The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Instrument of Death

by David Stuart Davies

  Holmes shrugged his shoulders. “What does one do with a precious stone? These glittering trinkets are inevitably the target for the magpie thief and so have to be locked away for safety’s sake. No great benefit can accrue from being the owner of such an item.”

  “Presumably, it was used as security for the family – insurance against some unforeseen financial tragedy.”

  Holmes pursed his lips and nodded. “You are no doubt correct in that assumption. It is remarkable how the aristocracy place such reliance on these gewgaws to protect them from penury. But in many respects it is a burden to the owner: constantly having to monitor its security while being unable to do anything with it. How foolish of Sir Jeffrey to harbour the stone in his own house, like a miser who secretes his gold beneath the floorboards, rather than in a bank. Well, now it has been stolen. Thursday last, someone entered Sir Jeffrey’s dressing room, opened the safe where the ruby was lodged and took it.”

  “How did the felon get into the safe?”

  My friend gave me a thin smile. “That is the first interesting aspect concerning this case. The thief knew the combination and simply opened the safe. Now, Sir Jeffrey assures the police that he and he alone knew the combination. The waters are muddied even further by a glove, which was found on the floor near the safe. It was this very glove, which, my enquiries at Sawyers and Walters revealed, showed that the owner was in fact none other than Sir Jeffrey Damury.”

  “Great Scott! So the devil robbed himself! For the insurance money, no doubt.”

  Holmes gave a beam of satisfaction. “Certainly that is how the matter appears – unless the gentleman is in the habit of discarding his gloves on the floor – and, indeed, the police are on the brink of arresting the fellow for the crime. However, some innate stirrings in Lestrade’s brain make him think that this solution is all too obvious, too simple.”

  “That is unlike Lestrade. He usually settles for the obvious and simple.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps he grows more cautious with age. However, he is unnerved by the business. He has no idea why, he has no alternative solutions to the mystery, and so he came knocking at my door, hoping that I might shed more light on the matter. And he was quite right to do so. Nevertheless, it does look bad for Sir Jeffrey. Investigations have revealed that he has lost considerable sums on the gaming tables in the last six months and he is in debt for over two thousand pounds.”

  I gave a low whistle. “That is a considerable amount. I can see how tempting it would be to say that the ruby was stolen, claim the insurance money and then have the ruby cut down into smaller stones to add to his loot.”

  “Succinctly put, my dear Watson.”

  “So where are the complications?”

  “To begin with, why would Sir Jeffrey state categorically that only he knew the combination of the safe? He is virtually accusing himself with such an assertion. He could so easily have said that the combination was written down and some other nefarious soul had gained access to it. Or that he had confided the details to his wife or another trusted person. But no. He insists he kept the number in his head. He had been the one to set the combination in the first place and only he knew how to open the safe.”

  “Well, by such a claim he has placed his own head on the block.”

  “So it would seem. But why would a man be so stupid?”

  “Perhaps he is suffering from some sort of brain fever caused by the loss of the ruby, and thus his security? The stress and guilt may have clouded his mind and judgement. It is not unknown. You’ll remember the case of poor Percy Phelps?”

  “Possibly. But Lestrade assures me that he seems clear-headed and shows no signs of mental distress.”

  “It baffles me, then.”

  “There is one simple answer to that conundrum, however.”

  “And what is that?”

  Holmes threw out his arms in a casual gesture. “The man is innocent.” My friend paused for a moment and then picked up the glove again. “Then we have this. Exhibit A, if you like. It reveals one other confusing element. Hold it close to your nose and inhale.”

  “What?”

  “Just tell me what you smell.”

  With some reluctance, I did as I was bid. To my surprise I was conscious of the subtle hint of a delicate, sweet odour of roses.

  “It is perfume of some kind,” I said.

  “Indeed it is. Bravo, Watson. It is a lady’s perfume and an expensive one at that, in order for the scent to linger for so long.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It suggests that a woman has worn this glove, which initially implies that it was she who left it behind at the scene of the crime, either deliberately or by accident.”

  “Have you any notion who this woman is?”

  “The obvious candidate is Lady Sarah, Sir Jeffrey’s wife. Surely she would have access to the combination to the safe. There are ways and means a wife can use to extract a husband’s secret. I cannot believe she could share the same home and bed as Damury and not by some means be able to obtain the combination.”

  “But why wear her husband’s gloves? They would be too large for her, surely?”

  “And leave one behind? To incriminate him, of course.”

  “Have you any evidence that she would wish to do this?”

  Holmes stroked his chin. “The marriage is not a sound one. It would be convenient for Lady Sarah to see her husband carted off to gaol.”

  “So you believe she left the glove behind in order to point the finger of guilt at her husband.”

  “That is one possibility, certainly.”

  I recognised the sardonic note in my friend’s voice and the implications that it held. “So, you don’t think that this is the case – that the glove is in fact a false clue.”

  Holmes nodded. “The fact that the perfume was still noticeable suggests to me that the glove was deliberately sprayed to create the impression that it had been worn by a woman. The concentration of fragrance is more noticeable on the outside than on the lining, which would not be the case if the glove had actually been worn by the owner of the perfume.”

  “If that is so,” said I, “the clue is somewhat recherché. Certainly your average Scotland Yarder – and I include our friend Lestrade in this – would hardly be perceptive enough to pick up the smell of a woman’s perfume from an examination of the glove. I certainly didn’t.”

  “That is true.” Holmes paused for a moment, holding his forefinger pressed against his lips in concentrated thought. “I suspect that Lady Damury was involved in the theft in some way. However, she had a watertight alibi for the night of the robbery and so she could not have actually taken the stone herself…”

  “What makes you think that? You mean, then, that she had an accomplice?”

  “That is how I read the riddle. I put Wiggins on to the matter. I had him shadow the lady.”

  “And…?”

  “In short, she had a clandestine meeting with a certain good-looking gentleman in one of the small, out-of-the-way restaurants in the Soho area. According to my young Baker Street Irregular they seemed… how shall I phrase this… more than usually intimate.”

  “Her lover, no doubt,” I observed.

  “I lack your experience of such amorous adventures, Watson, but nevertheless I reached exactly the same conclusion. Wiggins had the good sense to follow him when the two parted and I have been able to establish his identity. He is Godfrey Forbes, a young lawyer who has a small town house in Kensington. Further enquiries reveal that his legal career is faltering and he is mired in debt. And so a scenario begins to emerge. A bored wife with a young lover who is in need of funds. She aids her lover to steal her husband’s precious ruby, implicating him in the theft and thus leaving the ground clear for the lovers to be united.”

  “It sounds like the plot of a yellow-backed novel.”

  “I am sure you are correct, although I cannot say that I have ever read one.”

  “So you believe that the lady pr
ovided access to the house and gave this Forbes fellow the combination in order for him to snatch the ruby. She must be infatuated with him.”

  “But the business grows darker, Watson. This morning I carried out my own reconnaissance on Mr. Godfrey Forbes’s premises for a little plan I have in mind. As it so happens, I was pausing on the pavement, taking quite a time to light a cigarette while I took in the details of the property, when the man himself emerged from the front door. I took it upon myself to shadow him. He travelled by cab to Fleet Street, to Thomas Cook the travel agents, in fact. I followed him inside the bustling shop and managed to overhear his transactions with the counter clerk. He was making the final arrangements for his journey to South America. Brazil, to be precise. And, my dear Watson, it was a solo ticket.”

  “The blackguard. He intends to desert the lady and has implicated her by use of the perfume.”

  “So it would seem. She is no longer useful to him. He has the stone and he intends to flee, leaving her to face the consequences of her foolishness.”

  “He must be stopped.”

  Holmes nodded. “Indeed he must. But it has to be done carefully. Our problem is that only he knows the whereabouts of the Damury ruby. Once he has been apprehended for the crime, he may very well refuse to reveal its whereabouts.”

  “But if the stone is not found, how can he be arrested? There would be no proof that he was the thief.”

  “I am sure that Lady Damury, once she is made cognisant of the unscrupulous machinations of her so-called lover and his intention to leave the country without her, would take great pleasure in implicating the scoundrel in the theft. Her part in the affair is bound to come out and no doubt she would wish her deceitful paramour to bear his part of the guilt also. However, I have a plan which may smooth the way considerably and bring about the safe return of the precious gem while also securing the arrest of our larcenous lover. I intend to put it into operation tonight. Are you in the mood for a little adventure after your quiet rural interlude?”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “Good man. Your assistance will be invaluable. A glass of brandy to fortify us for our evening’s exploits and then we shall set forth. I suggest you retrieve your revolver from the top drawer of your bedside cabinet. It is hard to judge the lengths to which a desperate man may go to retain his liberty once it is threatened, and so it is best to be prepared.”

  Chapter Four

  From the journal of Dr. John H. Watson

  Some thirty minutes later we were travelling the darkened streets of the metropolis in a hansom. I must admit I was buoyed up with excitement: to be on the trail again with my companion Sherlock Holmes was as good a remedy as any that a few days’ rest in the country could supply.

  “I assume we are bound for Kensington.”

  “Indeed we are,” replied Holmes with a chuckle, “where we shall be committing a spot of burglary.”

  I was fully aware that there was little point in enquiring as to Holmes’s exact aims in this venture. It was always his way to keep his cards close to his chest until the last minute. Frustrating though this was, I knew I had to accept the fact without complaint.

  Having paid the cabby, Holmes led me along a dark lane into a broader thoroughfare of town houses. “This is King Henry’s Walk. The third house on the left, the one with the olive green door, is Forbes’s dwelling.”

  It was a bijou residence which, I observed by the dim light of a nearby gas lamp, was showing some signs of neglect. The paint on the door was peeling and several of the windows on the upper floor were without curtains.

  “I know the fellow is dining at his club tonight and so he will be late home. We have at least a couple of hours at our leisure,” observed my friend with a smile.

  Glancing around him to make sure the coast was clear, Sherlock Holmes advanced upon the door while at the same time extracting from his overcoat a small leather wallet. I recognised it as one of Holmes’s miniature lock-picking kits. Extracting an implement from the wallet, he applied it to the keyhole. Within less than a minute there was a quiet, satisfying click as the lock’s mechanism retracted, allowing Holmes to open the door and usher me in. Holmes then contrived to lock the front door from the inside. It was only now that he confided his plan of action.

  Our focus was the sitting room and the one next to it, which obviously served as Forbes’s study.

  “The ruby will be in one of these rooms, I am convinced of it,” said Holmes. “I don’t believe that Forbes would conceal it on a higher floor, in case he had to make a quick flight. However, even if I am mistaken, our work here will lead us to the stone. Now, this is what we have to do…”

  * * *

  After carrying out Holmes’s instructions, I secreted myself behind the curtains in the study, in such a way that I was afforded a good view of the room. Holmes did the same in the sitting room. Indeed, we had to be very patient, for it was well after midnight before we heard the front door open and the occupant of the house entered. He wandered casually into the sitting room, humming softly under his breath. The humming stopped, however, when he switched on the electric light. The sight that met his eyes caused him to emit a long low moan, followed by a harsh cry of “My God!”

  The room looked as though a tornado had ripped through it: drawers had been yanked out of cupboards and cabinets, their contents strewn on the floor, cushions had been removed from chairs and the sofa, pictures had been taken down from the walls, pot plants upturned, rugs pulled aside and an oriental jar lay shattered in pieces. For a moment Godfrey Forbes stood frozen with shock as he surveyed the damage and disruption and then suddenly, with a strange gagging sound, he ran into the study. Here a similar sight met his eyes: books had been ripped from the shelves, papers were scattered over the floor and the desk had been upturned and ransacked.

  “The devil!” cried Forbes as he ran to the empty fireplace. Kneeling down on the hearth, he reached up the chimney and seconds later dragged down a black leather bag. With great agitation, he pulled it open and tipped into his hand a bright shiny object.

  “Ah, at least they didn’t get you,” he said grinning, holding up the ruby to the light.

  “I am afraid you are wrong. We did.” The voice came from Sherlock Holmes, who was standing by the doorway with a revolver in his hand. At the same time, I emerged from behind the curtain.

  “What… what the hell is going on here?” stammered Forbes, the colour draining from his face.

  “I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my associate, Dr. John Watson. We have come to retrieve Lord Damury’s possession and effect a citizen’s arrest.”

  “Arrest? Arrest… for what?”

  “Come now, the time for prevarication is over. You hold in your grasp the Ranjapur Ruby, stolen by you from Lord Damury’s safe. It is pointless to deny it. There is the evidence, almost burning a hole in your felonious hand.”

  With a snarl of anger, Forbes threw the bag at Holmes and ran towards him, but my friend fired his revolver, aiming wide of his would-be assailant. However, the violent sound of the gunshot stopped Forbes in his tracks and he fell to his knees in despair.

  * * *

  “Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you certainly live up to the soubriquet the press have given you: the Great Detective.”

  “My blushes, Inspector,” said Holmes with a lazy smile.

  A bleary-eyed Lestrade lifted his mug of tea in a toast to my friend. It was some hours after our encounter with Godfrey Forbes and we were ensconced in Lestrade’s office at Scotland Yard. The inspector had been roused from his slumber in order to oversee the arrest and incarceration in a cell in the lower reaches of the Yard of a man who had compromised a peer of the realm, before he could be transferred to prison awaiting his trial.

  Holmes stretched back in his chair and smiled. “I used a variation of an old modus operandi of mine. I knew that if Forbes believed his house had been burgled, the first thing he would do was go to the hiding place to ensure his precious stone was safe. I
n other words, we let him reveal its secret location to us. It would be unlikely that a body of constables crawling over the property for a week would have lit upon such a cunning hidey-hole.”

  “Blimey, that’s a clever ruse, eh, Dr. Watson?”

  I nodded. “You sum the matter up aptly, Inspector,” I replied, glancing at Holmes with a smile.

  “Well, that brings this case to a very satisfactory conclusion, I suppose,” said Lestrade, with a smug, self-satisfied grin. “Although, while Sir Jeffrey will be happy to get the ruby back, he will be less pleased to learn of his wife’s adulterous involvement in this affair.”

  “Indeed,” said Holmes solemnly. “I have always believed that large precious stones are the Devil’s bait. Few who come into the possession of one ever escape the dark pall of tragedy within that sparkling surface. I wouldn’t wish to own such a trinket for all the world.”

  Just as Lestrade was about to respond there was a loud knocking at the door and a red-faced constable entered.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Inspector, but you’re needed. There’s been a murder.”

  Lestrade rolled his eyes. “There may have been, my lad, but I am not officially on duty. I’m sure there are other inspectors in the building who can shoulder this particular burden.”

  “Yes, sir, but…”

  “But? What do you mean by ‘but’? Didn’t you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir, but… the murder is connected with your current investigation.”

  Lestrade now looked confused as well as angry. “Explain yourself, lad.”

  “It’s Lady Damury. She’s been murdered… strangled. She’s dead.”

  Chapter Five

  A year earlier

  “My last tenant was a faith healer. A very nice woman who used the front parlour as her consulting room. I have no doubt that it would be ideal for your purposes.” Mrs. Clements smiled encouragingly at the large, swarthy man as she led him into the room. He did not respond; his face remained a blank canvas. “As you can see, it is quite light and airy, although when the heavy velvet curtains are drawn the room can be sealed off in darkness,” she continued with forced enthusiasm.