“Interesting,” Lord Arundale murmured.
“Much more interesting than the duke,” Holmes agreed. “The reigning monarch of a European kingdom has sat in the chair to your left, and a dwarf who does watercolors has sat in the seat beside you. The king was a boor; the dwarf is quite possibly a genius. How may I serve you, my lord?”
“Well, you would seem to know already,” Lord Arundale said, nettled at Holmes’s attitude. “You are gratified by the problem that brought me here before I’ve had a chance to tell you what it is. I was told that you had a sort of clairvoyance that enabled you to detect the actions of criminals in the absence of clues visible to the regular police. I was not, however, informed that you could predict the problem that a client would bring to you before he had the opportunity to elucidate it to you. Frankly, sir, the exercise strikes me as pure hocus!”
“No, no,” Holmes said quickly. “I do apologize if I seem a trifle sharp. Put it down to the effects of the medication I am taking, my lord. My medical man, Dr. Watson, has prescribed a little something for my bouts of lethargy, and it sometimes has the effect of making me seem a bit testy.”
“Then you don’t claim to exercise clairvoyance, or other psychic abilities?”
“Not at all, my lord. Whatever abilities I have are founded firmly in a knowledge of the appropriate sciences, an extensive study of the history of crime, and a sharply honed faculty for deductive reasoning.”
“Then,” Lord Arundale pressed on, “you don’t actually know what brought me here, and were merely making a general assumption that I would offer an interesting, ah, case?”
“On the contrary, my lord. I know exactly why you’re here. You’ve come to consult with me regarding last night’s murder in Regent’s Gate. Ah, here’s Billy with the tea. How do you like yours, my lord?”
Lord Arundale allowed his tea to be poured and milked and sugared while he thought this over. “You are right,” he said finally. “And if it’s hocus, it’s clever hocus indeed. For the life of me, I can’t see how you know. You must admit that it smacks rather of clairvoyance, or the cleverer sort of conjuring trick.”
“Not at all, my lord,” Holmes said. “It is, after all, my profession to deduce hard facts from what would seem to others to be scanty evidence.”
Lord Arundale sipped his tea thoughtfully. “What other deductions have you already made?” he asked.
Holmes leaned back in his armchair, his thin, sensitive fingers laced together under his chin. “Only the rather obvious facts that you’ve come from one or more officials of high government rank, probably cabinet ministers, to request that I take over the investigation; that you’ve been to Scotland Yard already and received the approval of the Commissioner of Police, although the detective inspector in charge of the case feels that I’ll only get in the way.”
“Astounding!” Lord Arundale said. “You must have agents in the police.”
“I assure your lordship—”
Lord Arundale put his teacup on the tray and shook his head. “No need,” he said. “Is there anything else?”
“Only that there is some fact or clue of major importance which has been withheld from the public that you have come to acquaint me with.”
“By God, sir!” Lord Arundale said. “You must explain to me how you deduced all of that from the mere presence in your sitting room of a middle-aged peer in a morning coat.”
“Every trade must have its secrets, my lord,” Holmes said, rubbing his hands together. “I learned from my friend Dr. Watson, who shared these rooms with me before his marriage, not to reveal too easily how I attain these effects. The explanation moves them from the miraculous to the mundane. I would draw your attention, however, to the few additional facts that I noted.”
“And they are?”
“First, I happened to notice the carriage in which you arrived; not your own, but one of those at the service of Scotland Yard. Next I observed the distinctive red-brown clay adhering to the instep of your right shoe. Surely acquired earlier today, since it seems unlikely that your valet would not see to it that your shoes are polished every night. There are several places around London where you might have picked it up, but the most likely is the east end of St. James’s Park, across from the government offices.”
“I begin to see,” Lord Arundale said. “But I still think it’s deucedly clever. Fancy knowing every bit of mud in London.”
“In perpetrating a crime, the astute criminal strives to eliminate or disguise the facts surrounding his act,” Holmes said. “Where he is most likely to go astray is in the small details, like the dirt on his shoes or the dust on his clothing. Therefore, my lord, you can see that the professional investigator must make a study of such details.”
“Fantastic,” Lord Arundale said. He picked up the small leather case that he had brought in with him and extracted an envelope from it. “How much do you know of the murder of Lord Walbine?”
“No more than what was in the morning papers, my lord.”
“Here then is a précis of all the relevant facts,” Lord Arundale said, handing the envelope to Holmes, “as prepared by the inspector in charge of the police investigation. Also included are accounts of the murders of the Honorable George Venn and of Isadore Stanhope.”
“I shall read it immediately, your lordship,” said Holmes. “I should also like to examine the rooms in which the three crimes were committed.”
“Arrangements have been made,” Lord Arundale said. “Inspector Lestrade said you’d want to, as he put it, ‘crawl around the rooms on hands and knees with a reading glass.’”
“Ah, so it’s Lestrade, is it?” cried Holmes. “That is somewhat helpful.”
“You know Inspector Lestrade, then. I was favorably impressed with him. He seems to have a good command of his job. Claimed to be running down several promising leads, although he was rather vague as to what they were. Said that he thought arresting the butlers would produce results.”
“What sort of results?” Holmes inquired.
“He didn’t say. He did say that he thought that bringing you in on the case was quite unnecessary, although he admitted that you’ve been of some help to the regular force in the past. ‘Special circumstances,’ he put it. If it weren’t that the P.M. feels that a quite out of the ordinary finesse is required in this instance, the Home Secretary and I would feel quite sanguine in leaving the case in his hands.”
“Normally he is quite adequate,” Holmes agreed. “But then the usual case is just that—usual. A crime of brute force committed without forethought, requiring neither specialized knowledge nor ratiocination to solve.”
“Faint praise indeed,” Lord Arundale said. “Don’t you think Lestrade is capable?”
“As a bulldog, yes. The man is tenacious, unrelenting, brave, honest, and loyal. But as a bloodhound, I’m afraid the more subtle odors of crime escape his nose.”
Lord Arundale held out his teacup to be refilled. “That is basically what the Prime Minister said,” he told Holmes. “The Home Secretary is convinced that the Metropolitan Police can, and should, handle the problem, but the P.M. felt that it might be too sensitive for the bulldog approach. And you came highly recommended by, if you will excuse my being vague, a member of the Royal Household.”
Holmes nodded. “Please thank her majesty for me,” he said. “I gather that it is this ‘special circumstance,’ of which I am as yet unaware, that makes these crimes sensitive and commends me to the attention of Lord Salisbury, the Prime Minister.”
“True,” Lord Arundale said. “The Marquess of Salisbury is indeed concerned over these murders. He is concerned, to be more precise, with whether or not he has cause to be concerned.”
“I see.” Holmes looked thoughtful for a moment. “Am I to understand that the crimes may have some political significance, but it is not known at present whether they actually do or not?”
“Yes,” Lord Arundale said. “That, concisely, is it. The crimes may, indeed, be the
work of a madman, or someone with a long-festering hatred for the four murdered men because of some secret grievance. But they may also be part of an intricate plot by any of three great European powers against her majesty’s government. And we must learn which of these possibilities is the truth. And we must know as soon as we can; every day’s delay could be disastrous.”
“Four men?” Holmes asked. “I know of but three.”
“Lord John Darby was found dead about three weeks ago,” Lord Arundale said. He stared down at his teacup for a moment, and then drained it and returned it to the tray. “Lord John was the younger brother of the Earl of Moncreith.”
“I remember noting it at the time,” Holmes said. “But it was reported as a natural death. Heart attack, I believe the newspaper report said.”
“Lord John was found on the dining-room table in his flat in Tattersham Court. His throat had been cut. A silver serving platter had been placed on the floor by the table to catch the blood.”
“Come now, that is a fascinating detail!” Holmes said, stretching a lean arm out for the cigarette box on the mantel. “May I offer you a cigarette, my lord? They are of a Virginia tobacco, made for me by K. K. Tamourlane & Sons. The weed is noxious, but I find it sharpens the mental processes.”
“No, thank you,” Lord Arundale said. “But if you wouldn’t object to the smell of a cigar—”
“Not at all.” Holmes lit a taper from the gas mantle and applied it to the tip of his cigarette while Lord Arundale took a long dun-colored cigar from a tooled-leather case and went through the ritual of preparing it for the match. “Pray continue with your recitation of the strange death of Lord John Darby,” Holmes said, lighting Lord Arundale’s cigar before tossing the taper into the fireplace.
Lord Arundale took a deep puff. “I usually reserve these for after meals,” he said. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Lord John was lying on the table—a great big thing, could easily seat twelve. French, I believe. Turn-of-the-century piece. His arms were spread out to the sides, but his fists were clenched. Interesting how one remembers all the small details.”
“You saw the body, my lord?”
Lord Arundale stood and walked over to the bay window. Pulling the drape aside, he stared down at the traffic below. “I found the damn thing!” he told Holmes.
“How long would you say Lord John had been dead when you found him?”
Lord Arundale turned to look at Holmes. “I couldn’t really say,” he said. “Finding corpses is not really in my line, you see. For what it’s worth, my impression was that the incident was fairly recent. The blood seemed to be quite fresh.”
“Was anyone else there at the time?”
“Quimby, Lord John’s valet. He let me in. This was about seven-thirty in the morning. He’d been there all night. His room is off the front hall.”
“Had he seen or heard anything during the night?”
“Nothing. He let Lord John in late the night before. He’s not sure of the time, but estimates it at shortly before two. Then he went to bed. He had not yet gone in to awaken Lord John when I arrived the next morning, having received no instructions on the matter.”
“No other servants?”
“None present. There are a maid and a cook, but they live two flights up in the servants’ quarters. The building of flats is designed with a common servants’ quarters on the top floor.”
“I see,” Holmes said. “What sort of nighttime security is there in the building?”
“There is a hall porter on each floor all night, and a uniformed commissionaire at the front door. There are two other entrances to the building, but both are locked and bolted from the inside at eight o’clock.”
Holmes reflected silently for a minute. “I am amazed,” he said, “that Lestrade has not already arrested the valet.”
“Quimby?” Lord Arundale asked. “You think he could be guilty?”
“Not for an instant,” Holmes said. “I am, however, amazed that Lestrade shares my opinion.”
“The Metropolitan Police have not, as yet, been informed of the crime,” Lord Arundale said.
Holmes leaped to his feet. “What?” he cried. “You have concealed a murder from the authorities? Come now, sir. Even a peer of the realm cannot be allowed such liberty with the Queen’s justice.”
Lord Arundale held up a hand. “Pray calm yourself,” he said. “The Prime Minister has been notified; the Home Secretary, who, as you know, is in charge of the Metropolitan Police, has been notified; the Lord High Chancellor has been notified; and her majesty has been told. I think you will have to admit that the formalities have been observed—perhaps on a higher level than is usual, that is all.”
“I see,” Holmes said, resuming his seat. “And why was this unusual procedure followed?”
Lord Arundale returned to the sofa. “I shall explain.”
“You have my attention, my lord.”
“I will have to give you the complete background. I arrived at Lord John’s flat that morning to take him to a special emergency meeting of the Continental Policies Committee. This is a group of some twelve men who advise the Prime Minister on matters affecting Britain’s relations with the great powers of Europe. Only issues of great and immediate concern are taken up by the committee, which is composed of the leading minds in the government. The very existence of this committee is a closely held secret.”
“I was not aware of it,” Holmes commented.
“Your brother, Mycroft, is a member,” Lord Arundale told Holmes.
“He is very close-mouthed about his work,” Holmes replied.
“Just so,” Lord Arundale said. “At any rate, Quimby asked me to wait while he awakened his master.”
“In the dining room?”
“No, in the drawing room. But as I happened to mention that I had not yet broken my fast that morning, Quimby suggested that he have the cook prepare one of her French omelets for me while I waited. I was agreeable, and so I proceeded into the dining room, where I found Lord John.”
“It all seems quite clear,” Holmes said. “But why did you not notify the authorities? Surely the fact that the man was a member of the Continental Policies Committee is not, of itself, sufficient reason not to call the police when you find his blood-soaked corpse.”
Lord Arundale pondered the question for a second, searching for the precise way to phrase his answer. “Lord John Darby had an older brother,” he said finally, picking the words carefully, as one would pick the right gold shirt studs from a drawer full of almost identical gold shirt studs. “Midway in age between Lord John and the Earl of Moncreith. His name is Crecy. Lord Crecy Darby. It is an old family name.”
“Yes?” Holmes said encouragingly, as Lord Arundale fell silent again.
“I went to school with Crecy,” Lord Arundale said. “Hoxley and then Cambridge. We were determined to go into government service together. Crecy was—is—brilliant. He was going to be the first prime minister appointed before his fortieth birthday. I was to be his foreign secretary. We had the details carefully planned.” Lord Arundale sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps it was hubris,” he said. “But at any rate, Lord Crecy Darby went completely insane over a period of three years. Every specialist in England and on the Continent was called in, and none of them offered any hope.”
“What form did this insanity take?”
“He imagined that intricate plots were being woven about him; that complete strangers on the street had been employed by some invisible agency to follow him about; that everything that happened anywhere in the world was somehow directed against him. He became extremely sly and cunning, and would listen in at doorways and stay concealed behind drapery hoping to overhear someone talking about him.
“His father had him sent away to a sanitarium in Basel that had a new treatment that was thought to offer some small hope.”
“What sort of therapy?” Holmes asked.
“I was never too clear on that,” Lord Arundale said. “Something to do wit
h hot salt baths and encouraging the patient to run about and scream, I believe. At any rate, he escaped from the sanitarium. Nothing was heard from him for two years. Then, on Crecy’s thirty-second birthday, as it happens, the old earl received a communication from an attorney in Munich. Lord Crecy Darby, under the name of Richard Plantagenet, was on trial for the brutal murders of two prostitutes.”
Holmes flipped his cigarette into the fireplace. “I remember the case,” he said. “Although the true identity of the man who called himself Richard Plantagenet never came out. There was no doubt as to his guilt.”
“None at all,” Lord Arundale agreed. “He killed two streetwalkers by slitting their throats with a razor, and then mutilated their bodies in a horrible fashion. Not, I suppose, that there is a pleasant way to mutilate bodies. The trial cost the old Earl of Moncreith a fortune. He was not trying to have Crecy found innocent, you understand, but merely to see that he was spared the death penalty and that the family name remained concealed.”
“And what happened to Lord Crecy?”
“He was found guilty and totally insane. He was placed in the Bavarian State Prison-Hospital for the Criminally Insane at Forchheim for the rest of his life.”
“I see,” Holmes said. “And so when you saw his brother lying dead with his throat cut, you naturally assumed that Lord Crecy must have escaped and returned to England.”
“That is correct.”
“And to save the present earl and his family from the grief and disgrace—”
“I did not notify the police but went straight to the Lord Chamberlain.”
“Who agreed with you?”
“Of course.”
“Bah!” Holmes said. “You are not above the law, my lord—neither as a member of the nobility nor as a member of the government. Acting as you have done can only be destructive of the moral fiber of British justice. Nothing good can come of it.”
“I have heard,” Lord Arundale said, “that you do not always work within the structure of the law. Was I misinformed?”
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