The Duke looked a little anxious as he said, “I really don’t know where to begin, Mr Holmes. I suppose it all started with the attempted burglary at the Grange when Grandfather’s painting of the Grange and its gardens was taken down."
Holmes moved forward in his chair and urged the Duke to tell his tale, saying, “Your grace, if you would tell me all, leave nothing out, I beg you." The Duke nodded and Holmes sat back in his chair with his hands arranged almost as if in prayer, finger tips together, listening with his eyes closed.
The Duke recounted how a burglary had been foiled when the night watchman at the Grange had, on his rounds, discovered intruders. He went on to describe how his father, the 5th Duke, had succumbed to a seizure brought on by the burglary and had died some days later.
Holmes nodded. “I was greatly saddened to read his obituary in ‘The Times’. Was anything removed from the Grange?”
The Duke shook his head. Strangely, no. It would appear that the intruders were only interested in the picture. In itself, it has no real value… but it does have a bearing on my visit to you today."
Holmes sat forward, his body stiff and inclined slightly towards the Duke like a pointer indicating the position of the quarry. “Ah, now we have it. Please, do go on."
The Duke continued. “My grandfather was a Brigadier in the Indian Army and was in India during the Mutiny of 1857. It was a grim time with atrocities on both sides but none more so than the slaughter of British women and children at Cawnpore. The leader of the mutineers was Nana Sahib, the Maharajah of Bithur, a rather small and dusty state not far from Cawnpore. Nana Sahib was the dispossessed heir to the throne of the Mahrattas. Because of his part in the massacre, he became the most hated and sought after man in all the Empire.”
I nodded saying “Yes, yes! I remember!”
The Duke continued. “When the British re-took Cawnpore, Nana Sahib had disappeared. It was rumoured that he had bribed his way over the border into a neighbouring state and then on to who knows where. It is said that to buy his passage he used a family heirloom, a large diamond named the ‘Star of Bithur’. There were whisperings within our family that grandfather had returned from India with a great prize. What it was and how he came by it I do not know. He never spoke of it. I am sure, Mr Holmes, that there was no dishonour attached to my grandfather from its possession.”
The young Duke looked fatigued and it was a relief to him when the story telling was interrupted by a gentle knock at our door and the arrival of the tea served by Mrs Hudson.
Once refreshed, the Duke continued. “On the anniversary of grandfather’s death, in 1869, our family solicitor passed a sealed letter to my father. Grandfather had left instructions that it should not be opened until 50 years after his death. You will note that this year is 50 years from that date and, in January, my father opened the letter. I have brought it for you to read, Mr Holmes."
The Duke reached into the inside pocket of his Harris Tweed jacket and brought out a much yellowed envelope with a broken, red wax seal. Holmes lent over and took the envelope. Before opening it, he inspected all the seams minutely with his magnifying glass.
Satisfied, Holmes exclaimed, “It is clear that the envelope had been opened prior to your father breaking the seal." He put down the glass and held the envelope to his nose. Raising an eyebrow, Holmes exclaimed, “Ah! The distinctive smell of gum-arabic, a clear sign that someone has opened one of the seams and then used the gum to re-seal the letter." Being content that no more could be gleaned from the envelope, Holmes pulled out the single sheet of paper within. “Would you mind if I read the letter aloud to share with friend Watson?”
The Duke readily agreed. “Not at all. I understand that you served in India yourself, Doctor Watson." I nodded but said nothing, not wanting to delay Holmes from reading the letter.
Holmes opened the page and read the letter thus. “Salcombe Grange, 26th July 1867. To my heirs. You are reading this letter as 50 years have now passed since my death. Only now do I feel it is fit and proper to disclose to you the terrible secret that has burdened me since my return to England after my service in India. You will know that whilst there, I witnessed the aftermath of the appalling massacre of our troops and their families at Cawnpore by Sepoys lead by that foulest of all men, Nana Sahib. Even now, that name is like dust in my mouth. As a result of this shameful act, a great prize came into my possession. To understand my actions, you must believe that I only want to protect the family. I did not wish to benefit from that which I have brought back to these shores and has so much blood attached to it. It is my resolve, then, to put the prize in a place where it is not easily found. I trust that those who follow me have the wit and courage to discover its location and use the proceeds in an honourable way.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow and again lifted a forefinger to his lip. He paused for a few moments before continuing, “During all my time in India, my greatest desire was to return to the Grange. On the long voyage back to England, I had time to reflect on matters and in my cabin I was able paint the Grange from memory. I trust that this painting still hangs in the Great Hall else all is lost. May God forgive me for any wrongs I have committed and I trust that you, my heirs, will ensure that some good comes from this terrible affair."
Holmes sat back in his chair. His face was grim for he was aware of the Cawnpore massacre and concluded by saying, “The letter is signed William George Burley, 4th Duke of Salcombe."
Looking towards our visitor, he again looked ashen and stumbled as he said, “I am… I am sorry that I have brought this to you, Mr Holmes… but it is now a matter of honour. If my family is linked to this horror by possession of the Star of Bithur then it must be found. The families of those who perished at the hands of Nana Sahib and his followers must be the ones to benefit from its discovery."
Holmes nodded, asking, “Tell me, your grace. Is the painting to which the late Duke refers held in a place of safety?”
The Duke nodded. “Yes, Mr Holmes. After the attempted burglary, the picture was placed in the family strong room to which there are but only two keys. I hold one and Charles Stretton, our family solicitor, holds the other."
By this time, it was well past noon. Holmes had risen from his chair and was reaching for the Railway Gazetteer. He now seemed to be in somewhat of a hurry to usher the Duke from the room, saying, “Well, your grace, you have certainly given us several things to ponder. If you would be so kind as to return to Salcombe Grange in your uncle’s carriage, we will follow this evening."
The young Duke rose and seemed a little flustered by the speed of events. “Err… yes, of course. Thank you, Mr Holmes. I bid you good day, gentlemen.” Holmes made a nodding gesture and the Duke, still looking a little bemused, went on his way.
Holmes consulted the Gazetteer. “Ah! It is as I thought. There is an express this evening at half past six that stops at Salcombe station.” Reaching for his private copy of the War Department list, provided by brother Mycroft, he began to flick through it. Tapping his forefinger on the list, Holmes cried out, “Now we have him! Major Michael Drew, Indian Army, retired. Ha! An address close to King’s Cross Station. Capital!
Holmes ran to his bedroom, shouting, “Quickly, Watson! We must make haste. Gather some overnight clothes into a Gladstone, there is information we need before our visit to the Grange. There is only one man in all of England who can give it to us and I pray to heaven that he is still alive and at home."
I quickly did as I was asked. Holmes gathered up his own Gladstone and donning his cape, hat and gloves, he swept out of the door leaving me to hurry along in his wake.
In the street below he hailed a Hansom and shouted up to the cabbie, “Gray’s Inn Road, close to King’s Cross station, if you please."
As we travelled in the Hansom, Holmes was deep in thought. Turning to me, he asked, “Well, Watson. What do you make of it?”
Although I had heard the same story as Holmes, I knew that he had gleaned far more from it than had I. “I fear I am at a loss, Holmes. I know something of the Cawnpore massacre, but as to this prize…” I shook my head, asking, “Do you really think it is the Star of Bithur?”
Holmes nodded, “I think almost certainly, but first we must learn more of the events at Cawnpore. We are fortunate to know the name of the 4th Duke’s adjutant, Major Michael Drew. If he is still alive, he resides in the Gray’s Inn Road."
I rubbed my chin, asking, “What about the picture, Holmes? Do you think it to be so valuable that an attempt may be made to steal it again?”
Holmes smiled grimly. “It is invaluable, Watson! I think it to be the key to this whole affair. In itself, it may merely be a picture of Salcombe Grange by a competent, family artist. It is what intelligence the picture may possibly contain that is important. We must have sight of it before we can conclude further.”