The Queen’s Writing Table

by Julie McKuras

As I look back on my long association with Sherlock Holmes, I believe that 1887 was an exceptional year for both my friend and the British Empire. It was the year of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee, and that milestone celebrated her rule over a vast number of the world’s human beings and our Empire’s position as the most powerful country on earth.

As for Sherlock Holmes, the year 1887 saw him engaged in a number of his most remarkable cases. While many of these successful adventures are known to my readers, there were several which occurred at that time which, for one reason or another, have never been made public. In the adventure which I titled “The Five Orange Pips”, I recounted those untold cases, which included “...the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse...” It was this case which required such delicacy and diplomacy that I dared not make further mention of it at the time. In the intervening ten years since I noted that unrecorded adventure, Her Majesty Queen Victoria has celebrated her Diamond Jubilee, several of those who played important parts in it have passed on, and those once-secret alliances have changed. There is no longer a reason to keep it secret.

Despite his many intriguing problems that year, the waning days of 1887 presented nothing which captured Holmes’s imagination. The lethargy which overtook him when he was unchallenged threatened to consume him as the New Year drew near. Upon my return from my medical practice each day, I often found Holmes still in his dressing gown, surrounded by clouds of tobacco smoke and scattered papers. The upcoming Christmas holiday offered no promise to relieve his morose behaviour; he complained that even the criminal element of London had left the city to celebrate.

In the week before Christmas, I saw the usual last minute rush of patients, anxious to be restored to health before holiday celebrations began. I’ve found that children who are uncomfortable or upset by a visit to their physician can generally be distracted when asked what Father Christmas might bring them on that most blessed of days. It was after one such day, when several young patients excitedly told me their hopes for a new doll, toy soldiers, or a jump rope, that I returned to Baker Street, my spirits buoyed by their innocent, expectant faces. On my cold and wet walk home, I passed holiday shoppers and store windows decorated with the usual holiday greenery and suggested gifts. I longed to spend a quiet evening by the fire after dinner, with a restorative brandy, a good book, and contemplation of all that Christmas represented.

Considering my long association with Sherlock Holmes, I should hardly have been surprised when I saw a carriage standing in front of our door. Unexpected visitors were more often the expected when one shared rooms with Holmes. Mrs. Hudson met me in the foyer, and confirmed my assumption that a visitor had called. Already resigned to the fact that my peaceful evening was not to be, I entered our rooms and, as I hung up my coat and hat, stole a brief look at our visitor. He was a tall and thin man of middle age, elegantly dressed, with a look of grave concern upon his face. Holmes introduced me to our caller.

“Watson, I’d like to you to meet Sir Max Michaels.”

I extended my hand and introduced myself. “Dr. John Watson, at your service.”

“I dislike calling on you after a long day, particularly this close to Christmas, but I am afraid it is unavoidable. Both of you are held in the highest regard by the people I represent, and there is no one else we deemed able to help us in this sensitive matter.” With those words, Sir Max crossed the room to the fire, the very spot where I had envisioned myself in repose. He seemed to bear a great weight, and after a brief moment to collect his thoughts, he began to relate the problem which had led him to our door.

“Gentlemen, I come to you on behalf of Lord Edward Clinton, who serves the Queen as Master of the House. He is in charge of the Royal Household, which includes the employees of the Palace, such as the kitchen workers, the pages, the footmen, the housekeeper, and her staff. Late this afternoon, he called at my office and requested that I assist him, on behalf of the Queen, in this concern which demands the highest discretion. I spent the afternoon looking into the situation as it was described to me, and as asked, I am here tonight to enlist you in helping to save a worthy gentleman’s reputation and career.”

To say that he had our attention is an understatement. “The Queen will shortly announce her New Year’s Honours List, which has been prepared before her removal to Windsor Castle for the holidays. Among the names of those deemed worthy for these honours, decorations, and medals is a man known for many years to those at the Palace. He isn’t a diplomat or a military man, but instead, is engaged in commerce. His name has been brought forward for The Royal Victorian Order, given for Services to the Crown.”

“And that gentlemen would be..?” asked Holmes who moved to the mantel and retrieved his pipe and tobacco before taking a chair. I could tell his curiosity was already aroused and he was prepared to listen carefully.

“His name is Richard Atwell, of Atwell and Sons Furniture Restoration. The Palace utilizes his services for unique furniture repairs and construction of the most delicate nature, and the work they do is of the highest quality. While that in itself is a valuable contribution, it is hardly worthy of such an honour as I mentioned. His real service is to the poor of our great city. For many years, he has hired people in dire circumstances and trained them as skilled woodworkers. Under his tutelage, their acquired talents enable them to provide for themselves and their families. Their loyalty to Atwell is evident, as most remain in his employ. A modest man, he has saved many a family from abject poverty.”

Atwell Furniture vans were seen frequently on the streets of London, but his work with the poor wasn’t as well known, at least to those of us in more comfortable surroundings than those he helped. Taking advantage of Sir Max’s momentary silence, I asked, “Why would such a man be in danger of losing his reputation?”

Our visitor bowed his head before replying. “I’m afraid I may have understated things. It isn’t just his reputation and business at risk, but his freedom as well. You see, he may stand accused of the theft of several of the Queen’s personal items.”

Holmes stirred and asked, “Can you tell us the circumstances of such a theft? Or is it thefts? In order to assist you, we will need details. And please, what may on the surface appear irrelevant might prove to be of the utmost importance in discerning the truth.”

Sir Max exhibited the first flicker of a smile. “Yes, I’ve heard that you would ask that. Recently, a large luggage cart damaged one leg of the Queen’s writing table. It is at this table in her private rooms where she reviews matters of government concern, writes personal letters, and displays some of her valued keepsakes while she is in residence. Atwell and Sons were called to the Palace to evaluate the necessary repairs. As you can imagine, anyone entering this portion of the palace is subjected to the highest scrutiny, and is always accompanied by a trusted staff member.”

Holmes chose to make what I deemed to be a rather sarcastic remark. “Yes, several of my cases have made me aware of the nature of the scrutiny and security government officials occasionally provide.” Fortunately, our guest failed to miss the thinly veiled criticism entirely.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you agree how necessary it all is. Atwell and Sons have been frequent visitors to the Palace and are familiar with our practices. All such repairs are done within the Palace. “

“Please, tell me what was stolen.” I could tell that Holmes was getting somewhat impatient at this point and wanted to hear the particulars.

“Mr. Atwell and an assistant came for a brief time on Monday, the nineteenth, to review the damage and assess what was necessary to repair the table. Shortly after this visit, Her Highness could not find her copy of a book of poetry by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, a favorite of the late Prince Albert, inscribed by the Queen to the Prince. She wanted to take the book with her to Windsor, and felt certain it had been on her desk. It was believed that the book had been merely misplaced and no alarms were raised.” Sir Max’s face indicated a certain amount of regret as he related this.

Holmes looked up from his study of his pipe and asked, “And the nature of the second theft? Or are there more than two?” The sarcasm was evident to Sir Max by this time.

“There are just the two. Atwell and an assistant returned this morning to make the actual repairs. It was done to everyone’s satisfaction, but once they left, the staff realized a wedding photograph of Her Highness and Prince Albert was gone. It figured prominently on her table and its absence was evident. Mr. Holmes, calling the police is out of the question. We cannot guarantee their inquiries will be kept quiet, and if Atwell became known as the suspect, not only would his honour be doubted, but Her Majesty’s decision to name him to the Honours List would be questioned as well. While the first is undesirable, even if he is proved innocent, it is the second point, that of the Queen’s judgement, that cannot come into question. It is an unhappy state of affairs. Hence, you find me here in Baker Street this evening.”

Holmes rose from his chair and put his pipe aside. He crossed to Sir Max and took his hand. “Sir, you have my promise, as well as Watson’s, that we shall exercise all prudence necessary to keep this matter private. I believe from the impending announcement of the list, which I recall appears on January second, that we should make haste in our inquiries.”

“Mr. Holmes,” replied Sir Max, his relief evident, “you have grasped the urgency of the situation. Please, leave no stone unturned and report directly to me at the Palace. We have pursued no inquiries of our own, not wanting to alert Atwell of our suspicions until you could speak to him.”

Although I had kept quiet during this exchange, I could not fail to note one question which had not been addressed. “Sir Max, do you know if the same associate accompanied Atwell each time?”

“I recall the staff indicated they were two different young men.”

“Watson, you have certainly struck upon a most important point. And was either of these young men one of Atwell’s ‘and sons’?” Holmes began his pacing, which I associated with his engagement in a case.

Sir Max looked at the two of us and answered. “No, neither. I don’t know their names, but I feel certain the staff does. The Head Butler at the Palace has been instructed to discuss these thefts with you. You may call upon him at your earliest convenience.”

Our visitor left and we heard the carriage draw away from Baker Street. I turned to Holmes, and I’m sure my disgust that someone would steal from our Sovereign was evident. “Holmes, can you imagine that such a person exists who would stoop to take personal items from Her Majesty?”

Holmes turned to me and with a somewhat satisfied look and said, “Watson, can you imagine that such highly placed officials would stoop to lie to us about such a theft? While I have no doubt that those items were stolen, do you really think that they would have such an elevated concern for a book and a photo? If that was the extent of it, despite what Sir Max said, the police would have approached Mr. Atwell and the two assistants. No, there is something more at stake here, and they have chosen not to reveal what else has been taken. I hope you noticed that Sir Max told us to report to him at the Palace, yet he left no card and did not inform of his actual role in government affairs.”

It was certainly not the first time that Holmes surprised me with his ability to see beyond the obvious. There were deeper currents to this situation, which led me to believe that Holmes was receiving what he truly wanted for Christmas. I could see the lethargy and apathy slip from his shoulders as he contemplated the true nature of what transpired. “Tomorrow morning, Watson, we go to the Palace - that is if you can be away from your patients. I feel certain it will be a busy day.” With that, he was off to his room.

It wasn’t a difficult task to forego my office hours, as I had only two appointments which were easily referred to a fellow physician. Holmes rose early, and we were soon at the imposing gates of Buckingham Palace. The sky was a dreary gray and it felt like snow was in the air. Despite the weather, Holmes was in good spirits as we were led to the Palace office of the gentlemen.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I am Zachary James, Head Butler.” He bowed slightly and ushered us to his office where he offered tea or coffee, which we refused. James was a sturdily built man with red hair and a military air about him. “I have been informed that I am to speak frankly with you and am prepared to do so. I accompanied Mr. Atwell and his assistants on each visit, so I hope I can aid in the recovery of the items.” We were anxious to determine the truth beyond what we believed to be subterfuge, and Holmes quickly came to the crux of the matter.

“Mr. James, I would like to see the room where the table sits and hear your version of the events when the thefts occurred. As you indicated, your frankness will be appreciated.” James nodded in agreement and we were soon inside the Queen’s private residence, a somewhat unnerving prospect for a mere former military surgeon.

Holmes had no such reservations. “Mr. James, could we begin with the details about this room, the writing table’s damage, and the visit by Atwell?”

“Certainly.” James moved to the table. “As you will note, there are only two possible entrances into this room, with doors at each end of the chamber. The writing table is kept primarily for the Queen’s correspondence, both personal and that related to the government. When the luggage cart hit, it caused a major crack in the wood of the table’s leg, which you can see is rather ornate. We were unsure if the damage could be repaired by our own staff, so we called in Atwell. He arrived at the appointed time and with his assistant, a Mr. Jonathan Davies, examined the leg, and decided it required replacement. I remained with them, and only one other member of staff, a maid named Miss Vivian May, was in the room while they were here.”

Holmes stopped him. “You have an eye for details, Mr. James.”

James allowed himself a slight smile. “One does not remain as Head Butler here at the Palace if one fails to note the little things.”

“Just so. And can you tell me where the articles normally kept on the table were placed?”

“We put a temporary table in that corner and moved everything to it.”

Satisfied, he indicated James should proceed. “When they finished, they repacked their satchels and took the table leg with them in order to duplicate it. Before you ask, I did not personally examine their bags, but watched them as they stored their equipment. I will swear that neither man put the book into their bags. Atwell made an appointment for the completion of the repair and the two left.”

“And how long did it take before anyone realized the book was gone?”

“Just one day, on Tuesday. But as Her Majesty’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be, the staff assumed she had carried it to another room and it would eventually be located. We searched, as the Queen was quite disturbed, but to no avail. Yesterday, Thursday morning, Atwell and another assistant, a Mr. Phillip Ellis, returned. They replaced the broken leg and left us with instructions to keep the table on its top until the glue dried and it could safely bear weight. Again, I was with them the entire time, but no other staff entered the room. By that time, we were beginning to pack the items that the Queen likes to have with her while at Windsor Castle, and it was after Atwell left that Miss May realized the wedding photograph was no longer on the temporary table.”

“Had Atwell been gone for long by then? And who else would have had access to the room in the interval?” Holmes asked.

“He’d left about three hours previously. I was summoned to the residence and realized that, while one book might have been simply misplaced, another loss meant something entirely different, and I reported my suspicions to the Master of the House. As for who had access, only the regular staff who serve in that part of the Palace. I would stake my reputation that none of them are involved.”

Holmes asked, “Is it possible to have a word with the maid?”

James nodded and rang the bell near the far door. Soon, an apprehensive young woman entered the room and curtsied. “Sir? You need to see me?” She was a bright young thing with clear blue eyes and blonde hair.

“Miss May, these gentlemen have only a few questions for you,” James told her, trying to put her at ease.

Holmes could be quite gentle with the fair sex. “Miss May, I’m told that you were in the room with the workmen from Atwell and Sons on the occasion of their first visit. Did you notice anything untoward while they were here?”

“No sir. They spread out their tools and made sure not to get anything dirty. They turned over the table and talked a bit about what they needed to do. They weren’t here very long, and I was in and out of the room a few times.”

Holmes considered her answer and continued his questioning. “What were you doing in the room?”

She thought for a moment before responding. “The first time I just walked through the room. The second time, I brought in a jug of water and added some of it to the vases. Her Majesty likes fresh flowers, even during the winter.” She pointed to two large vases on either end of the mantel.

“Carrying a jug with enough water for those two vases must have been quite heavy.”

“Yes sir, it was. Mr. Atwell was kind enough to help me. He lifted the vases down so I could add the water, then returned each to the mantel. He’s ever so polite. Then I left and didn’t see them again.”

“Thank you, Miss May. You’ve been quite helpful.” Holmes nodded to James that the interview with her was complete, and he dismissed her.

Holmes seemed content with the inquiries and relayed that to the Head Butler. “Mr. James, could you show us to the office of Sir Max Michaels?”

“His office? He has no office here. Sir Max did stop in earlier and advised me that he will be here at the Palace today, in the offices of the Master of the House, Lord Edward Clinton, should you want to speak to him.”

Holmes cast a sidelong glance at me, as if to confirm his suspicions that a more complicated crime was at play. After Holmes’s notice that Sir Max failed to supply him with a card and that he had no office in the Palace, I was beginning to see why he doubted this was a simple theft.

James led us from the private apartments, and we were soon ushered into the office of The Master of the House. Introductions followed, and we each took a chair as he addressed us.

“Gentlemen, what have you to report? Do you feel you’ve obtained the information required from the Palace to proceed with your questioning of Atwell?”

Sherlock Holmes was never one to hold his tongue when faced with those in positions of authority. “No, sir, I most certainly do not feel I have all the information I need. Rest assured that the fault does not lie with the Head Butler, who gave a most excellent report. The failure belongs to the two of you, and the fact that you have lied to us.”

One could have heard a pin drop. I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for the order to come for us to be forcibly ejected from the Palace, perhaps to new quarters at the Tower of London. Holmes, however, appeared in control of the situation. The two gentlemen did not move or speak for a moment but finally, Sir Max gathered his wits. “Sir! How dare you accuse of us of lying!”

Holmes was at his best in such a verbal duel. “Sir, how dare you enlist help from both Dr. Watson and myself, and yet lie to us about the true nature of what happened here? How do you expect us to recover the stolen items under such a transparent web of falsehoods? I have no doubt those two items are missing, but I maintain serious misgivings that they are the full extent of the theft. No, gentlemen, something else is missing, or you would not have asked for our help. It is time to tell us the truth.”

By this time, I was imagining those Tower of London quarters and wondering if they served meals as satisfying of those cooked by Mrs. Hudson. Yet Holmes remained calm, maintaining eye contact with the Master of the House. Which one would flinch first?

Lord Edward stood, placing both hands on his desk, and silently took the measure of Sherlock Holmes. He must have realized that full disclosure was the only avenue left open to him. “I apologize if you are offended by our version of the events. You must realize that what I am about to tell you cannot leave this office.” Holmes nodded his agreement, as did I. “Gentlemen, the portion of the story that we told you is the truth. It just isn’t the entire truth.”

Holmes looked completely unsurprised by this revelation and added, “It normally isn’t. Please, let’s not waste any more time.”

Lord Edward and Sir Max exchanged glances, and Lord Edward completed the story for us.

“We didn’t reveal there was a third item stolen from The Queen’s private residence. Her Majesty reviews correspondence from many government offices. At the time of the second visit by Mr. Atwell, there was such a folder present, set aside from her writing table. Inside that folder was a letter relating to several agreements among nations. As you are probably aware, The League of Three Emperors - Germany, Russia and Austria-Hungary - collapsed earlier this year over the question of influence exerted in the Balkans. In June, the Reinsurance Treaty was signed by Germany and Russia, guaranteeing that the two countries will remain neutral if the other goes to war with another world power, with two exceptions. One of the exceptions to their sworn neutrality is if Russia attacks Austria-Hungary.”

I had not heard of such a pact. “Has this treaty been made public?”

Sir Max answered. “Absolutely not. I’m sure you understand why we could not reveal anything about this secret treaty, as it would mean the life of the person who disclosed this agreement to us.”

“Dr. Watson and I pledge our discretion.” The situation was taking an increasingly serious tone.

“To further complicate matters, our country signed The Mediterranean Agreement with Italy, Spain, and Austria-Hungary this spring, and have just this month exchanged communications with these allies. Our agreement seeks to keep the Russians from expanding into the Balkans and controlling waterways. As you can see, our agreement and their treaty are certainly at cross purposes. Our foreign office received information about events in that chaotic part of the world and it was that letter, describing our role in potential events, which was in The Queen’s residence. Revealing our knowledge of their secret treaty or a potential Russian war with Austria-Hungary could bring about our engagement in the hostilities. I requested Sir Max to assist me in this matter, as I am aware of any confidential communiques brought to the Palace.”

War. As one who saw such suffering in Maiwand, and suffered myself, I could hardly endure such a horrible thought. I looked at Holmes, hopeful that he understood the necessity of their ruse. It was apparent that he did.

“Then we shall proceed as if we are simply pursuing the loss of those two items. From the description provided by Mr. James, I feel confident that the loss of this folder took place at the same time as the other thefts. Atwell or one of his men is in possession of all three items. Gentlemen, Dr. Watson and I will visit the premises of Atwell and Sons, and hopefully will soon have a good report for you.”

Standing outside the Palace gates, I must admit that I was pleased to remain a free man and that Holmes’s outburst had served to elicit the truth instead of an arrest.

He began walking with a definite purpose, striding quickly from that fashionable part of London toward what I knew must be a less than elegant part of the city. Looking straight ahead while he walked, he began, “Although I never guess, here is what I believe must have happened, from the scant evidence we have. I feel relatively certain that the esteemed Mr. Atwell had no part in the thefts. I cannot say the same for his two assistants, although which one is behind it remains unknown. It is possible that when surrounded by the Queen’s personal memorabilia, temptation might have proved too much for one of these young men. Perhaps one saw a way of adding funds to his account and engaged the other to steal an additional item or two. These are murky waters, Watson, yet I cannot imagine our thief had any idea in advance that such a secretive diplomatic letter was in the room. No, I think this was a crime of opportunity.”

The prediction for snow was proving true; large flakes were falling and accumulating on the streets and sidewalks. One could feel that the temperature had fallen as we made our way through the busy streets. “Holmes, which first? A visit to Atwell and Sons, or the pawnbrokers not far from here?”

“First to Atwell’s, and from there, to the pawnshops, with a possible stop to see a gentleman who knows a thing or two about stolen goods.”

Our walk took us to the warehouse area and a large, tall building of several stories adorned with the sign “Atwell and Sons Furniture Restoration”. We stood outside and Holmes studied the exterior. Once inside the noisy building, the smell of cut wood, paint, oil, and varnishes filled the air. We asked to speak to the head of the firm and were led to his office. Richard Atwell was a tall gentleman, slim with a full head of silver hair and a short beard and mustache. He rose and shook hands as introductions were made.

“I cannot say that I ever expected to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson! This is indeed an unexpected pleasure. How may I help you?”

Holmes had a somber expression, which conveyed this was a visit of serious import. “Mr. Atwell, I’m sorry to tell you that there has been some unpleasant business requiring your attention.”

Atwell crossed the room and closed the door, either to keep out the noise or to keep our conversation private, or perhaps both. “Please, sit and tell me why some unpleasant business necessitates a visit to my company.”

We took our seats, as did Atwell. Holmes began immediately. “Sir, I am aware that you and an associate visited Buckingham Palace twice this week in order to repair a writing table in the Queen’s private residence. After each departure, certain articles belonging to Her Majesty were found to be missing. It is believed they were stolen, and the efforts to regain these pieces have focused on this firm.”

The colour drained from the owner’s face. Taking a deep breath, he answered the accusation. “Mr. Holmes, I assure you that I proudly serve the Queen in whatever capacity asked of me and my associates. The thought of stealing anything from her is an abomination. I have no reason to doubt either of the men who accompanied me, but I will cooperate fully so that the stolen items can be returned, and any doubts regarding this company can be resolved.”

“Then let us work together to discover the truth. First, we’ve learned that you were initially accompanied by a Mr. Jonathan Davies and later, by Mr. Phillip Ellis. Please tell us what you know about these men.”

Atwell seemed resigned to the thought that nothing good would come of our visit. “Mr. Davies has been with me for five years, and Mr. Ellis, for four. They both came to me through our hiring program. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but coming from meager circumstances myself, I provide job training for the unskilled poor.”

Without revealing how we learned of this, we both nodded. He continued, “They both took to the training and proved themselves capable and trusted workmen.” He stopped; obviously he saw the potential irony of that statement. “Or so I thought. They came to me as relatively young men, as many do. Our program includes simple lodgings for our trainees, as many are without a roof over their heads when they arrive. For those with families, they are welcome to stay here as well, until such a time when they can afford to pay their own expenses. It is difficult for a man to concentrate on learning a skill, knowing that his family is suffering from inadequate shelter or diet. Some of the workmen and their families remain lodgers here for years as they, in turn, work to train others. It has been a most satisfying program.”

I was overwhelmed with Atwell’s generosity to those less fortunate. His chequebook might show a far greater balance without these expenditures. “Mr. Atwell, you are most charitable.”

He smiled. “I must admit that when I was a young man, I was greatly influenced by a statement made by a Mr. Jacob Marley to Ebenezer Scrooge. It is a passage I have never forgotten. ‘Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business.’ I have endeavored these years spent in commerce to help those in need.”

I could not believe that this man had a hand in the thefts, and looking over at Holmes, I felt he shared that thought.

“Please tell us more.” Holmes settled back in his chair. One would never know from his appearance what urgency had brought us to his office.

“I converted this building into my furniture warehouse. This floor houses the woodworking shop and dock, plus a few offices. The first floor is where the furniture is painted or varnished, and the top two floors have the quarters for the workmen and their families.”

Holmes was now out of his chair, walking back and forth in the office, intent on the sounds his boots made on the wooden floor. “And is there nothing below this floor?”

“There is a large cellar, but only a portion of it was ever used for storage. It sits empty, but for a few pieces of old equipment.”

“Thank you. And now Mr. Atwell, could you point out these two gentlemen without raising any alarms? They must not be made aware of our investigation.”

We rose, and followed Atwell to the workroom floor. There were several dozen men scattered throughout the space, some obviously serving as instructors to those who either listened or followed their example, while others were working independently.

Atwell seemed painfully aware that nothing should appear out of the ordinary. He smiled, a smile which did not quite reach his eyes, and without any indication of who he was talking about, said, “See the dark-haired man with the scar on his cheek on my right? That is Ellis. The man about twenty feet from him, with light brown hair and holding the chisel, is Davies.”

Holmes thanked him, appearing to be discussing nothing more serious than a broken side chair. We left the workshop, and as we neared the front door, Holmes stopped. “Mr. Atwell, thank you for your assistance. With your permission, might we inspect your cellar?” Atwell seemed perplexed by this request, but gave his assent before wishing us good luck in our endeavours.

Still shaking my hand, he looked me in the eye and said, “Gentlemen, I hope against hope that neither Ellis nor Davies is involved, but if they are, then do whatever is necessary. I trusted them, and it will be a painful thing to their mothers if either proves to be a criminal. But I will pray those two good women will comfort each other as sisters do.”

“Their mothers are sisters? Ellis and Davies are cousins?” It was evident that this bit of information might be the connection we sought. Atwell seemed surprised at Holmes’s reaction, but had no time to ask further questions as we bid farewell and left.

Once outside, we walked to the side of the building as he had directed, and saw a separate entry to the lower level. We went down the steps and stopped at the entrance door, being careful to ascertain that no one saw us. The door was unlocked, and he signaled for me to stay quiet as we walked through the cellar, taking note of the disturbances in the dusty floor. It was apparent there had been considerable activity, and as I looked up from the floor, I saw that Holmes was pacing the exterior of the room. After looking around the room, we left as quietly as we entered, and were soon on the street.

“Watson, the situation is not what Atwell thinks, for I believe him to be an honest man.”

I indicated my agreement and asked “I saw you walking along the outside walls. Unless I’m mistaken, the room we were in isn’t nearly as large as the floors above it.”

“You are correct, and if you noted the direction of the footprints, you’ll find they didn’t lead to those few pieces of dusty equipment along one wall, but instead led toward the far wall. There is a door behind some shelves holding stacks of old wood and paint cans, and I noted a semi-circular pattern in the dust larger than the door, leading me to believe that the shelves are on a platform which is easily pulled aside to provide access to what I suspect is another room. We might yet return to that room, but there is much to be done yet today.”

We were now in a part of London that did not reflect the upcoming gaiety of the holiday, and instead seemed to be even more dirty and distressed than usual, despite the fresh coating of snow. In an area full of gin shops and tenements, the pawn shop windows reflected the desperation that drove many to their doors. There was brisk business, both buying and selling being conducted, as it was only two days until Christmas. It didn’t take us long to decide that a man in need of pawning royal items would find no takers in a shop full of miserable items which the former owners could no longer afford. Display racks with cheap teacups and cheaper jewelry would not hold a silver-framed wedding photo of the Queen or her book.

After a brief discussion outside the last shop we visited, Holmes decided that it was time to consult with Shinwell Johnson, a recently rehabilitated criminal who still had an ear to the ground for unlawful activity in our great city. We found him at home, and when Holmes gave him an abridged overview of what we were seeking, he perked up and put his finger along the side of his nose.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes. You might be looking for a few royal trinkets, but I’m guessing you’re fishing for something bigger. Or am I mistaken?”

“Mr. Johnson, you are correct, but the exact nature of what we seek is best left unsaid. But it is of the utmost urgency that we locate this ‘bigger fish’. What have you heard?”

“I heard from one of my sources that a youngish man approached him last night trying to sell a photo and a book. While this someone might have been interested in them, because of who they belonged to, he most certainly had no interest in a leather folder with a letter inside which he was also trying to sell. Are we talking along similar lines Mr. Holmes?”

“We are indeed.”

“Then you should know your young man was unsuccessful with the regular sales avenues and was directed to one who deals in more specialized pilfered trifles, a Mr. Thaden. Thaden told our light-fingered young man that what he wanted to sell was something very few would buy, including himself. He told him to go to a Mr. Drumpf in Grosvenor Gardens. I would have let you know about this had I thought you were interested, but I didn’t know what was in the letter, and still don’t. Thaden played that close to his chest.”

“When did this happen?”

“Just after 11:30 last night, so I heard. The young man probably didn’t call then. Maybe he tried this morning.”

We had the information we needed. As we thanked Johnson and left his flat, I told Holmes, “I hope we’re not too late, but we know both men were at work today.” He looked at me, nodding in agreement. We had gone from Buckingham Palace to a warehouse, to the slums to Johnson’s flat; it was hard to believe it was only 2:30 in the afternoon. I stepped out into the street and hailed a hansom cab to take us to Grosvenor Square.

By the time we arrived at the Square, the snow was falling heavily. The gaslights had been lit as the gloom worsened, and I drew my scarf tighter around my face while Holmes seemed oblivious to the cold. Both aware of what the two cousins looked like, we took up discrete posts on opposite sides of the square. For the first time that day, I wished I had my revolver in my pocket, as I wasn’t sure what we would face when the thief, or thieves, were confronted with their deeds.

The minutes turned into an hour and the sidewalks began to fill with people on their way home when I heard a sharp whistle. Turning, I saw Holmes nearing me and pointing to an advancing “Atwell and Sons Furniture Restoration” wagon which stopped in front of an elegant home. We were off in a flash, arriving to meet the van driver before he had a chance to leave his seat.

“Ah, Mr. Davies. We meet again, or didn’t you notice us at your place of business today?”

Davies looked alarmed and seemed unsure of his next move. I grasped the reins of the horse in the hopes that he would not raise the whip to either me or the horse. Holmes grabbed the sleeve of Davies’ coat, throwing him off-balance enough that he fell from the seat onto the street.

“Mr. Davies, this is not the time to play coy with us. We are aware of what you stole and what you plan to do with your swag. I can guarantee that we will find it, and you, sir, will go to either jail for theft or the gallows for treason, as will your cousin. He is your cohort, is he not?

I thought that Davies might be sick. His was the face of an amateur, embroiled in something that had taken on a life of its own. “Please, you’ve got to help me. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

That was enough for me. “What do you mean you didn’t mean for it to go this far? You’re near the property where you’ve heard you can sell a secret document that you stole from the Queen! How did you think this would end? With your pockets full?”

Holmes put his hand on my arm, knowing I was dangerously close to hitting the man. “Watson, please. Davies, you’ve got only a moment to decide how this will end. Make your decision.”

As I looked up, I saw a man staring at us from a window in Drumpf’s home, and realizing we were attracting too much attention and with a subtle gesture in his direction, told Holmes, “We should leave immediately.”

Holmes fixed his gaze on the man, who had a distinctly unpleasant expression on his face, and readily agreed. Together with Davies, we climbed into the van and Holmes took the reins, leaving Grosvenor Square behind. Once we were away into the flow of traffic, Holmes demanded an exact accounting of what had transpired.

Davies began. “I have been a faithful worker for Mr. Atwell for five years now, and I owe him everything. He’s taken in many a wretch like me, if you’ll pardon the reference to the hymn, including my cousin. But there were others there before us. They weren’t bad men, you understand, but poor. Poor in a way you can’t imagine. Even after they had a roof and enough for them and their families to eat, it was hard to shake that feeling that you could lose it all.

“One of them went to the cellar one day and found out that nobody ever went down there. Since so many lived at the building, and being family men or so inclined, they didn’t like going to those cheap gin joints, and decided they could go down there for a drink and a laugh after the business closed for the day. They took over a part of the cellar that nobody ever checked and hid the door. They met many an evening, after their families were asleep. ‘Why, we ain’t beggars no more’ was the saying one had and what started it all. They moved some the furniture no one was ever going to use into the room and started calling themselves ‘The Amateur Mendicant Society’ to show just how far they’d come. Sounded better than beggars. Didn’t take too long before it was outfitted pretty posh through purchase or pilfering. ‘Course, once me and Phillip were there for a while, we joined them.

“Then, just the other day, I got to go to Buckingham Palace with Mr. Atwell. Me, who hadn’t had a penny to my name not so long ago, here I was inside the Palace. So many pretty things that I thought nobody would miss a thing or two. I took my chance when Mr. Atwell was helping that sweet maid with them heavy vases. I grabbed the book and stuffed it in the back of my trousers, under my jacket. It was so easy, and I thought what a laugh it would give the lads back at the Society. I told my cousin, and he volunteered to go with Mr. Atwell the next time, figuring if anyone even noticed something was gone, they’d never suspect us, since it was different helpers each time.”

“And if they’d suspected Atwell? And arrested him? What then?” Holmes face was grim.

“Honest, I’d have made up some story and tried to get them things back to the Palace. Maybe just leave them with a note, unsigned and all. I wouldn’t have let nothing happen to him.”

Perhaps there was honor among thieves after all.

“Anyways, Phillip went the next time and I told him to take something flat that could be hidden the same way I hid the book, under the back of my jacket. He saw that leather folder with the crest on it and took it along with the picture. Honest, he didn’t know what was in it. He can’t even read. By the time I saw it and realized it wasn’t just an empty folder, it was too late.”

Holmes looked at me, then back at Davies. “You will serve time for this, but if you can return it all, you’ll avoid the gallows. Where is it?”

Davies hung his head but reached under the seat to retrieve the three items which had caused so much consternation. We were literally on top of what we sought.

“Mister, I understand what I did was wrong and I’m ready to pay the piper for it. My ma will be ashamed but she’ll get by. There’s only one thing in this world that depends on me and that’s my dog. He’s a good young pup that don’t deserve to be thrown out on the streets or worse. My ma can’t have a dog where she lives, and nobody at Atwell’s needs another mouth to feed. Can you help me?”

“You have my word.”

Davies and Ellis were arrested, and through the intervention of my friend and the Palace, which had no desire to make the exact nature of the theft public, they received light sentences for minor theft. Holmes kept his word to the Palace officials, returning the Queen’s stolen treasures and the letter which might have caused the death of an informant, or even our engagement in a war. Mr. Atwell was delighted to be named on the Honours List only a week later, and remained forever indebted to the two of us for saving his reputation. If he ever learned of the Amateur Mendicant Society, it was not from us.

Holmes also kept his promise to that young man. We returned to Atwell’s that very night and rescued the friendly pup. “Watson, I don’t believe Mrs. Hudson has ever gotten over losing her terrier. I do believe this little dog will make a good companion for her.”

The next day was Christmas Eve. Holmes and I presented Timmy the pup to Mrs. Hudson, who received it with open arms. He stayed with her for many a happy year. The next morning as the church bells chimed to commemorate the day of Our Lord’s birth, Mrs. Hudson served us a special breakfast. “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, it would be my great honor if you would accompany me to church this morning. I have much to be grateful for. I’ll be leaving for St. Bride’s within the hour.”

So that morning Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, and I went to celebrate the day at St. Bride’s on Fleet Street. Holmes was rarely seen within a church, but that day he seemed as happy as I had ever seen him. It was indeed a Merry Christmas.