The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Denis O. Smith

  She turned to him, but did not respond.

  “You wish to tell us,” Holmes continued, “that on Saturday night you could not sleep and, as you lay awake, you heard Lady Latchmere’s bedroom door open and her footsteps on the landing. You opened your door a crack and saw that, clad in a dressing gown over her nightclothes, she was going downstairs. On an impulse, you crossed the landing and entered her bedroom, where you unlocked her jewel case – the key was in the lock – and removed the Latchmere Pendant. To make it appear the work of an intruder, you took a glove, from a pair that lay under a straw hat on a chair, and threw it from the window to the lawn below, where you knew it would be found the following morning. You then returned to your own room, and hid the pendant in your luggage.”

  Miss Norman did not reply, and after a few moments, during which I could see that he was observing her features keenly, Holmes continued:

  “Now you have returned home with your booty, and have realized that your momentary impulse has placed you in a difficult – even possibly disastrous – situation. You do not really want the pendant: you cannot wear it, and nor can you possibly sell such a well-known piece of jewellery. What is to be done? And then you received my letter, offering a way – perhaps the only way – out of your difficulty.”

  “If you were right,” Miss Norman interrupted, “and I did in fact have the pendant, would you be able to return it to Viscount Latchmere without mentioning my name in any way?”

  “Yes. That is my intention. Nothing would be gained, and much lost, by dragging your name through the mud.”

  “Very well,” said she in a tone of resignation. She unfastened the capacious bag that lay in her lap and took from it a small bundle, wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief. This she unfolded, and held it out for us to see. Upon the handkerchief, in an elaborate gold setting, lay the largest gemstone I have ever seen in my life. The flickering light from our fire caught the facets of this remarkable stone, which flashed and sparkled with every slight movement of Miss Norman’s hand. “Here is my ‘booty’, as you call it,” said she. “That is all that I took. I know nothing about the missing ring.”

  Holmes took the pendant from her hand and held it up by the chain, so that it flashed as it twisted. “There you are, Watson!” said he. “This little object – this little lump of compressed carbon, as a chemist would describe it to us – has been a focus for men’s greed and violence for more than a century! What a record of bloodletting and hatred it has carved for itself in that time! Here,” he continued, leaning across and placing the pendant in my hand. “You realize, of course, my dear fellow, that you are now, technically speaking, a handler of stolen goods! Miss Norman,” he continued, turning to our visitor, “you are an intelligent woman. What can have possessed you to commit such a bizarre and uncharacteristic crime?”

  “I will tell you,” she responded. “There are facts of which you are unaware, Mr Holmes. But first, would you please indulge me by telling me how you knew that it was I that had taken the pendant? You are evidently a better detective than Inspector Sturridge, who seemed content simply to make our blood run cold with a list of gangs – Foulgers, Clays, and I don’t know who else – who were likely to climb in at our bedroom windows any night of the year. Or did you just guess?”

  “I never guess,” returned Holmes firmly. “It is destructive of the logical faculty. Occasionally one must balance probabilities in order to proceed, but in this case that was scarcely necessary: the indications were clear enough.” He described to Miss Norman his thoughts on the glove found on the lawn, and the absence of any trace of an intruder. “It seemed to me then that the glove had been tossed on the lawn deliberately to throw us off the scent. What could this mean but that the pendant had in fact been taken by someone in the house? As I had, to my own satisfaction, eliminated the household staff from any suspicion, that left only Viscount Latchmere’s four guests and the viscountess herself. Unlikely as it may seem, the possibility that Lady Latchmere had herself had a hand in the disappearance of the pendant could not be dismissed. Her manner was certainly odd, and I was convinced she was keeping a secret of some kind, although whether that related to the missing pendant or not, I could not say.

  “However, when I found the fourth glove, it clarified my view of the matter. Presumably the glove found on the lawn had been with the other one of the pair, under the straw hat. But why, then, had that particular glove been chosen to act as a blind, rather than one of the other pair which lay on the table in the dressing room? The only conclusion I could reach was that whoever threw the glove from the window wished it to be found the following morning, when, of course, the loss of the pendant would also be discovered, but did not wish its absence to be noted that evening, so that the precise time of the theft would not be known, and the notion of an intruder would therefore be plausible. But the only person who could have noticed that evening that a glove had disappeared was Lady Latchmere herself. Obviously, it is absurd to suppose that she would take such a precaution against herself, and therefore the glove was not taken by her, but by someone else.

  “I was thus faced with something of a dilemma: if Lady Latchmere’s account were true, that she had retired for the night and locked her door immediately her maid had left her, then no one but she herself could have taken the pendant. On the other hand, the evidence of the fourth glove was that someone other than Lady Latchmere had moved the glove and taken the pendant. If that were true, then Lady Latchmere was not being entirely truthful and must have left her bedroom, if only for a few moments. How to resolve this conundrum? On balance, I felt more certainty in the mute testimony of the gloves than the testimony of Lady Latchmere, and therefore decided that the pendant had been taken by one of the guests, and that Lady Latchmere had indeed left her room, despite what she had told me. I dismissed the rajah as a possibility. Everyone seems to have heard him snoring, and although one can feign snoring for a few moments, it is not possible to keep it up for any length of time without bringing on a state of physical collapse. Neither Mr Brocklehurst nor Miss Wiltshire could have reached Lady Latchmere’s bedroom without treading on the creaking floorboards on the landing, and as you stated that you slept very badly away from home, and lay awake for a long time on Saturday night, you would have heard this noise, but you did not. This, I regret to say, left only yourself, Miss Norman.”

  “It all sounds so obvious now you have explained it,” remarked our visitor, “that I am surprised I wasn’t arrested first thing on Sunday morning.”

  “Now you must answer my question,” said Holmes with a chuckle. “Why did you steal the pendant?”

  “I have been a visitor at Latchmere Hall for forty years or more,” replied Miss Norman after a moment. “As an unmarried female relative, I was aware that I was, generally speaking, nothing but a nuisance to the family, but I did have one specific merit: being single, I was always useful as a simple way of balancing the numbers and the sexes at dinner parties. The present viscount’s father always included me in any gatherings he had arranged. I think he hoped to marry me off to one of his single male guests – then he would have satisfied his family duty and could forget about me with a clear conscience – but for various reasons it never happened. So as the years rolled by, I continued my respectable but penurious existence in a small apartment to the north of Notting Hill, answering the summons to Latchmere Hall at regular intervals – the previous viscount always sent me the train fare – to solve the dinner-setting problems of my wealthy relations, and gradually becoming transformed, in the eyes of the world, from young and marriageable, if a little too independent-minded, to elderly and eccentric.”

  “How is your family related to that of the viscount?”

  “My father was a distant cousin, on the poverty-stricken side of the family. He succeeded to the Barony of Patrington as a young man, but it was not a title that brought any tangible benefit and he hardly ever used it. For many years, he farmed in the East Riding of Yorkshire, which is wher
e I was raised, but he could never entirely break free from debt, and at the time of his death the farm was heavily mortgaged. My brother, Thomas, had been an officer in the Indian Army, but had lost his life during the Mutiny, and my mother had been dead some years, so, upon my father’s death, I was thrown very much on my own resources. I scraped together what money I could, from the sale of the farm and a few other odds and ends, and moved to London, where I had a few friends and where I could supplement my meagre savings with a little teaching work.

  “I used to enjoy my periodic visits to Latchmere Hall – at least I knew I would get a square meal there, and would occasionally meet some interesting people – but my enjoyment has faded a little with each passing year. Of course, the estate is beautiful at this time of the year, clothed in the colours of autumn, but I can get a similar pleasure by taking a walk in Hyde Park. My main reason for continuing to go is so that they don’t forget I exist and will continue to invite me down for Christmas. The main problem is that I don’t care very much for the present viscount. Still, I didn’t mean to bore you with my personal concerns. I don’t expect you to understand, and I know it is no justification for my moment of madness, but I have come to resent the viscount’s wealth and my own poverty. It would not matter if they were not so mean. I know there was a time when my father approached the old viscount for a loan, which could have saved him from great difficulty, and which the viscount could easily have afforded, but he turned him down. I mentioned to you that the old viscount used to send me my train fare for visits to Latchmere, but I should add that when I had bought a return ticket from King’s Cross to Hatfield, there was usually not a penny left over. The present viscount is, if anything, even meaner than his father was, and when I had to sit and listen to him on Saturday evening, describing at length how his income from the estate – which I happen to know is huge beyond the dreams of avarice – had declined slightly this year, I’m afraid it made my blood boil. And the irony is that that precious stone, of which Viscount Latchmere and his predecessors have made such a show over the years, does not even really belong to them.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Holmes.

  “There is a persistent story in the family that Samuel Tollington, who later became the third Viscount Latchmere and was the one that brought the diamond back from India, had in fact murdered his uncle, Sir George Tollington, in order to get his hands on it.”

  “Is there any evidence for that?”

  “Not directly, but there is an affidavit, sworn in 1803 by one James Forrest, a former officer of the East India Company, that the diamond was purchased at Fort St George, Madras, not by Samuel Tollington, but by his uncle, who disappeared overboard in mysterious circumstances during the voyage back to England. The Tollington family tree is a complex one, and I will not trouble you with the details, but suffice it to say that I am a direct descendant of Sir George Tollington.”

  “Has this document ever been made public?”

  “No. My Grandfather apparently considered doing so, but was advised by a legal expert that in the absence of any other corroborative evidence, it would carry no weight, and would simply be denounced by the viscount as a pack of lies.”

  “That is probably true,” said Holmes. “I can understand your feeling somewhat bitter at the whole business, Miss Norman, but there is more to life than diamonds. Besides, possession of the pendant does not seem to have brought the viscounts much good fortune or happiness.” He appeared about to say more when there came a ring at the doorbell. A moment later Mrs Hudson announced that the Rajah of Banniphur had arrived. Holmes made a quick gesture to me and, perceiving his meaning, I at once stuffed the pendant into my pocket.

  The man who entered our room was somewhat below medium height, with a trim athletic appearance. His dark skin and very black hair made a striking contrast with the landlady’s pale face and hair. He stopped when he saw Miss Norman, an expression of surprise and confusion on his keen, intelligent features.

  “Excuse me, but have I arrived at an inconvenient moment?” he asked. “I was not aware that you had another visitor.”

  “Not at all,” returned Holmes in a cheery tone. “We were just discussing the case and related matters. Pray, take a seat, my dear sir!”

  I offered him my chair by the fire, which he took, and brought up another chair for myself.

  “One moment,” said Holmes. “This gathering calls for a pot of tea! I’ll just catch Mrs Hudson!”

  “It is indeed a fortunate coincidence that we should meet in this way!” said the rajah to Miss Norman as we waited for Holmes to return. “I had been very much hoping to speak to you again, but did not know how best to approach you. I was very struck by some of the suggestions you made on Saturday evening. I have an appointment with the Prime Minister on the ninth, and would very much like to discuss your ideas further before seeing him. You seem to have a better understanding of the needs of education than anyone else I have spoken to.”

  “You flatter me, Rajah!”

  “Not at all, madam! And, please, call me Saju! I wonder, would you do me the honour of taking luncheon with me at Claridge’s tomorrow, when we can discuss these matters further?”

  “I should be delighted,” replied Miss Norman.

  “Now!” said Holmes, hurrying back into the room and rubbing his hands together. “The tea will be here in a minute!”

  “Have you been able to make any progress in the case?” the rajah asked him.

  “Indeed I have!”

  “Thank Heavens for that! I rather feared it might prove a more complicated or delicate matter than it at first appeared. That is why I have come to see you.”

  “What did you have in mind?” asked Holmes, a note of curiosity in his voice.

  “May I speak frankly? Yes? Very well, then – but you must not repeat what I say.” He shot a nervous glance at Miss Norman. “Excuse my speaking so boldly of your relatives, madam, but there seems to me something seriously amiss at Latchmere Hall. Viscount Latchmere is not the boy I remembered from school, and – to speak frankly – I do not imagine I will visit him again. The household is not a very happy one. The viscountess acts strangely and is clearly unhappy. I did wonder if she herself had not perhaps done something with the pendant, Mr Holmes.”

  Holmes chuckled. “That was also one of my first thoughts,” said he. “However, I am glad to say it is not the case.”

  “You know where the pendant is?”

  “Yes, it is at this moment in the possession of a handler of stolen goods.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes. I know he has it, and he knows that I know. I am confident of recovering it and returning it to Viscount Latchmere tomorrow.”

  “Thank Heavens! Then we no longer need worry about it. And the topaz ring?”

  “Ah!” said Holmes. “That is a rather different matter. It was not taken with the pendant. In fact, I don’t believe it was stolen at all.”

  “I think that Lady Latchmere believes she has simply misplaced it,” interjected Miss Norman.

  An odd silence fell on the room then, and the rajah shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

  “You think,” said Holmes at length, addressing the Rajah of Banniphur, “that Lady Latchmere has given the topaz ring to someone, but you do not wish to be disloyal to your old school friend by spreading unpleasant gossip.”

  “You are reading my mind precisely,” responded the rajah.

  “Do you know why Mr James Ellison called at Latchmere Hall on Saturday?” asked Holmes after a moment.

  “I may be mistaken, as he was very guarded in his remarks,” said the rajah, “but my impression was that Mr Ellison had wished to borrow some money from Viscount Latchmere, but the latter had refused.”

  “You believe, then,” said Holmes, “that Viscountess Latchmere, unbeknown to her husband, has lent Mr Ellison the ring to use as security in arranging a loan elsewhere?”

  The rajah hesitated. “Yes, I do,” he said at length. “Lady
Latchmere was – how shall I put it – very taken with Mr Ellison. That was clear for anyone to see.”

  “I had the same thought,” said Miss Norman. “She took him to see the autumn flowers at the other end of the garden, and they were out of earshot for a very long time. I did wonder what they were finding to talk about for so long.”

  “He is a very engaging man,” said the rajah, “but—” He broke off, as if ordering his thoughts. “There is an old saying, where I come from,” he continued at length: “‘The bee makes honey for himself’. The meaning is that however much we may enjoy his honey, this is of no interest or importance to the bee. He makes the honey not for our benefit, but for his own.”

  “I did not have the pleasure of meeting Mr Ellison,” said Holmes, “but I am prepared to accept your perception on the point, for your conclusions are broadly in agreement with my own. I have some experience of that type myself: the most charming man I ever met ended up destroying the lives of almost everyone who had ever had any dealings with him. Let us hope it is not so at Latchmere Hall, although the signs are not propitious.”

  Mrs Hudson brought in a tray of tea and biscuits then, and our conversation moved on to other topics. When our visitors had left, I took the Latchmere Pendant from my pocket and held it up by the chain. As it revolved slowly, flashing and glinting as it caught the light from our lamps, I pondered how such a small thing could have been the cause of so much trouble over the years. Holmes refilled his pipe, and sat for a long time by the fire, staring into the flickering flames with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “It is a complex world we live in, Watson,” said he at length, “in which causes and effects are often interwoven, like a tapestry, and cannot very easily be unpicked. Miss Norman would never have taken the pendant had Lady Latchmere not left her room in the way that she did. Lady Latchmere would not have left her room and gone to her secret meeting with Mr Ellison at the library window had she not already felt estranged to some degree from her husband. So it could be argued that the theft of the pendant is a direct consequence of the state of the viscount’s marriage.”