at old paintings on the wall. He motioned us toward the front parlor.
“Mrs. Ames,” he said, far too loudly, speaking to the blind lady as if she were deaf as well as sightless. “I have brought in Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. They are consultants who have been helpful to Scotland Yard in certain cases.”
The lady sat on a small stool in a corner of the room. She was plump and jolly, clapping her hands together at Lestrade’s introduction. She wore a black dress in a style that I recalled my mother favoring, and her thick white hair was braided and massed in a dozen coils around her head. Dark spectacles protected her eyes, but her smile was radiant. Clearly, the criminal incident inside her dwelling was not a cause of alarm, but for celebration.
“You’ve come to solve our mystery. Oh, it’s the most exciting thing that has happened in this house since Harry - that’s my boy - brought home a live tiger cub from India and it climbed the drapes and got loose on the street and attacked the milkman!”
Holmes bowed over the lady’s outstretched hand, taking it and kissing it. “Madame is quite the collector, I perceive.”
It was the understatement of my friend’s career. The parlor was a veritable museum, crammed with all manner of artifacts, trinkets, and trophies. A stuffed grizzly bear rose on its back legs beside the door to the hallway, and a pair of open mummy cases, complete with linen-wrapped occupants, framed the other portal. The walls were covered in portraits, shadow boxes, and antique weapons. Glass curio cabinets filled with minerals, bottles, ornate shells, and scientific instruments stood everywhere. An exquisite model of the palace of Versailles rested on a large table next to the fireplace. The room was so packed with objects that the lady’s stool was the only place to sit. I had to be cautious of my elbows, lest I upset a precious Chinese vase or topple a stuffed creature from its perch.
“Oh, these are not my things,” Mrs. Ames said with a giggle. “They belonged to my late husband, who worked for the British Museum. Anything the museum rejected, he kept. And my son, dear Harry, he is a guide for big game hunters. The Prince of Wales is a client! You must see his room upstairs, where he keeps the lion, the water buffalo, and the anteater.”
I glanced toward Lestrade, and noted that his expression had soured. If Holmes’s theory was correct, the jewel could easily have been stashed inside one of the taxidermy beasts. There would be no way to retrieve it without ripping the trophies to shreds, an action that would hardly sit well with a man accustomed to sharing camp life with royalty.
“This is a most remarkable room,” Holmes said, taking tight, careful steps and craning his head to view the many articles along the walls. “I see that the Inspector’s men have not inflicted too much damage in their searches.”
“I told them to be careful! It would break my heart to have anything destroyed. I have so few pleasures in life, but I do enjoy coming in here and touching these old things my husband left to me. I can’t imagine what I would do if they were destroyed by the police.”
From Lestrade’s face it was clear that he expected her irate son to come storming into Scotland Yard with an elephant gun. He looked to Holmes and gave a pointed cough. Holmes nodded his understanding of Lestrade’s predicament.
“I am certain that we can avoid such an unpleasant outcome, Madame. But do tell me about this particular piece, Louis XIV’s great castle. I assume it was your dollhouse in childhood?”
The lady’s laugh was infectious. She rose and smoothed her crumpled skirts. It was easy to imagine what a charming girl she had been in the early years of the century.
“That is the oldest item in the collection. It was begun by my father, who was a footman at Versailles in the days before the Revolution. He fled to England during the Terror, and built this model completely from memory! My husband made some additions over time. Here, allow me to show you the most remarkable part.”
She reached out and glided her fingers along the roof of the model until she found a secret latch. It opened and an entire wall swung free, revealing a gala ball inside the famed Hall of Mirrors. Almost a hundred dolls, each some ten inches in height and all of them dressed in eighteenth-century attire, danced before the central figures of the king and queen. The dolls’ finery was astonishingly detailed, down to the elaborate embroidery of the coats and the golden buckles on the shoes.
“My husband thought we should make a present of it to the Queen, when the first little princess was born, but I could not bear to part with it.” She plucked one beautiful doll free, caressing the folks of her gown. “I made all the dresses and coats for them. It was the last thing I completed, before I lost my sight.”
Lestrade heaved a sigh that indicated his impatience. But Holmes merely studied the elder lady’s upturned face, as if he read secrets within her sad smile.
“Watson,” he said, “if you will be so kind, please pay a visit upstairs to Miss Templeton and make sure that she is well.”
I nodded and followed Lestrade’s lead, pausing only when he gestured toward other open doorways. Each room was packed to the ceiling with boxes, stuffed beasts, and glass cases. It would take a legion of trained curators a year to sort it all, and the lady was scheduled to leave for America the following week.
“Holmes has his work cut out for him,” Lestrade said.
We knocked on the final door at the end of the upper hall, and a soft, wounded voice bade us enter. Miss Celeste Templeton was sitting up in bed. She was swathed in a heavy velvet wrapper, and was gingerly sipping at the tea the housekeeper had delivered. The elder servant - a fierce, harsh-looking woman in a drab grey dress - stared at us with cold, hateful eyes as Lestrade made introductions.
“With your permission, Miss, I’d like Dr. Watson to take a quick look at your injuries - just to make sure our police surgeon knows his business.”
“Of course,” she whispered meekly, opening the wrapper so that I could inspect the marks on her throat. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, with milky white skin and cascades of fat golden curls falling to her shoulders. Her eyes were large and blue, and no artist could have painted a more perfect Cupid ’s bow lip. But her loveliness was spoiled by the pair of livid bruises on her left wrist and at her throat, where the assailant had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground. Each place showed clearly the mark of his savage hand.
“You have been cruelly used,” I said. The lady shuddered and pulled her gown back around her damaged neck.
“He was a monster. I thought he would kill me, the way he hurled me to the floor and pawed at me. Agnes... show the gentleman my dress.”
With a grunt, the housekeeper lumbered over to a chair and lifted up a blue walking dress. Its bodice was torn to pieces and there was a long rip down the front of the skirt.
“Of course, that is just the start of how I have been mistreated,” Miss Templeton said. As she shifted her gaze to the inspector, her eyes narrowed. “A half-dozen policemen have been through this room, turning it over, pawing through my lingerie! Tell me, Mr. Lestrade, have you brought twenty men this time to sniff through my private things? Or is it thirty?”
“I’ve brought only Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He’s known for getting results.”
“Results? For what? I have told you, sir, that when that beast ripped my blouse open I nearly fainted, but I never lost consciousness. I saw him run down the hallway and through the rear door. He could not have hidden that stone in this house, and I do wish you would stop pestering poor Mrs. Ames about it. We are the victims, not the criminals!”
As her voice
rose in volume and shrillness, Lestrade was beating a slow but steady retreat toward the door.
“Are you really going to hold our passports and keep us from going to America? Mrs. Ames’s son is expecting us.”
Fortunately for Lestrade, at just that moment Mrs. Ames appeared in the doorway. Her cheeks were rosy and her step light.
“Mr. Holmes says we must all come down, right away! He has solved the mystery!”
Miss Templeton wilted back on her pillow. “I cannot. I am simply too unnerved by all of this.”
“You can hear Mr. Holmes’s report downstairs or at the station,” Lestrade snapped, clearly grateful to have the upper hand once more. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter to Mr. Holmes.”
“Very well, but give me a moment to collect myself. Agnes, go on with them, if you will.”
The housekeeper thudded down the stairs behind us. As we entered the parlor, we found that Holmes had managed to clear some space for our impromptu meeting.
“This will take some managing - Watson, here by me, and you over there, Lestrade, and - Agnes, is it? - I think you can just go to the doorway. Mrs. Ames, here is your stool, and now we only need... ah, Miss Templeton, thank you for your company. Lestrade, just behind that stuffed heron, there is a little chair. Lift it over. Wonderful.”
Miss Templeton had swept her hair up and put a man’s smoking jacket over her gown. The low folds of the jacket made her wound even more obvious. Holmes made comforting sounds and rattled off half-a-dozen platitudes on the evil of men as he saw her to her seat.
“Now I will make everything right again,” Holmes said. “I am certain that these good ladies would prefer Scotland Yard’s finest back on the beat instead of being a burdensome presence in their lives. And since their ship departs in a week, there is no doubt a good bit of packing to do. So, I will make this brief. Inspector Lestrade is an idiot.”
“What!”
Holmes regarded the sputtering detective with an air of haughty contempt. “Surely you realize that Barney would not risk being caught with such a valuable gem upon his person. Such a crime would draw a hefty sentence, especially considering his criminal past. Once he saw Constable Herring in pursuit, he had no choice. He rid himself of the stone.”
“But where?”
Holmes rolled his eyes like an exasperated schoolmaster. “How many rubbish containers are there along the sidewalk between this dwelling and the Lellouche Museum of Mineralogy?”
Lestrade’s jaw dropped. His face turned white. “Four... five?”
“Fifteen. I counted. It would have been simplicity itself for Barney to fling the gem into any one of them along the route.”
“But Herring had him in his sights at all times.”
“Except, perhaps, in that moment when the nurse with the perambulator intervened. And even if he does not recall it, instinct would have caused the officer to look to both sides of the street before crossing. In that instant, the gem was disposed of.”
“But why did he come here and attack me?” Miss Templeton asked.
“The door was open and suggested safety. But once inside...” Holmes considered the lady at some length, which caused her to blush. “Forgive me for saying it, Miss Templeton, but you are a strikingly handsome woman and he is a beastly man. It was the inevitable result of - ”
“Wait!” Lestrade wailed, “Are you telling me that the Queen’s Tear has been lost?”
“If the rubbish has been taken up, I fear that it has.”
Lestrade blistered the air with oaths not fit for ladies’ ears, then turned and bolted for the door, ordering Herring to follow him. Miss Templeton breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“So our ordeal is over?”
“It is, and we can only wish the Inspector good luck in digging through the city’s trash. You ladies are now free to embark for New York.”
“How wonderful!” Mrs. Ames exclaimed. “What does Scotland Yard pay you, Mr. Holmes, when you work miracles for them?”
“My work is its own reward,” Holmes said.
“But that is unfair. If the police will not reward you, I certain will. Please, Mr. Holmes, won’t you accept a small token of my gratitude?”
She continued to babble as Holmes gently attempted to demure. Miss Templeton rose from her chair.
“I, too, am grateful, Mr. Holmes, but if you have no more need of me, I shall return to my room to rest.”
“Celeste, one moment!” Mrs. Ames said. “Mr. Holmes, you must choose a souvenir to remember me by. There are so many strange and wonderful things here and - let us be frank - I will probably never return from America to enjoy them. What will you have?”
“Madame is too kind. I could not break up such a fine collection.”
“I will not hear you refuse again, sir. Didn’t you tell me that your niece’s birthday was coming up? What was her name?”
“Dear little Martha. Yes, in fact, I must find something for her by tomorrow or she will never speak to me again. Mycroft is planning quite the party.”
I reminded myself that I must not react to this revelation. Mycroft now had a wife and a daughter? Clearly, Holmes was keeping secrets from me.
“Then I know just the thing.” Mrs. Ames pattered over to the Versailles dollhouse. I glanced toward the doorway, only to note that Miss Templeton had gone rigid. The hand that clutched the dressing gown together was knotted tightly, and her upper teeth were pressed against her bottom lip. Mrs. Ames opened the dollhouse to the scene of the ball, plucking a figure from its midst. “What little girl could resist such a doll? Queen Marie Antoinette, in all her finery!”
“And with her head still on her shoulders,” Holmes chuckled. “Still able to wear the most beautiful jewelry imaginable.”
“Mrs. Ames,” Miss Templeton said, “please do not do this. Think how sad it would make your son to know that you were breaking up the exhibit. It should pass to your grandchildren.”
The older lady paused for an instant, but gave a firm shake of her head. “Harry has only little boys, who could care less about dolls. Mr. Holmes’s niece would be a much more appropriate recipient.”
“Then choose another doll,” Miss Templeton urged. “One of the other ladies. They are all so beautiful and... well... I had hoped you might give the Queen to me, as a token of gratitude for my service.”
Mrs. Ames frowned. “This is not like you, Celeste. You’ve never said anything about the dolls, other than to complain when I asked you to help Agnes dust them!”
“Perhaps it is not the doll that Miss Templeton desires,” Holmes said, “but the gem that the tiny queen now sports around her throat.”
Everything happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that I was taken flat-footed. Miss Templeton lunged forward with the speed and skill of a viper, snatching the doll from Holmes’s hand and knocking the old lady to the floor with a violent shove. Mrs. Ames fell into an open-faced cabinet, which dumped its contents over her shoulders. I leapt to her aid, only to find that Holmes and I were at the business end of a snub-nosed pistol, which Miss Templeton had pulled from the deep pockets of her robe.
“He said you might come,” she hissed. Her hair had tumbled from it pins, obscuring part of her face. “Bernard warned me they might bring you in. I promised him, if you found the stone, I’d kill you.”
I clutched the old lady, who gaped at her companion. Holmes was a perfect target, standing only a few feet from the murderous woman. Still, he refused to raise his hands or make any gesture of defense.
“You might wish to look out,” he said softly.
“Why do you think I would fall for such an obvious ruse? Don’t you think I can kill you where you stand?”
“I doubt you will have time,” Holmes said, and in that instant the grizzly bear came toppling forward on its stand. Miss Templeton instinctively sp
un at the sound, only to be locked into the stuffed bear’s embrace as it fell atop her. There was more destruction - shattered glass, broken plates, splintered wood - but the end result was our rescue. Miss Templeton was pinned down and knocked unconscious by the great bear. The gun skittered free of her grasp.
Agnes stepped forward, brushing her hands free of shed fur. “I never liked that tart,” she muttered.
“Holmes, shouldn’t we go in search of Lestrade?” I asked as we settled into a carriage just outside of Scotland Yard. It was evening, for it had taken us some time to settle all of the tasks in concluding the case. I had checked Mrs. Ames for wounds, and was relieved to find that she had not been harmed. We then delivered Miss Templeton to the Yard, bound with medieval chains that had been part of her employer’s collection of antiquities. The purloined diamond was also in the hands of the authorities, who had summoned the museum owner to identify his stolen property. Monsieur Lellouche would have planted a hundred thankful kisses on my friend’s cheeks, but fortunately Holmes was familiar enough with the Yard to make an escape thorough a back door. “If we don’t find Lestrade,” I argued, “he may go through every rubbish heap in London.”
Holmes offered a wry smile. “Do not fret about our friend. While we were within, I slipped Inspector Gregson a note, telling him to bring Lestrade home. Of course, Gregson seemed rather out of sorts with his colleague for inviting me into the fray, so we will see how far their mutual pettiness extends.”
“That was cruel of you,” I scolded. “To send him on such a wild goose chase.”
“It was calculation, not cruelty,” Holmes said. “I felt the chances of forcing Miss Templeton’s hand and tricking her into revealing her complicity were far better with Lestrade and his constable out of the house. I wished Miss Templeton to maintain the illusion that she was in charge of the situation.”
“Did you think she would be armed?” I asked, a bit concerned that Holmes was willing to send Lestrade from the scene, but had no compunction about risking my life, and that of Mrs. Ames and her housekeeper.