The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Short Stories: The Return of Sherlock Holmes, His Last Bow and The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (Non-slipcased edition) (Vol. 2) (The Annotated Books)

by Doyle, Arthur Conan

  “Well?”

  “But why?”

  “Why? The sport—the excitement—the danger!”

  “And, no doubt, to free the country from a pest?”

  “Exactly.”

  “My reasons in a nutshell!”

  The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back to his hip-pocket.

  “Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. I want that yellow diamond!”

  Count Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile.

  “Upon my word!” said he.

  “You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you are here to-night is to find out how much I know about the matter and how far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from your point of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all about it, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me.”

  “Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?”

  “Where the Crown diamond now is.”

  The Count looked sharply at his companion. “Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the devil should I be able to tell you where it is?”

  “You can, and you will.”

  “Indeed!”

  “You can’t bluff me, Count Sylvius.” Holmes’s eyes, as he gazed at him, contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points of steel. “You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back of your mind.”

  “Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!”

  Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisive finger. “Then you do know. You have admitted it!”

  “I admit nothing.”

  “Now, Count, if you will be reasonable, we can do business. If not, you will get hurt.”

  Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. “And you talk about bluff!” said he.

  Holmes looked at him thoughtfully, like a master chess-player who meditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer and drew out a square notebook.

  “Do you know what I keep in this book?”

  “No, sir, I do not!”

  “You!”

  “Me!”

  “Yes, sir, you. You are all here—every action of your vile and dangerous life.”

  “Damn you, Holmes!” cried the Count with blazing eyes. “There are limits to my patience!”

  “It’s all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs. Harold, who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidly gambled away.”

  “You are dreaming!”

  “And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender.”

  “Tut! You will make nothing of that!”

  “Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the train de-luxe to the Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forged cheque in the same year on the Credit Lyonnais.”

  “No; you’re wrong there.”

  “Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your hand.”18

  “What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?”

  “Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the Crown diamond.”

  “Indeed!”

  “I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall and the cabman who brought you away. I have the Commissionaire who saw you near the case. I have Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached,19 and the game is up.”

  The veins stood out on the Count’s forehead. His dark, hairy hands were clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, but the words would not shape themselves.

  “That’s the hand I play from,” said Holmes. “I put it all upon the table. But one card is missing. It’s the king of diamonds. I don’t know where the stone is.”

  “You never shall know.”

  “No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You are going to be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand it over—well, I’ll compound a felony. We don’t want you or Sam. We want the stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free so long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slip—well, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the stone, not you.”

  “But if I refuse?”

  “Why, then—alas!—it must be you and not the stone.”

  Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.

  “I think, Count, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at this conference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy, you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to come up.”

  “If he won’t come, sir?”

  “No violence, Billy.20 Don’t be rough with him. If you tell him that Count Sylvius wants him he will certainly come.”

  “What are you going to do now?” asked the Count as Billy disappeared.

  “My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they come together.”

  The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back. Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of his dressing-gown.

  “You won’t die in your bed, Holmes.”

  “I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? After all, Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular than horizontal.21 But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?”

  A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal. Holmes’s figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tense and ready.

  “It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend,” he said in a quiet voice. “You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even if I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers, Count. Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of your estimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it not?”

  The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate, slab-sided face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with a puzzled expression. Holmes’s debonair manner was a new experience, and though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how to counter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.

  “What’s the game now, Count? What’s this fellow want? What’s up?” His voice was deep and raucous.

  The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.

  “If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all up.”

  The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.

  “Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I’m not in the funny mood myself.”22

  “No, I expect not,” said Holmes. “I think I can promise you that you will feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here, Count Sylvius. I’m a busy man and I can’t waste time. I’m going into that bedroom. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of my presence. I shall try over the Hoffmann ‘Barcarolle’23 upon my violin. In five minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the alternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone?”

  Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.

  “What is it, then?” asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him. “Does he know about the stone?”

  “‘I’m going into that bedroom,’ said Holmes. ‘Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. In five minutes I shall return for your final
answer.’”

  A. Gilbert, Strand Magazine, 1921

  “He knows a damned sight too much about it. I’m not sure that he doesn’t know all about it . . .”

  “Good Lord!” The boxer’s sallow face turned a shade whiter.

  “Ikey Sanders has split24 on us.”

  “He has, has he? I’ll do him down a thick ’un25 for that if I swing for it.”

  “That won’t help us much. We’ve got to make up our minds what to do.”

  “Half a mo’” said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. “He’s a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose he’s not listening?”

  “How can he be listening with that music going?”

  “That’s right. Maybe somebody’s behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room.” As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words.

  “Tut! it’s only a dummy,” said the Count.

  “A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud26 ain’t in it. It’s the living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains, Count!”

  “Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag27 us over this stone.”

  “The deuce he can!”

  “But he’ll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is.”

  “What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?”

  “It’s one or the other.”

  Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.

  “He’s alone in there. Let’s do him in. If his light were out we should have nothing to fear.”

  The Count shook his head.

  “He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it’s likely enough that the police know whatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?”

  There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.

  “Something in the street,” said Merton. “Now look here, guv’nor, you’ve got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If slugging is no use then it’s up to you.”

  “I’ve fooled better men than he,” the Count answered. “The stone is here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be out of England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam28 before Sunday. He knows nothing of Van Seddar.”

  “I thought Van Seddar was going next week.”

  “He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of us must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him.”

  “But the false bottom ain’t ready.”

  “Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There’s not a moment to lose.” Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct with the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was surely from the street that the faint sound had come.

  “As to Holmes,” he continued, “we can fool him easily enough. You see, the damned fool won’t arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, we’ll promise him the stone. We’ll put him on the wrong track about it, and before he finds that it is the wrong track it well be in Holland and we out of the country.”

  “That sounds good to me!” cried Sam Merton with a grin.

  “You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on him. I’ll see this sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I’ll tell him that the stone is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it gets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn’t in Liverpool it will be in quarters and we on the blue water. Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole. Here is the stone.”

  “I wonder you dare carry it.”

  “Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out of Whitehall someone else could surely take it out of my lodgings.”

  “Let’s have a look at it.”

  Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate and disregarded the unwashed hand which was extended towards him.

  “What—d’ye think I’m going to snatch it off you? See here, mister, I’m getting a bit tired of your ways.”

  “Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can’t afford to quarrel. Come over to the window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to the light! Here!”

  “Thank you!”

  With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy’s chair and had grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his other pointed a revolver at the Count’s head. The two villains staggered back in utter amazement. Before they had recovered Holmes had pressed the electric bell.29

  “No violence, gentlemen—no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an impossible one. The police are waiting below.”

  The Count’s bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.

  “But how the deuce—?” he gasped.

  “Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second door from my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must have heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave me a chance of listening to your racy conversation which would have been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence.”

  The Count gave a gesture of resignation.

  “We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself.”

  “Not far from him, at any rate,” Holmes answered with a polite smile.

  Sam Merton’s slow intellect had only gradually appreciated the situation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairs outside, he broke silence at last.

  “A fair cop!”30 said he. “But, I say, what about that bloomin’ fiddle! I hear it yet.”

  Contemporary gramophone.

  Victorian Advertisements

  “Tut, tut!” Holmes answered. “You are perfectly right. Let it play! These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention.”31

  There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminals were led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with Holmes, congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more their conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy with his card-tray.

  “Lord Cantlemere, sir.”

  “Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer who represents the very highest interests,” said Holmes. “He is an excellent and loyal person, but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what has occurred.”

  The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.

  “How-do-you-do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?”

  “No, I thank you; I will not take it off.”

  Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.

  “Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that these changes of temperature are most insidious.”

  His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.

  “I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply looked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing.”

  “It is difficult—very difficult.”

  “I feared that you would find it so.”

  There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier’s words and manner.

  “Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction.”

  “Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon it?”

  “You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you.”
/>
  “You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the actual thieves.”

  “When you have caught them.”

  “Exactly. But the question is—how shall we proceed against the receiver?”

  “Is this not rather premature?”

  “It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard as final evidence against the receiver?”

  “The actual possession of the stone.”

  “You would arrest him upon that?”

  “Most undoubtedly.”

  Holmes seldom laughed,32 but he got as near it as his old friend Watson could remember.

  “In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity of advising your arrest.”

  Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks.

  “You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of official life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir, engaged upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your power, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, to wish you good-evening.” Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer and the door.

  “One moment, sir,” said Holmes. “To actually go off with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious offence than to be found in temporary possession of it.”

  “Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass.”

  “Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “Come—come, do what I ask.”

  An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.

  “What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad!” cried Holmes. “My old friend here will tell you that I have an impish habit of practical joking.33 Also that I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty—the very great liberty, I admit—of putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our interview.”

  The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.