Repeat Business

by Lyn McConchie

  At my shoulder Holmes had unsheathed the short sword in his cane and waited ready. There was one last charge, another man fell, severely wounded as he rolled down the stairs to the floor below, and our attackers had had enough for the moment. They retired to snarl at each other in low voices in the kitchen out of our sight. The wounded man moaned where he had fallen—and was ignored by his so-called comrades, to my disgust.

  “Do you think they will try again?” Holmes asked me softly.

  “Perhaps they may try one final time, but I think not.”

  “Unless they guess how little ammunition we have.” said Holmes.

  “That is true. I have only two shots remaining. What of this Gerald? I did not see him amongst them?”

  “His kind come last to reap the benefits without danger.”

  “A pity,” I commented. “I would like to have him in my sights.”

  “Here they come again!” Holmes snapped as feet once again pounded up the stairs. I shot carefully, dropping two of the attackers. Miss Burnett, who had apparently reloaded her little pistol, shot twice, then fell back to seize a heavy poker. I could hear a man screaming encouragement as the attackers gathered themselves for a last charge. Holmes thrust with his swordstick; we were being driven back, and then—

  From the shattered front door a calm voice spoke. “You men on the stairs, you are all under arrest.”

  Most of our attackers did not surrender without a fight, although the self-named Gerald Romford was discovered hiding in the pantry, and during his capture he struggled, screamed imprecations at the police, and bit poor Hopkins savagely. Hopkins came towards us once everything was quiet.

  “I am to give you this from your brother, Mr. Holmes.” Holmes read the note then passed it to me. It read.

  My Dear Sherlock,

  An informer suggested some months ago that we watch the Romford household. The man known as Gerald Romford is the Russian agent, Alexei Calanovich. His habit is to start an apparent Bolshevik cell and operate under cover of this using the dupes he gathers to do much of his work. It is understood that he is in the country to obtain certain papers relating to a treaty between England and Germany. We held off on any arrests wishing to find out if possible just how deeply involved Mr. Miles Romford might be in any of Alexei’s plots. If you are satisfied the man is innocent, you may instruct Hopkins to allow the man to go free along with his household.

  Mycroft Holmes

  And that was almost the end of a case that was far more exciting than I had guessed it might be at the beginning. Romford went free, testifying at Alexei’s trial—after which the agent was quietly hanged early one cloudy morning in October. But I had a few questions remaining for Holmes.

  “What of the events by which Miss Burnett was made so apprehensive. I understand that the words she overheard were one of Gerald’s comrades threatening Romford, but what of the sketch and the stolen shoes?”

  “The sketch was of one of those Romford had smuggled into the country,” Holmes said. “The child Felicia had not recognized the man at the time she drew him, but her father’s reaction told her who it must be. The girls all knew what was occurring and were in sympathy with their father’s actions.

  “That too is a part of the explanation for the shoes. Romford noticed that your friend the doctor had recognized the so-called servants as being of a wealthier class. To disguise this he obtained other clothing for them from second-hand shops. One of the women needed a doctor urgently, however, and they had no pair of older shoes for her to wear. He saw the governess taking her items to the rubbish and took the shoes as soon as Miss Burnett was gone.”

  I smiled cheerfully. “As well she came to you, Holmes. Without your deductions Miles Romford may well have been taken by the police as an agent, or murdered by Alexei, and his daughters made orphans.”

  Holmes nodded. “As it is, my dear Watson, he is likely to be married to Miss Burnett before this year is ended.”

  I had seen no suggestion that the two cared for each other, and I was dubious. But Holmes was right as usual, and last month Señora Durando, the former Miss Burnett, became Mrs. Miles Romford with adoring and admiring daughters and a devoted husband. After all, it is not many families who can say that their wife and mother shot dead two men on the upstairs landing to protect them, and succeeded in her aim.

  THE PRACTICAL JOKER

  It was Lady Hilda who came to us on this occasion, and as I remarked to Holmes once she was departed:

  “It seems to me to be only fair that it should be she who begs for our aid. Last time it was her husband who implored you to find his important papers; this time it is she who wants you to find her niece’s missing pearls.”

  Holmes groaned. “I am aware of that, Watson. Of what I am not aware is why these people never seem able to take proper care of their jewels and their papers. If I am not called in to find one, then it is the other.”

  I nodded. “But think how boring it would be if neither item was ever lost again. Why, finding something of the sort has provided you with some excellent cases.”

  “True, Watson, quite true, and we must hope Lady Hilda’s tale does so again.”

  I nodded at that. The lady had only just departed our rooms and I remembered every word that had passed. It was some years since the events that I had chronicled as “The Second Stain,” and this new case seemed unlikely to provide as much interest—although it had come at the right time for my old friend, who had become bored lately. He had even considered investigating the disappearance of Lady Camford’s spaniel that was held to ransom and returned—shaved bald. Lady Hilda had swept in, sat when offered a chair, and immediately launched into her story.

  “I implore your aid, gentlemen. My niece is to wed a man of ancient family, but now the stigma of theft rests on all who were present when the pearls vanished and his parents are reconsidering. It will break the child’s heart, since she truly loves the young man, it will distress the noblest of families, and, once it is known—as known it inevitably will be despite the party’s having been small and private—it will cast a stain upon any of those who are known to have been at that accursed gathering. If only what was lost can be recovered, then might we brazen it out and declare there to have been no wrongdoing.”

  Holmes nodded. “Begin at the start, Lady Hilda. The parents of your niece’s fiancé gave a party at their home, Winchmore Towers at Winchmore Hill. During this party a small but very valuable item was stolen by someone present at the gathering and you would like me to get it back, identify the thief, and thus ensure that the wedding of your niece goes forward.”

  The lady gaped at him. Sherlock looked surprised. “My dear Lady Hilda, that is no very great deduction. The engagement was announced in the papers recently. I am aware of the country estate of the family in question, and also that at this time of the year they are to be found there. You yourself mentioned a theft. What else could it be but a small item of considerable value? Had thieves broken in and stolen his Lordship’s furniture you would be unconcerned. Had the item been of little value it would create no scandal. No, it must be a theft of something small and valuable, the loss of which could not be covered up. It was easily concealed, since the thief escaped with it, and it has not yet been recovered, else you would not have sought me out.”

  “All you say is right,” Lady Hilda moaned. “But in one way what you say is not. The item was small and should have been easily concealed. Yet it could not have been—for when the theft occurred there were only the six younger people in the room. So angry was my niece’s fiancé at his father’s comments that he insisted on being searched. With his example before them, the two other young men present agreed to that reluctantly, and Emily, my niece, insisted that a maid be called in and that Emily be searched as well; the other two girls agreed so that we are certain the item stolen was not concealed upon any of them.”

  “It may have been hidden about the room?” I suggested.

  “That thought occurred to L
ord Winchmore. Once the young people had been searched, he called a servant and they examined the room with the utmost thoroughness. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, I and my husband stood in the doorway while this search was carried out; there was no sign of the Winchmore pearls, nor have they been seen from that day to this. I am at my wits’ end.”

  “An interesting puzzle.” Holmes said thoughtfully. “But I think I can assure you of something else.”

  “What is that?”

  “That whoever took the pearls and wherever they may be now, they have not come upon the market. As you say, they are of great value, and I hear of such sales. Tell me, if you will, who was present in the room when the pearls vanished, and under what circumstances did they disappear?”

  “There were six young people present, Mr. Holmes. My niece Emily, Harold Winchmore her fiancé, his younger brother Edward, Emily’s best friend, Mary Ashton, Mary’s fiancé, The Honorable Peter Fitzsimmons, and Lord Winchmore’s ward, Miss Jane Malcolm. So you see the difficulty? Of those present who may have taken the pearls, half were of the Winchmore family, the others were my own niece, her best friend, and a lad we have known all his life, for the Fitzsimmons’ estates run close to our own. Neither family knows whom to suspect, but we know it must have been one of them.”

  “There were no other young people in the house, no one entered the room?”

  “No, Mr. Holmes. The party—which was exactly one week ago—was not an official engagement but a small private gathering. The older people present were in another room when the pearls vanished. Lord Winchmore was first at the scene, since he was preparing to enter the room to announce that supper was about to be served. When Emily cried out that the pearls were gone, he prevented any of the six young people from leaving the room and allowed no one else to enter.” She looked at Holmes and spoke wryly.

  “The Winchmore family is both old and noble, therefore they have always behaved as they wished. Lord Winchmore is, to speak very frankly to you both, tight-pursed, arrogant, and old-fashioned in his customs, and has always been very much a law unto himself. Emily cried out that her pearls were gone just as Lord Winchmore reached the door of that room. Emily is certain that she had the pearls only a few minutes earlier, and all six of the children are positive no one entered or departed the room in that period.”

  I nodded. “Then the pearls must be in that room still.”

  Lady Hilda looked exasperated, obviously recalling the search that had been made, but Holmes eyed me approvingly. “That would seem to be one possible deduction. I will make inquiries, but I think it unlikely such notable jewels as the Winchmore pearls could have come upon the market without my knowledge.

  “Why does someone steal such items? Because they wish to deprive the owner of them or because they are in need of money and wish to sell them. But the pearls have not been sold. If they were not on the persons of any of the children, then it may be that they are in the room still. Unless the reason for their disappearance was indeed that someone wished for them, not for their value, but to deprive your niece of an item she prized. Is that likely?”

  Lady Hilda shook her head. “I do not believe so. You must understand I have known all six of the children for most of their lives. Mary Ashton is Emily’s best friend, she is unlikely to be envious. Peter, her own fiancé, is far more to her liking than Harold whom, while she likes him well enough, she considers to be something of a dull stick. Her fiancé plans to improve his estates with a recent inheritance and is also considering entering politics. Peter Fitzsimmons is far more to Mary’s taste than ever Harold or Edward would be, and his family’s wealth is the equal of the Winchmore’s.

  “What of Edward Winchmore and Miss Jane?”

  Lady Hilda smiled indulgently. “They really are the children I have named them. The lad is just eighteen and Miss Malcolm a year the younger. Lord Winchmore’s greatest friend was the Honorable James Malcolm, and when Malcolm and his wife died, their little daughter, Jane, was only ten. She would have a considerable inheritance, and James Malcolm’s will named Lord Winchmore as her guardian. He arranged for her estate to be suitably handled and took the child to live at Winchmore Towers.

  “He and his wife hold Jane in great affection and the boys regard her as a younger sister. There is a gap of five years between her and Harold—so they are not so close now that they are all older, but Edward is only a year her senior and they are great friends. There is no reason for envy and I do not believe there to be any.”

  Holmes rose. “Then I will bid you a good day, Lady Hilda. Please answer two final questions. Does Lord Winchmore plan to keep that room locked, and is he aware that you are consulting me?”

  “He is aware of that, Mr. Holmes, and he has said that he will keep the room locked forever if that is required; at the least, he will not open it again until you have called upon him.”

  “Does he expect me immediately?”

  “No. He said privately to my husband and me that he was sure you would discover the pearls to have been stolen by some miscreant who somehow entered the house. Once they are recovered and the thief taken, he will open the room again, but not until that time.”

  “Then he may be a wise man.” Holmes commented.

  “Say rather that he is a stubborn man.” lady Hilda said with a slight smile. “But I must depart, I am meeting my husband shortly. Do all you can for us, Mr. Holmes. I well know your ability to seek out the guilty while tempering justice with mercy.”

  I looked after her from the window as she entered a cab and was driven away. “Do you think she knows something, Holmes?”

  “I do not believe she was withholding any information,” my friend replied. “Yet she may know things she has not disclosed, thinking them to be unimportant. However, I will have inquiries made about the city.”

  “What are the pearls like, Holmes?” I asked with some interest. “And from where did the Winchmores obtain them?”

  “They are a single string of matched pearls. The string is long, perhaps three feet in total from the catches at each end.” Holmes said thoughtfully.

  “If they belong to the lady, why then was Miss Emily wearing them?” I queried.

  “They are heirlooms and traditionally given to the fiancée of the oldest son. She may wear them until her own son becomes engaged, but they belong always to the Winchmores and are—or so I understand—a part of the entail. As to where the family obtained them, there are a number of stories, the most likely being, I believe, that they were loot of some kind, taken from the Spaniards by an early member of the family. I will inquire of them about the city; there are only three fences large enough to afford such an item even at the usual rates, and only two of those who might be foolish enough to buy them from a thief.”

  “And me, Holmes, have you a task for me?”

  “Yes, my dear fellow, if you would be so kind. Go to Winchmore village and stay at the inn there. Say you are taking a rest from your busy London practice. Turn the talk to their betters and see what the village knows of the inhabitants of Winchmore Towers. Lady Hilda may believe that none know of the loss of the pearls, but I shall be greatly surprised if the village does not—and if they do not also have a number of interesting hypothesis as to the theft and possible thief.”

  I had been in the village for three nights when Holmes joined me. I might have greeted him by his name but that he sought me out beyond the hearing of others and spoke quickly.

  “Do not mention my name here, Watson. I have signed as Mr. Tristan at the inn, as it is better the people here do not guess my identity. They may talk more freely if they are unaware I am a detective. We are to appear as casual acquaintances. Let me approach you at all times; if you must speak to me urgently, slide a note beneath my door when you are passing—and only if you are certain I am within.”

  “Mr. Tristan,” I repeated, committing it to memory. “Very well, I shall do as you say. Did you discover anything in London?”

  “I did, since even negative infor
mation has its uses. I approached both fences and they swore to know nothing of the Winchmore pearls. I believed them, and after my warnings I do not think them likely to take the risk. I am having them watched, however, since with men of that stamp one can never be certain.”

  “Yet you think them to be speaking the truth?” He nodded slowly. “Then your other suggestions must be right; the pearls were taken to deprive Miss Emily of their possession, or they never left the room in which they vanished.”

  “Quite so, Watson. Now, what of village gossip, what have the good people of Winchmore to say about this distressing incident?”

  I moved to a bench and sat down comfortably. “Should we be seen in long converse, Holmes? Will not the locals wonder what two who are mere acquaintances have to say to each other at such length?”

  Holmes’ eyes showed the hint of a twinkle. “A touch, Watson. But no, I shall take care to mention that I found you to be a doctor, and consulted you informally on a number of symptoms suffered by my dear brother. That is not an uncommon occurrence for any doctor, I am sure?”

  I sighed. “It is the bane of any doctor’s life as you are aware, so it more than serves as an explanation. Very well then, as you believed, the village knows of the theft and they are indignant. Lord Winchmore may be the tight-pursed man Lady Hilda claims, but his tenants seem to hold the family in respect and some affection. They approve of Master Harold’s engagement and like what they have seen of Miss Emily. They deem Master Edward to be a good-hearted lad and very fond of his foster-sister, Miss Jane. Of late he has been at home more which is unusual, but they ascribe it to a his being perhaps a little lean in the pockets at the end of the quarter year.”