The Adventure of the Christmas Stocking

by Paul D. Gilbert

That Christmas had proven to be one of the coldest in living memory. The temperature had not risen above freezing for many a long day, and the snow that still lay upon the ground had been compacted into a deep shell of ice.

The bustling throng of Londoners that were going about their last minute festive preparations were huddled under a mass of mufflers and overcoats. Desperate to escape the biting cold, many found it difficult to maintain their footing on the ice as they made their way towards the warmth of a glowing fire and an expectant family.

By the time that I had completed my own arrangements and finally arrived back at 221b Baker Street, the threatening snow had restarted in earnest, and I was grateful for Mrs. Hudson’s fussing and sympathetic welcome. She helped me with my parcels and coat, and by the time that I had thawed off in front of the fire upstairs, she had arrived with a steaming pot of tea. Our rooms were festooned with holly, and I was surprised to note that upon the table lay a brightly wrapped gift, addressed to me from my friend and colleague, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

I say surprised because Holmes was not normally a man who enthused upon making any form of yuletide celebrations. It was not that he objected to such activity - he was certainly no Ebenezer Scrooge - but this time of year normally found him engaged upon one case or another, and he would barely set foot over the threshold when he was so involved. Conversely, if he found himself singularly unemployed, a dark mood would descend upon him from which no amount of festive cheer would rouse him. For reasons best known to him alone, this year seemed to be an exception to the rule. We had not seen a client since the Fairweather suicide case of early November, when Holmes had deduced a subtle and despicable form of murder by analysing the scrapings from under the victim’s thumb nails! Yet this dearth of work had done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm for the imminent celebrations. He was delighted to discover a new Persian slipper beneath the wrappings of a gift that I had presented to him, and I, in turn, was overwhelmed by a large box of my favourite cigars within mine.

We were encouraged by the sounds of activity emanating from our landlady’s kitchen, and we knew that a veritable feast would be forthcoming by the following lunch time. Holmes and I took our ports and cigars over to the cheery, crackling fire and barely gave a thought to the arctic conditions that were prevailing outside. A vicious northerly wind had suddenly picked up and had whipped the steady snowfall into a treacherous blizzard. Therefore, our surprise at hearing the sound of the bell-rope being pulled on such a night should be easily understood.

Mrs. Hudson appeared to be greatly put out by this interruption to her preparations, and equally embarrassed at having to interrupt our convivial evening.

“I apologise, Mr. Holmes, but the gentleman downstairs just simply will not be put off. Christmas Eve, indeed!” she protested.

“Well, I must say, the effrontery of the fellow!” I exclaimed, while setting a light to one of my most excellent cigars.

Holmes leapt up from his chair and over to the window, where he summoned me to join him. I was aghast to see the conditions that were now prevailing. The volume of the snow had reduced visibility to almost zero, and the empty street below seemed to be suffocating beneath a veritable avalanche.

“Your attitude surprises me, Watson. Surely anyone motivated enough to venture out on such a deadly night must be about to present us with a problem at least worthy of our consideration. I am not advocating goodwill to all men, but surely someone in such a plight must be deserving of a glass of port and a few moments of our time?” Holmes proposed.

“Well, of course he is!” I agreed with a guilty smile. “Please show the gentleman up, Mrs. Hudson.”

Mercifully, our visitor had removed his outer garments in the hallway below; otherwise, I fear that our rooms would have been drenched beyond redemption. As it was, his suit was ruined, and he huddled over to the fire without affording Holmes and I even a second glance. He was clearly frozen to the core, and he apologised at once for his oversight and the large puddle that his overshoes had created on our rug. He rubbed his hands together voraciously before the flames, and I moved our visitor’s chair further forward for his convenience.

“I was about to offer you a glass of port, but I see that you have already partaken of a rather generous libation,” Holmes declared, while replacing the decanter onto the table.

“I should not let that fact prevent you, Mr. Holmes, for I fear that the events that I am about to recount to you would not be erased from my mind were you to offer me a dozen such decanters! Although, in truth, I did not imagine that my condition was as obvious as that.” Holmes was so animated by our visitor’s promise of intrigue that he poured out the glass of port without a moment’s further hesitation.

With a nod of appreciation, the gentleman retreated from the fire to his chair while gratefully caressing the glass.

“Mr. Holmes, you should know from the outset that there is not another living soul who knows of the events that have befallen me on this inauspicious Christmas Eve. I have come directly from my home to lay before you the facts, prior to them becoming perverted by others.”

“Well, at least you did not have far to travel.” Holmes impishly suggested.

I saw upon our visitor’s face the same look of astonishment that I had observed upon those of so many who had come before him, and Holmes was not slow in offering him an explanation for his conclusion.

“I can see from the absence of tracks in the snow that not a single vehicle has passed beneath our windows in more than an hour, for they have been inhibited by the depth of the snow. If you had been walking through these conditions for any considerable distance, I assure you that the water mark on your trouser legs would have climbed considerably higher than your hem! That much a trained mind can tell from a single glance, although a dull mind would not have reached those conclusions given an hour’s study. However, there are limits even for the keenest observer!” Holmes invited the man to begin his story by way of a dramatic gesture with his right hand, while he encouraged me to take out my notebook and pencil.

“Gentleman, I cannot apologise enough for my apparent rudeness, although I am certain that you will excuse such behaviour once I have offered an explanation for my disturbed state of mind. My name is Sloane Cartwright, and my wife and I do occupy a comfortable town house in nearby Portman Square, from where I have hastened to you this very evening. I beseech you for your help and assistance, Mr. Holmes, for I greatly fear that my liberty may shortly be under threat!”

Mr. Cartwright’s agitation caused him to sink back into his chair in an acute state of breathlessness, and Holmes waited patiently while Cartwright finished his drink and slowly regained his composure. Holmes studied Cartwright with an amused leer, but I could see nothing remarkable in his appearance. He stood at an inch or so above average height and a small paunch, which told of immoderate indulgence, protruded from an otherwise slim frame. His saturated suit was tailored from the finest worsted and cut from a roll of City chalk stripe. I placed his age at no more forty-five years, and his thick black hair shone with pomade.

“You must calm yourself, Mr. Cartwright, for I can assure you that you are amongst friends here. Outline the nature of your dilemma to me in precise detail and we might do some good, even on such a night as this. Dr. Watson will attest to the fact that I am very rarely inconvenienced by the constabulary. I beg you to be brief, in case they are more efficient than is their custom!” Holmes emitted a short sarcastic laugh as he considered such an unlikely prospect. He sacrificed the cigar for his cherry-wood pipe, closed his eyes, and leant forward in a state of intense concentration.

“The facts then are these. A dozen years ago, I assumed control of a large, but failing, import export business in the City of London, and I would not be unduly singing my own praises when I tell you that in that short time, I was able to transform it into one of the foremost companies if its kind. The achievement of such success does come at a price, and more than its share of sacrifice.

“In my own case, the sacrifice has come in the form of domestic neglect. My wife, Olivia, and I have not been blessed with any offspring, so it is even more inexcusable that I have spent so much of my time engaged in the running of my business. Olivia has born this situation well enough. However, the past few months have seen a marked change in her manner towards me. She has become distant and cold, and the interest that she once showed in the running of my company has diminished to the point of indifference.”

At this point, a shield that Cartwright had erected around his emotions suddenly broke down, and he found himself unable to continue. He suppressed an outpouring of his grief with heroic effort and finally, aided by the draining of his glass, he came to his inevitable revelation.

“I apologise, gentleman. I really must stop referring to my wife in the present tense...”

“Steady your nerves, Mr. Cartwright, steady your nerves.” Holmes had never been comfortable when faced with a display of raw emotion, and he was clearly agitated by this untimely interruption to Cartwright’s interpretation of the events of that evening. “It is absolutely vital that you continue with an accurate précis of all that occurred prior to your wife’s untimely demise.” Holmes indicated that I should replenish Cartwright’s glass, and Holmes arranged himself cross-legged with his eyes tightly shut. All the while, his pipe continued to emit its soothing fumes and he attained a state of absolute concentration.

My reassuring smile prompted Cartwright to continue with his story, although now his tone was somewhat hoarse and hesitant.

“It was more than I could bear, to see Olivia so unhappy and remote, and the servants reported to me that she had taken to the habit of going off for long and lonely walks for hours on end, each afternoon, often extending well into the early evening! I was resolved to put matters to right. With Christmas rapidly approaching, I decided to pay a visit to her favourite jewellers, Caldecott and Tyler, where I purchased an elaborate gold pendant festooned with a clutch of lustrous diamonds and rubies. This was an important piece, rumoured to have once adorned the neck of Marie Antoinette. There is no provenance for this, but it was nonetheless an expensive and beautiful piece of jewellery.

“Each Christmas Eve, it is our habit to hang a pair of stockings over the morning room fireplace. Normally they are filled with nothing of more value than candied almonds and the like. I decided to heighten Olivia’s excitement and pleasure this year by secreting this pendant in the stocking intended for her. I placed it there before leaving for work this morning, and I spent the day in anticipation of her delight upon making this discovery on my return.

“As you correctly concluded, Mr. Holmes, I was somewhat the worse for wear by the time that I had reached my front door. It is my custom to thank my staff for a successful year with a lavish party within our extensive offices each Christmas Eve. I spare no expense on the food and drink and I always participate with the celebrations.” Cartwright appeared to be satisfied that this explanation excused his inebriated condition. Holmes was clearly indifferent to this aspect of his story and eyed him quizzically before closing his eyes once again. As a result, Cartwright hastened to continue.

“I finally arrived home about an hour ago, and I was surprised to find that the house was in complete darkness. It is my practice to dismiss our staff from their duties on Christmas Eve, so that they might celebrate with their families. It is... or rather, was, our habit to dine with friends on Christmas Day, so their absence was only a minor inconvenience. I was surprised that Olivia had not turned on the gas herself, and equally that not a single fire in the house had been started. The interior was unbearably cold, and I immediately set the matter to rights in the drawing room.

“It was only as I had approached the fire in the morning room that I realised that the absence of fire and light were not the only omissions. Of the two stockings that we had hung over the fireplace, only one still remained. I hauled it down with some urgency and realised with horror that it only contained a small cluster of sugared almonds. The stocking that had contained the pendant was gone!

“It was inexplicable to me that anyone, other than my wife, would have bothered searching in her stocking, especially as mine had remained untouched. Furthermore, the house is full of fine works of art and pieces of porcelain, and there were no indications of an intruder. Equally, there was no sign of my wife!

“I repeated this process throughout the entire house, firing up the gas and then starting a fire within every room of my progress. I tried to ensure that Olivia returned to a warm, comfortable, and safe house. However, when I finally turned on the gas in her dressing room, on the first floor, I realised the futility of my actions. There in the centre of the floor lay my poor Olivia, stretched out as if she had been trying to haul somebody back!

“Clearly, some sort of struggle had taken place. A low occasional table lay on its side, and a pair of fine ginger jars had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The very stocking that had contained the pendant was now tied viciously around Olivia’s slender neck and seemed to have been the cause of her death. I cursed myself for having devised the plan in the first place, and then concluded my tour of the house, but in a more urgent fashion.

“I assure you, gentlemen, that each door remained locked and secure, and that every window and shutter was in place. I returned to the front door and found there to be only one set of male footprints, barring my own, of course, leading away from the front door, but there were none leading in. I concluded that my wife had invited this person into the house, prior to the first snow storm, and that the blackguard had remained until its conclusion.

“The whole thing is inexplicable to me, Mr. Holmes, and so I have hastened to you in the hope that you might help me escape this dilemma. I trust that I have not overstated the precarious nature of my situation?”

Holmes sat in a silent stillness for what seemed to be an eternity. He placed his pipe upon the arm of his chair and stared at Cartwright with an overwhelming intensity as he gravely shook his head.

“Mr. Cartwright, I would be doing you a grave disservice were I to deny it. Under the circumstances, I must say that you have reached your conclusions most admirably. If anything, you have probably understated the gravity of your position. After all, the footprints of that mysterious third party have since become obliterated by the second and heavier fall of snow. What other conclusion can the authorities possibly draw? Your servants can attest to the strained nature of your marriage, and the missing pendant is only your hearsay.” Holmes avoided Cartwright’s mournful glare and leapt to his feet with some urgency.

“Was there somebody else that you can think of who might have had knowledge of your purchasing the pendant?” I asked.

Holmes prevented Cartwright’s reply with a loud grunt of irritation.

“That much is obvious Watson, and I, too, still have a myriad of questions for Mr. Cartwright, many of which are actually pertinent! Our priority must be to return to Portman Square with as much haste as our legs can muster on such a night. Perhaps we might yet retrieve a dire state of affairs before they become irretrievable.”

With that, we all pulled on our heaviest coats and our strongest boots and made our way towards the ghost lands of Baker Street.

“Gentlemen, the journey begins!” Holmes announced as he opened the front door and departed with his customary, cursory wave to Mrs. Hudson and with a strident farewell.

As we made that long and painful journey towards Portman Square, I was struck by the manner in which the stark white background had accentuated the dark and derelict shapes of the dormant trees. Thin strips of snow that were stuck tenuously to the naked branches highlighted this extraordinary vision, and black and white seemed to be the only colours of our spectrum.

The trudge through the knee-high snow was an exhausting and strenuous affair. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a short walk indeed. But each step of our progress required a lunge, and Portman Square seemed to be a million miles away, even after a twenty minute trek. Only Holmes seemed to be oblivious to this impediment as his long thin legs pumped up and down with the regularity of a hydraulic piston, while his breath remained regular and determined.

By the time that Cartwright and I had reached his front door, Holmes had been waiting impatiently upon the front step for a full ten minutes! The lightly churned snow told of a right foot that had been ceaselessly tapping and I could see that he had already consumed two of his cigarettes. He held out his eager hand for Cartwright’s key and then indicated that we should both retreat by a foot or two. Cartwright and I exchanged a look of confusion, but we immediately followed his advice.

Holmes pushed the door open, but he sank to his knees before he had even crossed the threshold.

“Mr. Cartwright,” he called up. “I do not suppose that you recall the size and the shape of the footprints that you had observed earlier with any degree of accuracy?” Holmes asked in a most unenthusiastic tone.

“On the contrary, Mr. Holmes, because of the similarity that they bore to a pair of boots of my own, I remember them most clearly. They were made by a large pair of square toed boots, and their soles boasted an unusually deep tread.” Cartwright seemed to be proud of his recollection, while a deadly scowl upon Holmes’s brow soon dampened his eagerness.

“They sound like they are almost identical,” Holmes growled. “I expect that your boot selection is still intact?”

“I could not be sure without an inspection.” Cartwright strode towards the doorway as if to satisfy his curiosity.

“Stand back, Mr. Cartwright!” Holmes cried, but he soon remembered himself and added, “If you do not mind, it is of extraordinary importance that neither of you pass through until I have concluded my examination.”

With that, Holmes brought out his glass and began a thorough inspection of the door mat. He extended this scrutiny to the edge of a very fine hallway carpet, and he only rose to his feet once a look of satisfaction had floated briefly across his face.

“I would now like to view the room from which the stocking was originally removed.” Holmes stated while moving onwards.

“You surely mean the room in which my dear wife still lies?” Cartwright was understandably moved by the thought, but Holmes had no such considerations.

“Mr. Cartwright, I feel sure that you have not required your staff to return until after tomorrow’s celebrations?” Cartwright nodded his affirmation. “Therefore, we have ample time in which to extend our search to the upper level.”

Reluctantly Cartwright acquiesced and led us down the hallway to a morning room that was now paradoxically warm and cheery. The sight of that solitary stocking hanging forlornly above the glowing fire somehow induced an air of melancholy to fall upon Cartwright and myself. On the other hand, my friend was not so affected.

He threw himself to the floor in an instant, and he was now working feverishly with both a tape measure as well as his glass. He appeared to be reasonably satisfied with the results of his investigation, for an enigmatic smile was now playing upon his lips. A moment later, Holmes was back onto his feet, and to our great surprise he demanded to see Cartwright’s cigarette case!

Cartwright handed this over with an air of bewilderment, and he was agog when Holmes ran his nose along the rim of the case’s interior. Instead of offering an explanation for his behaviour, Holmes merely went on to quantify the gravity of our client’s circumstances.

“You must understand, Mr. Cartwright, that the police will merely formulate their conclusions based upon the facts that are immediately obvious to them. Who else but you would have had prior knowledge of the presence of the pendant? There is no evidence to support the notion of an intruder, nor even a sign that there had been a third party here at all! Of course, once they have interviewed your servants and thereby ascertained the strained circumstances of your marriage, they will regard their case against you as complete.”

Cartwright sank listlessly into a chair by the fire and gazed unrelentingly towards my friend.

“Is there no hope that you can offer me, Mr. Holmes? You seemed to attach a great deal of importance to my cigarette case, for example, even though I had given you no evidence of my being a smoker up to that point.”

“I observed the shape of your case quite clearly through your sodden jacket back at Baker Street, and my hasty examination was nothing more than a little experiment of mine.”

“Well, I am certainly glad that my dire circumstance is allowing you the opportunity to carry out some research!” Cartwright responded bitterly and with not a little sarcasm.

Holmes ignored Cartwright’s understandable retort.

“I would now like to examine your square toed boots. Perhaps you would lead the way?” Holmes suggested while pointing towards the stair case.

Cartwright’s dressing room was adjacent to that of his wife, and after measuring the width of the toe of one of Cartwright’s boots, Holmes finally condescended to visit the crime room.

The situation was much as Cartwright had already described. The table was still resting on its side, the remnants of the jars were strewn across the floor in every direction. Cartwright’s wife lay on her side, where she had fallen, and the long grey stocking still rested upon her bruised neck. She had been a tall slim woman with fine blonde hair and impeccable taste. Holmes’s attention was not drawn towards the dead young woman, for his keen eyes had fallen upon a tiny key that was sitting upon the dressing table.

“I see that you have purchased some luggage recently, perhaps for a forthcoming trip?” Holmes suggested, although he was actually examining a small pile of dust while he made this assertion.

“We had no such plans, I promise you, Mr. Holmes. Furthermore, I cannot for the life of me understand why you should make such a suggestion.” Cartwright was clearly becoming agitated by Holmes’s inscrutable behaviour, and even I was finding his methods just as unfathomable.

“Very likely not, but I assure you that there is a perfectly sound reason for everything that I do and say. My method and manner might not meet with your approval, Mr. Cartwright, but my work here today will certainly save you from the gallows!” Holmes made this astonishing declaration without affording either of us even a single glance, and a moment later he was gone, leaving Cartwright and I equally bemused!.

“I shall be able to produce your wife’s murderer within forty eight hours. In the meantime, I suggest that you should notify the police,” Holmes called out as he strode through the front door and into those arctic conditions once again. I followed haplessly in his wake with a huge swathe of questions bursting within my head.

Miraculously the dense and forbidding snow clouds had dispersed during the short time that we had spent within Cartwright’s house. The winter constellations now shone like clusters of lustrous diamonds, and the three-quarter moon penetrated and illuminated this darkest of nights. As a consequence, the temperature had tumbled considerably, and the soft snow through which we had struggled earlier was now more traversable, thanks to a hardened icy crust that had formed upon its surface.

Nevertheless, I still made a far slower progress than my friend, and by the time that I had arrived at our rooms, Holmes was already wrapped within his purple dressing gown and a large woollen blanket. He was on the point of lighting his cherry-wood pipe with a burning ember caught within the fire tongs when he caught sight of me standing breathlessly by the door way. He could not suppress a brief, strident laugh.

“Oh, my dear fellow, for heaven’s sake warm yourself by the fire and calm yourself with a pipe and port. I assure you that by the time that we retire I shall explain everything that I have observed and deduced this night. For now, however, I must be allowed to sit in an absolute silence for a full thirty minutes.”

Holmes had obviously sensed that I had been about to bombard him with a myriad of questions, and he had deflected that threat with a single sentence. I nodded my agreement and maintained my vow of silence whilst Holmes meditated upon his chair. My smoking and the port certainly had the desired effect, and I was on the point of drifting into a stupefied slumber when Holmes suddenly jumped up to his feet and clapped his hands loudly in triumph. I could not comprehend the cause of his elation and I told him so.

“I simply do not understand why you would have made such grandiose claims and assurances when matters appear to look so bleak for our client. After all, you summed things up quite accurately a while earlier, although I thought a little harshly.”

“Once again, Watson, you have made that most fundamental of errors. You have assumed without being in possession of the facts. Whilst it is true that you did not have the advantage of my tape and glass, I am equally sure that even if you had, the likelihood of your being able to put them to their correct use is remote at best.

“You might have gathered that my brief examination of Cartwright’s front hallway revealed the presence of a third person. Although this mysterious visitor sported an identical pair of boots to that of our client, they were also a half-a-size smaller than his. Cartwright’s prints were obviously the fresher of the two sets, so we can easily deduce that this visitor was invited into the house before the onset of the first of the storms. Before you ask, we know that he was invited in because there was no trace of a forced entry, and Olivia Cartwright seems to have led her visitor quite calmly from room to room.

“Had our visitor been interested in the jewel alone, there would have been no need for him to have made his way upstairs at all. There were no traces of the stocking having been forced from the mantel, and it was on the upper level that the murderer did the majority of his smoking. I observed only a single stub upon the drawing room floor, and the ash had accumulated in a neat single pile. In the dressing room, the ash was strewn haphazardly, as if he had been pacing about while consuming several more of his Turkish cigarettes.”

“Ah, now I understand the reason behind your examination of Cartwright’s case!” I exclaimed. “Obviously, with your profound knowledge of cigar and cigarette ashes, you were able to eliminate at once the likelihood of Cartwright having been the smoker.” Contrary to my expectations, Holmes was not the least bit irritated by my interruption.

“Oh, that is excellent, Watson. I could tell that whatever interaction had taken place between the two had caused the murderer great agitation. Indeed, the only occasion that the ash fell on a single spot was when he stood over the woman after he had carried out his callous crime. I would not speculate as to its nature, but I am reasonably certain that she had agreed to some sort of romantic tryst and then went through a sudden change of heart. I observed the beginnings of a pile of items being readied for packing upon one of her shelves, and one other notable item.”

“Of course! The key!”

“Exactly, Watson. You may not have noticed that the key bore no traces of ever having been used before. Mrs. Cartwright must have purchased new luggage this very day, to avoid arousing her husband’s suspicions. Obviously the killer took exception to Mrs. Cartwright’s rebuttal, but he became even more passionate once she threatened to declare herself to her husband. I am in no doubt that his primary motivation was the procurement of a most valuable piece of jewellery.”

Holmes sank back into his chair with an air of justifiable triumph and satisfaction.

“I really must congratulate you, Holmes,” I declared with due sincerity. “Once again, each link in your chain of deductive reasoning is pure and flawless, and you have surely saved Cartwright from conviction. Nonetheless, you have given no indication of how you intend to carry through your bold declaration. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, after all, and you promised to identify and apprehend the killer within forty-eight hours!”

Holmes was obviously inspired by this unfeasible challenge, for he suddenly leant towards me with his eyes aflame.

“The identification of this individual should not present us with too much of a dilemma. After all, there are only three people who could possibly have known about the existence of the pendant and one of them, of course, is Sloane Cartwright himself. Although I do not frequent the establishment myself, I am fully aware of Caldecott and Tyler and have passed it on many occasions. The place is run by an elderly gentleman, presumably one of the original partners, and his smart young assistant. I am reasonably certain that it was this devious individual who wormed his way into Mrs. Cartwright’s affection and then hatched his plot to procure so valuable an item.

“In order to apprehend him, I shall require the services of the butcher’s boy, and the only acquaintance of ours who will not be perturbed at having his Christmas interrupted”

“Ah, so you are sending for Menachem Goldman!” I ventured.

I should mention here that Goldman was Holmes’s primary conduit into the iniquitous world of stolen jewellery. Neither a single gem nor a gold candelabrum could be sold or acquired without Goldman having prior knowledge of its movement. His eyes and ears seemed to be everywhere, and his knowledge was vast. When he was plying his trade upon the streets, he was the epitome of an orthodox Polish Jew. However, during his private transactions, he could drop this at a moment’s notice and become a humble East End tradesman. He had proved invaluable to Holmes on several cases, but most notably during the recovery of the legendary Goblet of Ephesus.

“Goldman doubtless knows of the availability of the pendant, even as we speak, and I intend that he should let it be known that the best price for it can be obtained at this exact address!”

“Oh, I am sure that Mrs. Hudson will be glad to hear of this arrangement.” I complained sarcastically.

“Do not overly concern yourself, Watson, for I will ensure that the matter will be conducted swiftly and securely. By the time that Goldman has managed to set things in motion, Scotland Yard’s finest will have already been called to Portman Square, and will doubtless be at our door a short while later. I am sure that the promise of a prominent arrest will dissuade them from incommoding our client, and the real murderer will be caught red handed!”

“You are so certain that he will come?”

“Menachem Goldman and the promise of a handsome price will both prove to be very persuasive, and in the meantime, we can spend a most pleasant and restful Christmas right here in our rooms.”

Reluctantly I accepted Holmes’s arguments, although I felt uncomfortable at the thought of keeping Mrs. Hudson totally ignorant of our scheme. Christmas Day passed in the way that Holmes had predicted, and I must say that in the preparation of our goose, Mrs. Hudson had really surpassed herself.

“Holmes, I really cannot comprehend how you have managed to spend such a relaxed day, knowing full well the potential drama that could unfold between these walls tomorrow,” I admitted once we had completed our feast.

“I can assure you, Watson, that you will hear and see enough to satisfy both your curiosity and that of your long suffering readers before the day is done.” Holmes smiled mischievously as we took our glasses over to the fire.

I had long found it a futile experience to protest the merits of my chronicles to Holmes, to whom they presented nothing more than a romanticised dilution of his craft and science. On this occasion I did not even attempt it, and I sank silently into my chair with my port.

We were relieved to awake on Boxing Day morning to discover that there had been no further falls of snow overnight, and that there was nothing, therefore, that could inhibit the smooth culmination of our plans. We took a hurried breakfast, and for Holmes this consisted of little more than a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Before too long our guests began to arrive.

The first to arrive was Goldman, and he was suitably attired for the occasion, in a large rimmed black hat and a long black coat. He took a seat by the table, and soon he was joined by our understandably nervous client. He protested at the prospect of remaining cooped up inside Holmes’s bedroom throughout the proceedings, until we explained that it was the only room within earshot, and that his discovery would jeopardise Holmes’s ploy.

It was no surprise to discover that the next arrival would not be so easily persuaded. Inspector Lestrade and my friend hadn’t always enjoyed what one might describe as a congenial working relationship. Holmes had frequently chastised the man from Scotland Yard for his lack of imagination and intuition, while Lestrade had always found it difficult to reconcile Holmes’s unconventional methods with good police work. However, the Baskerville Affair upon the moors had gone some way towards instilling in each of them a reluctant mutual respect, and the sight of his weaselly expressions did not fill me with the abhorrence that they once did.

“So, Mr. Holmes, it would seem that you have now added the crime of harbouring a primary suspected felon to that of withholding evidence!” Lestrade brusquely declared as he marched purposefully into the room.

Holmes greeted this with a cheery smile.

“I wish you the greetings of the season, Inspector Lestrade! I do hope that you are not referring to Mr. Goldman here, for he has kindly given up his time to help me with my little experiment”

Lestrade twisted up his lips in frustration at Holmes’s attempts to charm him.

“Mr. Holmes, you know perfectly well why I am here, and the gentleman to whom I am referring. I have conducted an extensive examination of Cartwright’s house and questioned his staff at length. Consequently, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that he is guilty of the murder of his wife, Olivia.”

“Surely, Inspector, you could spare a moment or two of your most valuable time in listening to the results of my own examination of the house, at least until the arrival of my final guest?” Holmes proposed persuasively.

“I suppose a moment or two would not do any real harm. I will require certain assurances as to the situation of Sloane Cartwright and the identity of this final guest of yours.”

“I can assure you that Mr. Cartwright is quite secure and close at hand, while my final guest will prove to be none other than the murderer of Olivia Cartwright!” Holmes concluded with a dramatic flourish of his right arm and he then proceeded to recount every step of his process at Portman Square.

Lestrade remained still and silent throughout, and slowly his sly and cynical expression gave way to one of disbelief and wonder.

“You are certain that you can produce this individual?” he asked.

At that precise moment, the unmistakable sound of the bell rope pierced the stifling atmosphere of our rooms, and we all became rooted to the spot in a stunned silence.

“Gentlemen, if my purpose here is to be fulfilled, may I suggest that you now retire from the room without delay.” Goldman assumed his very best Polish accent, and he placed a slim case upon the table that was supposedly full of bounty.

Silently, Holmes ushered us into his room to join Cartwright, who was hovering nervously by the door. Holmes smiled reassuringly at him to allay any fears he might have been harbouring because of the presence of Lestrade. Holmes invited him to sit on the bed and the two detectives took up a position within earshot of the activity in the room beyond.

We heard the door close behind the unknown visitor and then the sound of the chair being moved while he took a seat opposite to that of Goldman. A professional of Goldman’s status did not stand on ceremony, nor did he waste any time on pleasantries.

“I take it that you have brought the merchandise with you?” he asked coldly, and we heard him indicate where he wanted to see it by tapping the table with his finger. We heard the guest fumbling in his pocket, but before he revealed its contents, he insisted that Goldman expose the contents of his case.

The sound of the locks snapping back was unmistakable as Goldman assured the visitor of his financial integrity. We later discovered that a thin covering of bank notes obscured the fact that the majority of the case was full of nothing more than neatly folded newspaper sheets! Goldman did not risk any further investigation and he closed the case in an instant.

Evidently the visitor fulfilled his side of the arrangement, for Goldman declared, “It is a most beautiful object indeed, sir! May I ask you how you came by such a treasure?”

“I do not think that it is necessary for you to know that. After all, a man in your dubious line of work cannot reasonably expect to see a written form of provenance.” The man had a far younger voice than I had expected to hear, but he was obviously well educated and spoke with a modulated tone.

“Oh, but sir, even one such as myself has a certain moral code and a reputation to uphold. For example, there are certain aspects of my work to which the authorities turn a blind eye in exchange for information that I might feed them from time to time.” We could hear Goldman tap his case enticingly while he attempted to coax more information from the stranger.

There was an excruciating silence while the young man weighed up his position, but eventually the lure of a case full of money seemed to degrade his sense of discretion. We could hear Goldman force the man’s hand by standing up suddenly, as if to leave the room with his case. Goldman’s bluff achieved its purpose, for the stranger began to laugh nervously as he bade Goldman to return to his seat.

“You are being far too hasty, Mr. Goldman. Although I am not at liberty to reveal certain facts to you, you may be assured that the previous owner of the pendant actually invited me into her home on the night that I came by this.”

“Are you telling me that she actually gave you so precious an object?”

“Not exactly gave, Mr. Goldman, not gave. We are clearly alone here, and we are both men of the world, so I will tell you that the lady in question went back upon her word to me, and I decided that the pendant presented to me an adequate form of compensation.” There was a malicious tone of arrogance to his voice now that Cartwright found to be totally unbearable, and without warning he burst past Holmes and Lestrade into the next room!

“You are an absolute blackguard, sir!” he exclaimed and he strode towards the table with a violent intent that was obvious to us all.

Holmes managed to grab Cartwright by his wrists before he could do any harm, and Lestrade calmed him down by assuring him that he had already heard enough for him to be absolved. Cartwright, however, was shaken to the core when he finally recognised the rogue with the pendant and the implications of this realisation.

“Why, Mr. Holmes, this devil is none other than Andrew Gill, Mr. Caldecott’s young assistant!”

“I was in little doubt that it would be,” Holmes stated. Then, in response to a room full of questioning glances, “Who else would have known that you had purchased the pendant in the first place? After all, and with all due respect, Mr. Caldecott himself is far too old to have stolen your wife’s affections.”

Cartwright sank to his knees, stricken inconsolably with grief. While all eyes and attention were upon Cartwright, Gill decided to make a bolt for the door. He would probably have made it but for the timely intervention of Goldman, who pushed the table firmly into the villain’s midriff. Gill fell breathlessly to the floor and in an instant, Lestrade moved across the room and lashed a pair of handcuffs to Gill’s wrists.

“My own selfish neglect pushed my poor Olivia into the arms of this devil!” Cartwright cried, whilst still on the floor.

I helped him slowly back up to his feet and tried to console him with the thought that his wife’s involvement with Gill had been her choice nonetheless. My ill chosen words had the opposite effect from my intention, for he would have rather blamed himself for this tragedy than his beloved wife. To make matters worse, Gill did not offer even one word in his own defence; he just sat there smugly, smiling maliciously as if pleased at the distress that he had caused.

“You should not chastise yourself, nor your wife, too severely, Mr. Cartwright, for she did have a dramatic change of heart at the last. But for this creature here, her brief indiscretion would have remained as nothing more than that.” It was surprising to hear Holmes speak such soft and poignant words, but Cartwright understood them and slowly nodded his head in recognition. He removed himself from the room, a stooped and broken man. Only weeks later did we receive a note of thanks and appreciation from him.

Holmes slapped Goldman on the back as he took his leave and ironically wished him a Merry Christmas! Lestrade was not exactly temperate in his handling of Gill as he hauled him to his feet by the cuffs, and he nodded to Holmes in gratitude.

“Inspector Lestrade, once you have removed this person to Scotland Yard, you are more than welcome to join Dr. Watson and I in the conclusion of yesterday’s most excellent and enormous goose!”

I do not know if Lestrade was more surprised than I at Holmes’s uncharacteristically jovial invitation. He managed a confused half smile and he saluted casually to my friend as he led the despicable Andrew Gill from the room. Gill would certainly not be having a Merry Christmas!