That evening, Mr Holmes’ study in Baker Street played host to a select gathering of those most concerned with the fate of the Malabar Rose. Later I was to hear various accounts of what passed; from Dr Watson, from Sir John, from Mr Holmes himself. Between them, even allowing for any embellishments and omissions, and for the forgetfulness inevitable with the passing years, those gentlemen painted for me a picture of the scene that was both vivid and rather touching.
Mr Holmes had been the first to return and had been surprised to find his rooms unlit and the grates uniformly cold. Ever the practical man, he had attempted to light the fire in the study by means of a flask of spirit of naphtha, which he happened to notice at the front of his own chemical cabinet. While he was engaged in this rather perilous activity, Dr Watson entered the room, whistling brightly and sporting a cravat of alarming yellow and blue swirls. It was an adornment wasted on his friend, who at that point was close to losing his eyebrows to the conflagration he had engendered.
‘Where the devil have you been all this time, Watson?’ he snapped impatiently. ‘We have a major case on our hands, our reputations hang by a thread, and in the middle of it all, I find you have taken yourself off somewhere. To make matters worse, we don’t have a fire and the place is as dark as a morgue.’
‘Sorry, old man,’ his friend replied, his equanimity undented. ‘Went for a stroll in the park. Hyde Park, you know. Thought it would be good for my constitution. Most refreshing. It’s amazing what a walk can do for you. I feel a new man.’ He paused and sniffed the fire suspiciously. ‘Mrs Hudson not in then?’
‘Evidently not,’ Mr Holmes observed dryly. ‘I should hardly undertake this task for recreation, should I?’ He pulled out his watch. ‘Watson, it’s nearly seven o’clock on one of the shortest days of the year. You cannot have been in the park until this hour.’
The doctor flushed slightly. ‘May have stopped off for a pot of tea, too. Just to refresh myself, don’t you know? Get the old grey cells working…’
‘Really, Watson,’ Mr Holmes returned rather testily, ‘this is most unlike you. We are expecting Sir John Plaskett and Inspector Lestrade at any moment and, as you have no doubt divined, neither Mrs Hudson nor Flotsam is anywhere to be found.’
Dr Watson took a step away from the fire, which was threatening to ignite the objects on the mantelpiece above it.
‘A bit rum, that,’ he decided. ‘Never known Mrs H to let us down before.’
‘There may be more grounds for concern than you imagine, my friend. Look at what I discovered on Mrs Hudson’s kitchen table.’
He produced from his pocket the strange note that I had received earlier that day and placed it in front of his companion.
sTop yoUr SnOopiNg oR face tHe consEqueNcEs
Dr Watson studied it with such incomprehension that it might have been a species of exotic fish.
‘But surely this note is intended for you, Holmes? Mrs Hudson must have forgotten to bring it up.’
‘You think so, Watson? I fear you are overlooking an important detail.’
‘And what is that, Holmes?’
‘If you cast you mind back over recent events, you may notice that we haven’t actually done any snooping yet. Although it is hardly a word I would choose to employ when describing our activities, Watson, it is certainly one that implies a degree of activity. Since the Malabar Rose disappeared we have pondered a great deal, but we have done rather less. This note was composed by someone who feels threatened. And although this period of contemplation has not been wasted, it is hard to conceive that anything we have done thus far would intimidate even the most timid of criminals.’
Dr Watson considered this hypothesis. ‘Hmm, I take your point, Holmes. But really, why would anyone wish to threaten Mrs Hudson?’
Mr Holmes paused, and for a moment seemed unsure how to express himself.
‘It may perhaps have come to your attention, Watson, that Mrs Hudson is not like other housekeepers. You will surely have noticed that she shows uncommon speed of thought for one in her position. And I fear that in the last few days she has rather taken to heart that drab little case in Ealing…’
‘You mean there might be something in that disappearance tale after all? Dashed inconvenient of her to let it get in the way of your investigations though, Holmes.’
‘Nevertheless, I confess to some slight feelings of anxiety on her behalf. For now, however, there is little we can do. I have created a very fine fire. If you were to light the lamps, I feel we can go ahead with our appointment this evening as if nothing were amiss.’
That something was amiss, however, was apparent from Mr Holmes’ demeanour that evening. His discussions with Sir John and Inspector Lestrade centred on their attempts to interrogate the Great Salmanazar, and on their questioning of the rest of his troupe. But they had little to report. The illusionist had simply insisted that he was on stage in front of a thousand people at the time of the theft, and that therefore their questioning was both pointless and impertinent. And on coming up against such a formidable defence, their investigations had inevitably foundered. This failure left both men vexed and short tempered, and when, for the fourth time, Mr Holmes crossed the room to peer through the window, Sir John’s patience finally gave way.
‘Really, Mr Holmes!’ he snorted. ‘We are involved in an issue of unparalleled importance, one which the Palace itself has placed in our hands, and frankly we have made an appalling mess of it. I hardly think it unreasonable to expect your undivided attention for an hour or two.’
Mr Holmes turned from the window. ‘You must forgive me, Sir John. I am concerned about my housekeeper. She was expected home rather earlier than this…’
‘Your housekeeper, Mr Holmes?’ the soldier exploded. ‘Really, sir! I hardly see how your housekeeper can be of the slightest interest to us when we are facing both national disaster and personal disgrace of the most public kind.’
‘Which shows how little you know Mrs Hudson, sir,’ Mr Holmes snapped. ‘You remember that question she asked of you? About the furniture in your hallway? Perhaps if we had paid more attention to that at the time… However, I agree that for now we must apply ourselves to the problem in hand. You say you have rounded up a large number of London’s known criminals?’
According to Dr Watson, it was at that point in proceedings – and with the most impeccable timing – that Mrs Hudson’s feet were heard in the corridor outside, and her firm knock rapped on the study door.
If I were to attempt a comparison, I should say that she swept into the study that evening the way a battleship sweeps into harbour: purposeful yet somehow majestic. In contrast, I trailed in her wake like a slightly damaged tender, painfully aware of the dark smuts on my cheeks and the slightly singed skirts around my ankles.
Our appearance was clearly dramatic, for all four gentlemen leapt to their feet upon our entrance.
‘My word, Mrs Hudson! What has happened?’ Dr Watson gasped, and I realised that all four were eyeing with astonishment the dark streaks of soot and ash that covered us.
‘We have been most concerned, Mrs Hudson,’ Holmes added. ‘And I see we were right to have been.’
The housekeeper looked down at her blackened hands and her scorched dress and dismissed them with an imperious wave of her arm.
‘It’s nothing, Mr Holmes. Flotsam and I have had a little difficulty with an oil lamp, but both of us are unscathed. Some excellent work by Flotsam with a blanket and the assistance of some passing navvies has seen us through the crisis. We are far more concerned that we were not present to light the fire here, sir. What must you think of us?’
Without waiting for reply, she busied herself in dabbing at the fireplace with the hearth brush.
‘Think nothing of it, Mrs Hudson,’ Mr Holmes reassured her. ‘I’m sure it must have been an extraordinary circumstance to keep you from your duties.’
‘Oh no, sir. Just a little clockwork toy we discovered, one which made us lose track of the time. You see, it was a toy that makes things disappear.’
At her words, Sherlock Holmes looked up sharply and even Dr Watson blinked a little.
‘Eh? What’s that, Mrs H? Makes things disappear?’
Mrs Hudson continued with her tidying. ‘Oh, it’s nothing very remarkable, sir. Certainly nothing that will surprise Mr Holmes.’
I noticed the great detective flush with pleasure, but he appeared reluctant to meet his companion’s eye.
‘Perhaps, Watson, I have been a little slow to share my reasoning with you. I know it is a fault of mine. Yet none of my conclusions have any required particular mental athleticism. The nature of the plot, the mechanism employed, the substitution required, these things can be deduce by pure reason. But the agent of this villainy, the identity of the remarkable individual we seek…’
He was interrupted by Sir John, who snorted as if in exasperation.
‘Really, Mr Holmes, you’re talking in riddles. Are you trying to tell me you have worked out how the Malabar Rose was stolen?’
A very faint smile played around my employer’s lips.
‘Stolen, Sir John? Stolen? I am pleased to inform you, sir, that nothing has been stolen. Do you really think I should have remained rooted here in Baker Street if that were the case? No, sir, I have never thought that. Not for one moment. That ruby of yours has not been stolen, it has simply been moved.’
The old soldier stirred dangerously in his seat.
‘Moved, stolen, what’s the difference? The point is that it’s gone.’
Mr Holmes continued to smile.
‘Forgive me. I should have been clearer. But in truth it is all very simple.’ He glanced across at the soot-stained figure by the fireplace. ‘And it seems that Mrs Hudson here thinks so too. What do you say, Sir John? Shall we hear her out?’
But Mrs Hudson was rubbing her hands briskly.
‘If you please, sir, Flotsam and I could do with five minutes to tidy ourselves up.’ She turned to Sir John. ‘Sir, if you would bear with us for a few moments, we have something to show you that I’m sure will be of great interest to you.’
And almost before he had time to acquiesce, she had bustled out, dragging me behind her as a comet drags its tail. When the doors had closed behind us, she turned to me and winked, then led me back to the kitchen, chuckling quietly to herself.
When, after some hasty ablutions, we returned to the study, we found the gentlemen ready to receive us; Sir John, with scarcely concealed annoyance, Lestrade a little impatiently, Mr Holmes with sly amusement at the confusion of his guests; and Dr Watson, still wearing his bright cravat, with a very full glass of whisky. Mr Holmes’ fire appeared to have recovered from its strange method of ignition and was burning brightly, and Dr Watson, with typical enthusiasm, had lighted every lamp in the room. It made for a warm and welcoming scene.
There was something welcoming too in Mr Holmes’ face as he greeted Mrs Hudson on her return to the study.
‘Now, Mrs Hudson,’ he began, ‘I believe you said something about a toy…’
‘Yes, sir,’ she agreed, ‘though a great deal of what Flotsam and I know, sir – and a great deal of what you don’t know – has been discovered entirely by accident, while giving a helping hand to Mrs Smithers in Ealing. So perhaps, sir, if I may begin there…’
Mrs Hudson started at the very beginning, describing to the assembled company Mrs Smithers’s visit to Baker Street and then our journey to her house in Ealing; our examination of its windows and doors, our inspection of its cellar and our observations concerning Mr Phillimore’s wardrobe. She spoke at some length about the cheap gloves that had recently been purchased in Islington and explained patiently about the recent Parisian fashion for lilac socks.
Outside in the quiet streets, more snow was falling. Inside, in contrast, the study had grown very warm, and from some hidden corner a tiny moth had appeared and was flickering helplessly around one of the lamps, as if released by the heat from its winter slumber. When Mrs Hudson began to describe our first visit to the street in Islington where the gloves had been bought, I could sense that her audience was growing a little restless. She had not gone a great deal further before Sir John felt the need to interrupt.
‘Gloves, Mrs Hudson? Neckwear? How can these things matter? They may be of interest to you, but I cannot believe you will ever persuade Inspector Lestrade that his officers would be more effective if better acquainted with Parisian fashions!’
His remark was met with a smirk by the inspector, but Mrs Hudson remained as serene and confident as if she were explaining the best way to bake scones on the range downstairs.
‘Forgive me, sir. Domestic commonplaces are a housekeeper’s business. Now tell me, sir…’ Her tone seemed suddenly firmer and more determined. ‘What exactly were you looking for when you searched the Satin Rooms after the disappearance of the Malabar Rose?’
Sir John arched an eyebrow and exchanged a bemused look with Lestrade.
‘Why, Mrs Hudson, we were looking for any possible way an object the size of the Malabar Rose could have been removed from that room.’
Mrs Hudson nodded knowingly.
‘Yes, sir. I rather thought so. I worked for a lady once, sir – I shan’t mention her name – who was sent an unsigned letter telling her that one of her maids had stolen a large silver candelabra from her drawing room. Now, this lady had long held suspicions of that particular maid and she was delighted to have these suspicions confirmed. She went straight down to the drawing room to see for herself, and when she saw that the candelabra had indeed been removed from its position at the centre of the mantelpiece, she called the police at once.’
‘Very unpleasant,’ Dr Watson sympathised. ‘Had a man in Afghanistan once who used to help himself to my snuff. Damned if I could ever catch him at it though. Did they ever track down the stolen candelabra, Mrs H?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t stolen, sir. In fact it was still in the drawing room, and only a few feet from where it always stood. Someone had simply moved it to a table on the other side of the room. But the lady of the house couldn’t see it there, and neither could the police.’
‘But why on earth not?’
‘You see, the lady had been led to anticipate its theft, so looked no further than the place she expected the candelabra to be. And the police, well, they’d been told it was stolen, they’d even been told the name of the thief, so it never occurred to them that the object in question might still be sitting there under their noses. It was only when the girl who did the dusting got to work the following morning that the situation was resolved.’
At the denouement of this little tale, Sir John let out an impatient exclamation.
‘A very amusing little story, Mrs Hudson, but surely you aren’t suggesting that the ruby was still somewhere in the Satin Rooms and yet somehow we failed to find it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mrs Hudson replied, her face impassive.
‘You mean you are suggesting that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
At this, Sir John could restrain himself no longer. ‘Do you take us for fools?’ he spluttered furiously.
Mrs Hudson looked at him calmly. There was a slight pause.
‘Going back to Mr Phillimore, sir,’ she went on, ‘I mentioned there was a toy-maker’s shop on the street where he bought his gloves…’ Inspector Lestrade rolled his eyes at the mention of Mr Phillimore’s name, but it was going to take more than that to deflect Mrs Hudson. ‘Flotsam and I visited that shop today, sir. And instead of finding a good doll for a shilling, we discovered some very interesting bits and pieces. I have something I’d like to show you.’
She moved purposefully to the door but paused by the lamp where the moth still fluttered. Very carefully she reached out and caught it between her cupped hands, and then left the room in silence.
When she returned a minute later, it was with a small parcel loosely wrapped in brown paper. This she placed solemnly on a low chest marked ‘Cords, Garrottes and General Strangulation’ that stood beside Mr Holmes chair. Then, without any drama or fanfare, she put aside the brown paper to reveal a large velvet jewel case. Opened, this revealed a velvet pyramid – just the sort of stand upon which a large stone might be displayed.
‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Dr Watson, recognising it at once. ‘It’s the replica case. You remember, Holmes. Sir John left one here on his first visit.’
‘Very nearly, sir,’ Mrs Hudson corrected him. ‘It’s certainly quite like the replica case but it is not the same one. Let me show you something.’
She rummaged for a moment in the deep pocket of her apron, and it was noticeable as she did so that now, with the appearance of the jewel case, her audience was suddenly paying much closer attention. Even Sir John had leaned forward in his chair in order to observe the object more closely. I don’t know what magic or drama I was expecting from Mrs Hudson at this point, but I remember being most surprised at the object she produced from her apron – a neat, blue duck egg of unremarkable appearance. I was clearly not the only one to be a little taken aback either, for Sir John’s eyebrows rose dangerously.
‘An egg, gentlemen,’ she explained, in case there was any doubt. ‘You’ll agree, I hope, that it is about the size of the Malabar Rose. Now, watch…’
She reached down to the jewel case and balanced the egg on the apex of the velvet pyramid, so that it perfectly filled the hollow intended for the ruby. There was another quickening of interest in the room now, and I could see all four gentlemen edging closer in their seats. Of the three, only Sherlock Holmes looked at ease. Indeed, the expression on his face seemed to convey more amusement than suspense.
‘So what now, Mrs Hudson?’ Dr Watson asked, slightly puzzled.
Mrs Hudson looked up at the clock. ‘We wait, sir. Timing is very important to all this. The timing needed to be perfect, you see. Probably Perch is the only man in the kingdom capable of getting it exactly right.’
‘Eh? I’m not sure that I follow, Mrs H,’ Dr Watson grunted. ‘What exactly are we waiting for? It’s not about to hatch, is it?’
‘Ssssh! One moment, sir.’
She was watching the clock intently now. The hands stood one minute short of the hour and I realised she was waiting for the clock to strike. Even Dr Watson seemed to sense the importance of the moment, and he, like the rest of us, fell silent and watched the minute hand as it edged slowly towards the perpendicular.
That minute seemed to take an age to pass. Mrs Hudson, for all her apparent serenity, appeared as absorbed as the rest of us. As we watched, the silence thickened around us, stirred only by the ticking of the clock. So when, with a click, the minute hand finally edged home, that noise was enough to make me jump, and the chimes that rang out seemed to boom like church bells. But the egg, which we were all now studying with unashamed intensity, did nothing. It continued to sit where the ruby should have been, looking faintly ridiculous. When the last stroke of nine faded away and still nothing had happened, there was a general shifting in seats and, from Sir John, another exclamation of impatience.
‘What now?’ he demanded.
But his question went unanswered for at the very moment he spoke, the egg began to move. A faint whirr of clockwork started up from somewhere inside the case and, as we watched in astonishment, the velvet pyramid on which the egg rested seemed to shrink into itself, so that very gradually, very gently, the egg was being lowered into the dark base upon which it stood. Fascinated by its progress, we watched until the pyramid had become a hollow and the egg had reached the floor of the case. When it could sink no lower, the velvet slopes that supported it began to open, creating a hole through which the egg fell softly. For a moment it rested upright, its balance almost perfect, but then, inevitably, it toppled to its side and rolled away, out of sight into the concealed depths of the box. The opening of the velvet panels had another effect too, for as the egg disappeared, something small came fluttering upwards into the light.
‘That moth!’ I gasped and Mrs Hudson nodded, as the tiny creature flapped up into the shadows in search of a dark crevice in which to hide. Now, with the egg hidden and the moth released, the velvet sides of the pyramid were moving upwards again, and by the time the minute hand of the clock showed two minutes past the hour, the jewel case was exactly as it had been before – but for one significant difference: the egg, instead of resting on top of the case was now securely hidden inside it.
The impact of this demonstration on the four gentlemen was no less than extraordinary. Sir John leapt to his feet but appeared lost for words. Inspector Lestrade was shaking his head as if in disbelief, quietly repeating the word ‘Blimey!’ to himself. Dr Watson mopped his brow with an unusually lurid silk handkerchief.
‘Bravo, Mrs Hudson!’ he declared with great enthusiasm.
‘Superb,’ Holmes agreed, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘Mrs Hudson, it is exactly as I imagined it. Logically, there could have been no other explanation. But what superb work! What a magnificent mechanism!’ He turned then to Sir John. ‘So now you see, sir, the stone is not stolen, it has simply moved. That is why I have insisted that the Satin Rooms remain as closely guarded now as they were before. So long as Lestrade’s men are keeping careful watch, the Malabar Rose is as a safe there as anywhere. You see, sir, the architects of this villainy relied upon us lowering our guard. In fact their entire scheme depended upon our panicking and behaving like imbeciles. But by maintaining our vigilance we have thwarted them, and now our best hope of apprehending those responsible lies in patience. Mark my words, Sir John, if we keep alert and do nothing, it is only a matter of time before they will show their hand. We should expect some sort of attempt to storm the Satin Rooms, and we should expect it soon. When it comes we shall have our perpetrators!’
Sir John, however, was showing no sign of triumph. A look of utter horror had distorted his features.
‘But it can’t be true!’ he gasped, an observation he repeated, apparently in the hope that someone would support it. ‘The case the ruby stood on came from the Royal Jewellers. I received it from them myself and brought it to the Satin Rooms in person.’
‘Hmmm, Sir John has a point, Mrs Hudson,’ conceded Dr Watson. ‘I can’t see the Royal Jewellers pulling a trick like that, what?’
‘The boxes were switched, sir.’ Mrs Hudson’s air of serenity remained undisturbed. ‘A visitor called at Sir John’s house a few days ago. The butler allowed him into the entrance hall, but found him gone almost as soon as he had turned his back. Of course, he hadn’t really left the house. He had hidden himself in the chest that decorates Sir John’s hall, along with the clockwork jewellery case that he intended to substitute for the real one. That night, when the household was asleep, he emerged, found the original case in Sir John’s study, switched the two, and left by a downstairs window. The timer was already set, of course, and the chrysalis of the butterfly was on the inside and on the point of hatching.’
‘It seems a dashed complicated way of doing it, Mrs H,’
‘Oh, no, sir. It had to be done like that. If there had been any sign of breaking and entering, Sir John would have been immediately on his guard. But this way there was no sign the switch had taken place. The butler found an unlatched window the next morning, but being a man of advancing years he assumed he had simply failed to close it properly on his nightly rounds.’
‘But how did they know what the jewellery case looked like, Mrs H?’ Dr Watson asked. ‘And how could they possibly have made a copy beforehand?’
‘Really, sir,’ Mrs Hudson replied sternly, ‘all the jewellery cases made by the royal jewellers are made to the same design. It is their special feature.’
‘I don’t believe a word!’ Sir John’s colour had deepened to a rich burgundy and the veins were standing out in his temples. ‘That bit about the chest is ridiculous. The chest in my hallway is tiny. Honestly, Mr Holmes,’ he continued, almost imploringly, ‘no man could fit into it.’
‘Mr James Phillimore could, sir. A man with what they call double joints. He was also able to squeeze himself up the coal chute in Sefton Avenue. And incidentally, that’s how he could assist the Great Salmanazar in his escape trick.’
‘Eh? Sorry, Mrs Hudson,’ Dr Watson put in, ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.’
‘It’s very simple, sir. Mr Phillimore is concealed in a box that is made to look like a huge lead weight. That weight is balanced on the coffin, apparently to make it impossible for the illusionist to lift the lid. When both objects are concealed in a large crate, Phillimore releases himself from his own box and uses the tools he has with him to release his employer.’
‘So they were in it together! Er, in the crate, I mean.’ Inspector Lestrade appeared to be catching up. ‘And they planned to retrieve the ruby later?’
‘Precisely, sir.’
Mr Holmes was beaming with delight. ‘So you see, Inspector, if you wish to check on the safety of the Malabar Rose, you may do so at your own convenience in the Satin Rooms. As I have said, I strongly recommend we leave it there as bait. But if you and Sir John decide otherwise you may fetch the box at once and recover the ruby.’
But Lestrade was pointing towards Sir John, who by now had sunk low in his chair and was holding his face in his hands.
‘I believe, Mr Holmes, that Sir John stood down the guard at the Satin Rooms yesterday afternoon.’
‘Stood them down?’ Holmes asked, a frown distorting his forehead. ‘Sir John? Is this true?’
The old soldier was shaking now, his hands still pressed to his face. ‘I could see no point in it, Holmes. I was aware that you wished the rooms to remain secured, but we had been over them so many times, in such painstaking detail… And the Maharajah was demanding they be returned to their previous state. I was under pressure from the Palace…’
‘But the case, sir! The jewel case! You have it safe?’ Mr Holmes spoke almost savagely.
‘I took it home with me.’
On hearing these words, some of Mr Holmes’ equanimity returned.
‘Then no harm is done. You must send for it at once.’
But Sir John’s face remained hidden behind his hands.
‘That’s just the problem, Mr Holmes. You see, there was an event last night. At my home. I didn’t mention it. It didn’t seem important.’
‘An event, Sir John?’
‘A burglary, Mr Holmes. My house was broken into. A back window was smashed. Mr Holmes, the jewel case is stolen.’