Three days to Christmas meant only four days before the Malabar Rose was to be put on display, and that in turn meant a good deal of work for Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. The whereabouts of the stone remained a mystery to everyone but Sir John Plaskett, who would arrive every morning with a bounce in his stride and a jaunty whistle on his lips. Even the news that two more of his decoys had almost been seized did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm.
‘They’ll never find it!’ he declared happily. ‘It’s in the last place anyone would think to look. And if I were a thief, even if I knew where to look, I’m not sure I’d dare to make an attempt on it! Too demmed risky!’ And he’d guffaw happily with his head thrown back, a laugh that seemed to pain Dr Watson as he tried to balance marmalade on his morning toast.
‘Dash it, Sir John, but what of these latest attempts? Things are getting a little too hot for my liking.’
‘Oh, don’t worry yourself, Dr Watson. As a result of these abortive attempts, we now have all the main threats to the Malabar Rose under lock and key. The only one left is this Salmanazar chap, and I’m trusting you and Holmes to deal with him.’
At that point, just as I was preparing to remove the breakfast tray, there were footsteps on the stairs and with no warning at all a man dressed as a rat-catcher entered the study. He was clad in a soiled jacket and sludge-coloured trousers that ended an inch short of his shoes and revealed a strangely clean and rather jaunty pair of tartan socks. On his head he wore a squashed cap and dangling from one hand was a cage containing three live rats. His face was disgustingly grimy and was distorted by a terrible squint.
‘Great God!’ exclaimed the Major General at the entrance of this unlikely visitor.
‘What… Who on earth?’ began Dr Watson, reduced to a stutter of surprise.
In reply the intruder rolled his eyes horribly and, on spying me in the corner, first set his face into a fiendish leer, then favoured me with a conspiratorial wink.
‘Will you be having breakfast now, sir?’ I asked him. ‘Or would you be wanting to clean yourself up a little first?’
‘Good lord, Holmes, is that really you?’ Dr Watson rose to his feet and peered at his friend in bewilderment.
‘Of course it is, Watson. Who else would be barging in here at this hour? Other than Sir John, of course.’
Sir John’s surprise was scarcely less than Dr Watson’s, though he was much better at concealing it. ‘Mr Holmes? I can hardly believe it! But what is the meaning of all this?’
Mr Holmes, evidently pleased by the gentlemen’s astonishment, gave a low chuckle and began to remove his jacket.
‘Do not be embarrassed, gentlemen. Sharper eyes than yours have failed to see beyond these rags these last twenty hours.’
‘Will you be wanting breakfast, sir?’ I persisted.
‘In a moment, Flotsam. First, you could pour me a bottle of the excellent brown ale that Mrs Hudson always supplies. There is one hidden in that large Wellington boot on the mantelpiece. I know Dr Watson doesn’t approve of brown ale, but I find it makes a very fine start to the day.’
While I poured the ale, Mr Holmes explained himself to the two gentlemen. ‘I have made it my business to find out a little more about the Great Salmanazar and his bag of tricks. Since we took on this case he has scarcely been out of my sight.’
‘Remarkable, Holmes!’ Watson allowed a small pile of pipe tobacco to spill onto the front of his waistcoat. ‘And he is unaware that he is being watched?’
‘Far from it, Watson. Lestrade has detailed a minimum of three officers to follow him at all times. Our friend must think we are a nation of policemen. But I flatter myself that he is not aware of every person who observes him!’ He dropped his jacket on the rats’ cage and sat down with a satisfied sigh. ‘It hasn’t been easy, of course. The man works through the night on his rehearsals. He spends hours positioning every hook, every rope, every beam.’
Sir John, having recovered from Mr Holmes’ unconventional entrance, seemed impressed by this evidence of his energy. ‘Fine work, Mr Holmes. Now tell us what you have learned.’
Mr Holmes raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, for one thing, I have learned that this Salmanazar is a very deep fellow. He gives nothing away. Although I have dogged his footsteps, he has shown no outward interest in the Malabar Rose. He neither reads the papers nor listens to gossip. He seems entirely intent on his forthcoming performance.’
Watson looked a trifle disappointed at this. ‘So what’s the next step, Holmes?’ he asked. ‘I was hoping we’d have the fellow behind bars by now.’
‘Arrest the Great Salmanazar before his performance, Watson? Why, there’d be a riot. Unless they found him with the ruby actually in his pocket, I don’t think Lestrade’s men would have the nerve. His performance threatens to be the most sensational event to happen in London for years. I hear that tickets are fetching ten guineas apiece.’
‘Really, Holmes, be serious! Are we to let this chappie lay his plans completely unimpeded?’
‘On the contrary, Watson. I feel it is time we confronted him. I would like to see what happens if we can unsettle him a little.’
‘Ideal, Holmes! When will you do it?’
‘Me, Watson?’ Mr Holmes looked over at Sir John and smiled with unconcealed amusement. ‘Would I go to these lengths to conceal my appearance if I planned to then march into the Regal Theatre and introduce myself to the man? No, my friend, I shall leave that job to you. Later this morning Sir John and I are to have another look at the arrangements for the ruby at the Blenheim Hotel. I suggest you call on Mr Salmanazar then and see what you can get out of him.’
‘Just me, Holmes? By myself? I’m not sure I like the sound of that. After all, this chap sounds dashed tricky.’
‘Very well.’ The detective looked across to where I was standing with the breakfast tray and I felt him fix me with a hawkish gaze. ‘Flotsam, you have proved an admirable assistant to Dr Watson in the past. Please get yourself out of that ridiculous apron at the earliest opportunity. You must be ready to leave for the Regal Theatre within the hour.’
With Mrs Hudson’s help, it took me only a few minutes to transform myself from Sherlock Holmes’ maid into the neatly dressed young lady who accompanied Dr Watson out into the icy rain. Mrs Hudson had been soothing and unperturbed throughout, pinning my hair for me in front of the mirror and murmuring words of advice as she pinned.
‘Keep your eyes open, Flotsam. Don’t on any account allow Dr Watson’s questioning to distract you. I doubt if you will learn very much from it anyway. Watch out for the ordinary things, Flottie. Nine times out of ten, that’s where you can find the truth.’
I digested this advice thoughtfully, but I had something else on my mind.
‘Mrs Hudson, ma’am,’ I wondered aloud, ‘how worried are you about the safety of the Malabar Rose?’
‘Worried, Flotsam? When the whole might of the nation’s police force is available to protect it?’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s being wonderfully well guarded, ma’am, it’s just that I rather thought you might have wanted to visit the Blenheim Hotel yourself. Just to see what’s going on, ma’am.’
In front of me, in the mirror, I watched Mrs Hudson position the last pin so that my hair was held high on my head in the way I’d seen smart young women. She cast a careful look at her work.
‘Very good, Flotsam. You wear it well. Now quickly, girl, fetch your hat and let’s see you pin it on.’
As I carefully positioned the smart little hat that Mrs Hudson had given me, I couldn’t help but return to my original question.
‘About the Malabar Rose, ma’am. I’m sure it would be good if you could just keep your eye on things a little bit.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Flottie. But there’s plenty to be doing here, what with Christmas coming and the goose still not bought. Besides, I’d like to see this strange business in Ealing settled. Take a look at this, Flotsam.’
From a drawer in the dresser she produced a thin, cheaply-printed newspaper entitled ‘Plays & Players’. It was folded open on a column of small advertisements, one of which had been ringed in black ink.
‘Reward offered for information regarding the whereabouts of Mr James Phillimore of Ealing. Apply Rumbelow and Rumbelow, Solicitors, Birch Street.’
‘I’m not sure what good it will do,’ the housekeeper mused, ‘but it can’t do any harm, and you never know what might crop up. I’ve been thinking a lot about James Phillimore’s headaches, Flotsam ...’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘And do you know, I begin to wonder if he really is the rather pale character that his mother-in-law has described.’
My journey to Piccadilly with Dr Watson was a warm and pleasant one. The good doctor went to great lengths to ensure that I was wrapped in blankets against the cold, and endeavoured to entertain me with tales of operations he had performed during the Afghan wars. Despite these, I was still eager to get on with our mission and, after trying the Regal Theatre, we eventually succeeded in tracking the Great Salmanazar to his suite of rooms at Brown’s Hotel.
Although we were anxious to see him, he seemed in no great hurry to see us. In fact he made us wait in the great crimson and gold lobby for fully forty minutes after Dr Watson’s card was sent up, until I began to fear that the good doctor might chew through his moustache or commit some act of violence against one of the marble statues that decorated the hotel’s entrance hall.
‘Confound the man, Flottie!’ the doctor growled. ‘Where is he? Never did like the sound of him, anyway. Don’t like a man who does conjuring tricks. It’s like playing trick shots at billiards. Not quite gentlemanly. And how can you have a conversation with a man when he’s always thinking about how to make your handkerchief disappear?’
‘He’s supposed to be a very special conjurer,’ I reminded him. ‘Do you think he might have special powers?’
‘Nonsense! The chappie’s just a jumped up fakir, I’ll be bound. I daresay a few blunt questions will scare the life out of him.’
As Dr Watson finished speaking, we both became aware that a sallow, Asiatic gentleman in an immaculate dark suit had appeared at his shoulder.
‘You are, I believe, the famous Dr Watson,’ he stated softly.
‘What? Oh, I see. Well, hardly famous, you know,’ the doctor explained hastily, ‘though I suppose one or two people have heard of me.’
‘Indeed, sir. And this young lady?’
‘This is Flotsam. Er, Miss Flotsam. My assistant.’
The man gave a slow, stately bow in my direction, then turned back to Dr Watson.
‘The Great Salmanazar will see you now.’
We found our quarry in the midst of a magnificent room with high ceilings, its walls encrusted with mirrors and heavy gilt panels. Amidst all the grandeur, a slight figure stood facing us, his arm already stretching towards us in welcome.
‘Dr Watson! Such an honour! Do please come in.’ He ushered us into the centre of the great room with such enthusiasm that we might have been his most particular friends. ‘Do please take a seat. And of course your companion also. Miss Flotsam, I believe. Of course. Please take a seat, Miss Flotsam. It is a great honour.’
The Great Salmanazar was far from the imposing figure I had expected. He was little more than four or five inches over five feet and he had the slight build and lissom grace of a gymnast. He was neatly dressed in the European style, but he had discarded his jacket and stood before us in his waistcoat. He might have been any age between thirty and fifty. His dark hair was heavily lacquered in the Mediterranean fashion and his moustache was waxed to curl up proudly at the edges. His eyes were as dark as his hair, but from his colouring he might as easily have been a Greek or a Spaniard as an Arab or a Berber. He spoke English almost perfectly with only the faintest trace of an accent.
‘Please, at this hour of the day I believe it is considered right to take a drink before one’s luncheon. This hotel contains every luxury. Please let me help you to some refreshment.’
There was something in the extreme earnestness of his manner that made us feel it would be most hurtful to refuse. I could see Dr Watson’s barrier of formality beginning to crumble a little under the pressure of his host’s desire to please.
‘Very well then. I daresay a small Scotch would help to keep out the cold.’
‘A wise choice. And Miss Flotsam?’
I had no idea what to say, as I had no idea what drink would be appropriate for a young girl to request in such company. For a moment I floundered, until Dr Watson realised my distress and came to my rescue.
‘I always say a glass of champagne at this time of day is the sort of tonic a young lady needs.’
‘Ah, yes! Champagne!’ Our host seemed delighted. ‘Pol Roger, I think. Allow me…’
At that moment, for the first time, I noticed on the table in front of us a small, silver tray, its contents hidden beneath a linen napkin that had been draped carefully over them. The tray must have been there from the moment we entered the room but, distracted by the Great Salmanazar’s welcome, I had somehow failed to observe it. Now our host reached down and pulled away the napkin with a flick of his wrist.
The cloth fell away at his touch to reveal a bottle of Scotch whisky, soda water and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. A single champagne flute had already been filled and stout whisky tumbler already contained a handsome quantity of golden liquor.
‘Excellent! Just as you ordered!’
Seeing the expressions of astonishment on our faces, the illusionist laughed softly. ‘Please forgive me,’ he chuckled. ‘Just a small conceit of mine. I must apologise for it. Please, doctor, the soda water is not yet added. I beg that you help yourself to the required quantity.’
‘Really, sir!’ Dr Watson had rediscovered his earlier mood and his moustache bristled. ‘We didn’t come here to see your blasted tricks! I’ve come about the ruby, sir, and I’m sure you know it.’
‘Ruby?’ Our host hesitated as if the word was new to him. ‘Ah, of course. A precious stone. And is it a particular ruby that you have come about?’
‘Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of the Malabar Rose!’
‘Ah, your English roses! So fragrant yet so fragile. However, I regret, sir, that I am not a horticulturalist.’
I could sense Dr Watson’s choler rising, and to slow it in its ascent, I dared to ask a question of my own.
‘Please, sir, have you ever been to the Blenheim Hotel?’
The Great Salmanazar seemed surprised by the question and he turned to me and eyed me closely.
‘The Blenheim Hotel? You forget, Miss Flotsam, this is my first visit to this mighty city of yours, and I stay in this hotel, this Brown’s, which has been greatly recommended to me.’
‘Yes, sir. It’s only that there’s a piece of writing paper in your jacket pocket. It has the Blenheim Hotel heading on it.’
His first instinct was to clap his hand to his chest, as if he still retained his jacket. Realising his mistake, he looked around and saw that item of dress draped casually over the chair beside me. He retrieved it hurriedly and put it on.
‘You must accept my apologies if I failed to understand you. I thought you asked if I had been to the Blenheim Hotel. I have not. But my fellow performer, Miss Del Fuego, is staying at that hotel. It is from her, this letter that you have observed.’
‘Well, sir,’ Dr Watson cut in, ‘Miss Del Fuego must know of the Malabar Rose. Anyone staying at the Blenheim could hardly fail to be aware of it.’
‘I am afraid her letter was entirely confined to matters concerning the performance she is to give.’ He smoothed down his jacket with the palms of his hands, as if to lay the matter to rest.
‘Please, sir,’ I persisted, ‘Miss Del Fuego writes in a very strong, masculine hand, doesn’t she?’
‘Indeed? I am not a graphologist, Miss Flotsam.’
‘I wasn’t meaning to pry, sir, but I couldn’t help noticing that the part of the letter I could see seemed to have some sort of floor plan sketched on it.’
‘Floor plan? Most certainly not.’ He seemed offended at the suggestion. ‘Miss Del Fuego was merely making some suggestions about aspects of the staging. Her diagrams concerned only that.’
My questions had clearly put him out, for after that the great illusionist became taciturn and replied to all Dr Watson’s questions by puffing out his cheeks and grunting tense, unhelpful answers. Was he aware of the thefts that had followed him across Europe? He was not a policeman. Had he heard of the Lafayette necklace or the Von Metzen diamonds? He was not a jeweller. Would he agree to remain confined to the Regal Theatre for the whole evening of his performance? Of course. He was not a tourist. The more Dr Watson battered away, the less forthcoming he became.
Eventually I could see that Dr Watson’s spirits were beginning to fail. After a few more perfunctory questions along the same lines, he signalled to me his readiness to depart, and we bade the magician a formal and somewhat uncomfortable farewell. As we left, I saw that he had returned to the table where our drinks stood untouched and was thoughtfully covering them with a linen cloth, as if to send them back from whence they’d come.
Outside, Dr Watson proved rather despondent. ‘Not much luck there, I’m afraid, Flotsam. Still, your sharp eyes have spotted something and we must tell Holmes about it at once. We should be able to catch him and Sir John at the Blenheim. Perhaps they are having a more successful morning than we are.’
It was clear from the moment of our arrival there that something had happened to disturb the Blenheim Hotel’s usual air of dignified superiority. The first indication of this came as we mounted the steps towards its imposing entrance, only to be confronted by the sight of two uniformed policemen huffing and puffing towards us, an enormous gilded harp carried awkwardly between them.
‘Where did he say to put it, Bert?’ panted one, as they felt their way gingerly down the steps.
‘He said to use our nishiative, you great lummox,’ his companion replied shortly, possibly annoyed that it had fallen to him to carry the heavy end of the harp.
‘And what do you think he meant by that exactly?’
‘He meant to get this down to the station on the first wagon we can find and to keep it under lock and key till someone remembers it and wants it back.’
‘So that’s what he meant.’ The second policeman was less red in the face than his companion but considerably more bemused. ‘It’s amazing what these brainy types will think up, isn’t it? I can’t see how this is saving the nation. It just looks like a ruddy big harp to me.’
At the top of the steps, the doorman was watching this performance and shaking his head.
‘I’ve never seen the like of it,’ he told us sadly. ‘Wouldn’t hear of using the trade doors at the back, would they? Said they’d been ordered to get everything out by the fastest route, and no questions.’
Dr Watson, still irritated by his unsuccessful interview with the Great Salmanazar, was in no mood to discuss the movements of the hotel furniture. ‘Tell me, my man, do you know where we can find Mr Sherlock Holmes?’ he asked.
‘Mr Holmes?’ The doorman didn’t sound overjoyed at the name. ‘I certainly can, sir. He’s in the Satin Rooms. Through the door, then follow the trail of tables and chairs. You can’t miss him.’
Those directions proved remarkably good ones. Beneath the domed ceiling of the hotel’s famous lobby, four perspiring policemen were pausing for breath. Between them, resting at the most disorderly of angles, were two enormous chaises longues. Judging by the faces of the policemen it was likely to be some time before either made it through the great door of the hotel. Then, as we advanced up the great, sweeping staircase, we were passed by further constables carrying in turn a small ornamental table, a grandfather clock, a red velvet footstool, a cigar cabinet, an enormous candelabra shaped like an elephant and a large portrait of the Duke of Wellington of rather doubtful likeness. And when we arrived at the Satin Rooms, the scene was every bit as chaotic as our approach had led us to expect.
The name ‘Satin Rooms’ is perhaps a misleading one, in that it is used both to describe the whole suite of rooms that the Maharajah maintained at the Blenheim Hotel, and more specifically to describe the main room itself, which is hung, not with satin, but with finest Indian silk. The rooms had first been taken by the Maharajah’s grandfather, the 6th Maharajah of Majoudh, a man whose life had contained more than its fair share of plotters and would-be assassins. As a result, the Maharajah had developed, amongst other things, a morbid fear of corners. He had therefore required his suite at the Blenheim to be remodelled to suit his needs and the result was an exceptionally large, circular drawing room, domed and elegant, which rather unusually contained four doors and no windows. The doors faced north, south, east and west, and each of them opened into the same ante-room, in truth nothing more than a large corridor that encircled and contained the main drawing room. The room’s only light came from glass panels fitted into the dome above it.
It was in this exceptional room that the current Maharajah required the Malabar Rose to be displayed, and it was in this room that we now found Mr Holmes, Sir John Plaskett, Inspector Lestrade and a muddled crowd of harassed-looking policemen. Also present, though obscured by the enormous Chinese vase that he was attempting to remove, was the hotel’s flustered and protesting manager.
‘But Sir John,’ he was expostulating, ‘is it really necessary that everything must go? I cannot see how these objects could possibly…’
‘Everything, Mr Dupont! The room must be bare but for the plinth where the ruby is to be displayed. Come, man, we’re nearly there.’
And it was true. By the time Dr Watson and I had fought our way into the room against the tide of furniture, none of the room’s sumptuous furnishings remained in place. The only object of any description left in the room was a slender green column of marble, about four feet high, in the very centre of the room. Mr Holmes was examining it suspiciously.
‘Solid marble, Mr Holmes. I guarantee it.’ Sir John tapped it with his cane as if to emphasise the fact. ‘I selected it myself and brought it here under guard this morning.’
‘I congratulate you on your thoroughness, Sir John. We cannot be too careful.’ Mr Holmes straightened and noticed Dr Watson for the first time. ‘Ah, my friend, what do you make of this citadel of ours?’
As he spoke, Inspector Lestrade was ushering out Mr Dupont and the remaining policemen, leaving just our small group in possession of the room. He then turned to Dr Watson and gave his own, rather proud, description of the defensive measures that had been put in place.
‘With the exception of the four doors, the room is completely sealed, sir. The glass panels in the dome are built into the brickwork and there are no other apertures of any sort. To make sure, I have stationed four officers up on the roof, and I’ll keep a guard up there night and day until the ruby is safely removed from this room.’
While his audience craned its neck upwards and nodded, Lestrade turned his attention to the rest of the room.
‘The walls are made of stone, lined with oak. We have examined each oak panel and can guarantee all are solid. No possibility of hidden doors or secret chambers, or any such nonsense. The floorboards are oak too, each secured to oak joists. I’ve had men down there underneath them and they say it would take a gang of men with heavy equipment to smash a way through.’
Sir John nodded approvingly. ‘Excellent work, inspector. What about the doors?’
‘The south, east and north doors have already been sealed, sir. Literally boarded up. Each one has an officer on guard outside. All entry now must be by the west door. On the night in question, the ruby will arrive four or five hours beforehand. That’s something the Maharajah has insisted upon, I’m afraid. Tradition has it that the stone must be in position, ideally in darkness, for at least four hours before it is viewed. Some nonsense about allowing its flame to waken after a journey, apparently. Whatever our views about that, gentlemen, I fear we are bound by the Maharajah’s request.
‘Now, when the stone arrives it will be placed on the velvet display case that Sir John is bringing, and that case will be placed on the plinth in front of a select group of witnesses. The room will then be vacated and the west door will be chained and padlocked. Two officers will guard each door. I personally shall patrol the ante-chamber throughout the evening with a group of my most trusted plainclothes men. It won’t be possible for an ant to crawl in here without us knowing!’
‘Bravo, Lestrade!’ Dr Watson exclaimed. ‘It would take a miracle to penetrate such defences.’
The inspector looked suitably proud. ‘Thank you, sir. Any questions?’
I knew Inspector Lestrade’s final remark wasn’t addressed to me, but Mrs Hudson had always taught me to ask questions, and to my horror I found myself clearing my throat.
‘Please, sir,’ I asked, and suddenly every pair of eyes was upon me. ‘All those people on guard… Why don’t they just guard the ruby from inside this room? Then they can all see for themselves that the ruby is safe.’
A slightly embarrassed silence followed this question as the gentlemen all turned to Sherlock Holmes to explain.
‘Ah, Flotsam,’ he began, with a note of benevolent encouragement in his voice. ‘It is good to see you thinking for yourself. However, in this instance, I fear you cannot possibly know as much as we do. You are clearly not aware of what happened to the Black Pearl of Castile. When the Great Salmanazar came to town, a committee of Spanish nobles was convened to safeguard it, and they adopted a strategy such as you have described. They locked themselves into a strong room with the pearl, a dozen revolvers and a rack of duelling sabres.’
‘What happened then, Holmes?’ Dr Watson asked, clearly as ignorant as I was about the annals of foreign crime.
‘All went well until the lights were blown out and the room was plunged into darkness. When light was restored, the pearl was gone.’
‘No mystery there, Holmes! Clearly one of the fellows had seen his chance and pocketed it.’
‘Of course, Watson. But which one? The room contained twelve of the proudest men in Spain, each armed with a duelling sabre. To ask any one of them to submit to a search would have been to besmirch his family honour in the eyes of all his peers. Not one of them would agree to it. And besides, it was likely that the pearl was swallowed, so any search would have been futile.’
‘And the pearl?’
‘We’ll never know. But I am determined that no such complications should arise here, which is why Flotsam’s plan is quite impossible. No, the best way to secure the ruby is to make sure that no one, not even ourselves, has any way of reaching it. Now, Sir John, the guests are to be allowed in to see the ruby at eleven o’clock. It is safe to say that nothing and no one can enter or leave this room without our knowledge before then. For anyone to overcome all the inspector’s precautions and to find a way into this room without permission is simply impossible. In fact I would go further. If anything happens to the ruby while it is in this room, why, gentlemen, then I might begin to believe that this Great Salmanazar really is a magician after all.’