The Lost Casebooks of Sherlock Holmes (45 page)

‘And his voice?' the detective asked quietly. ‘Appearance is one thing, Mr Holmes, but the voice gives a man away.'

Holmes looked at him, as if he had not thought of this but approved of Lestrade's quick-wittedness.

‘As to his voice, I fear we know nothing. None of us has ever heard it.'

The Scotland Yard man was not to be beaten to the post by his temporary employer. He reached for his bag.

‘Then I shall bid you good evening and a pleasant journey, Mr Holmes. There may be much to be done in the next few days and I should like to make a start. I am to go to the desk and ask for the manager, I presume?'

‘Just so,' said Holmes, staring acutely through the gloom at his new accomplice. ‘You will hear from me, through my brother, either tomorrow or the day after.'

The policeman opened the door and stepped out into the drizzle. In such circumstances, Lestrade set out upon his first adventure in partnership with Sherlock Holmes.

VII

Two mornings later, from behind the polished mahogany of the reception-desk, Lestrade first set eyes upon James Lester Valence, crossing the hall between pillars of raspberry marble. It was impossible not to recognize the unkempt giant whose outlines had been described by Mycroft Holmes to Lestrade.

Sherlock Holmes had also been correct in his description of Valence as a burly bearded figure who had lived much of his life in the roughest terrain. He seemed more like the habitué of a farmers' inn than of a grand hotel. Yet beneath this exterior there was evident gentleness and simplicity. The hard-handed gold-prospector and railroad-builder behaved like a mere child among the ways and wonders of European cities.

Two things in particular drew Lestrade's attention to this new arrival. In the first place, Valence was an inveterate smoker of strong cigarettes. So far as he occupied the public rooms of the hotel, he was always to be found in the genial, tobacco-stained dimness of the smoking-room, with its darkened oil-portraits of famous sportsmen, its subdued lighting, brass lamps and table-furniture, card-tables and red plush. A second matter of interest was the arrival by every morning and evening post of a lightly perfumed envelope on pink stationery, addressed to Valence in a neat female hand. A small and discreet coronet was printed in blue on the flap of the envelope. From this Lestrade concluded that whatever trap was laid for the Australian, a woman might be the bait.

Two other pieces of correspondence, identifiable by a printed sender's address on their envelopes, appeared to be grateful acknowledgements to Valence by the Distressed Gentlefolks Aid Society. When he reported all this information to Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade was greeted by an outstretched telegram. He caught the words ‘Holmes, Hotel Crillon, Place de la Concorde', and then the message.
KINDLY TELEGRAPH ALL PECULIARITIES OF ANTIPODEAN SUBJECT
'
S LEFT THUMB AND ANY APPARENT CHANGE OF SAME AT MORNING OR EVENING
.

Lestrade confessed to me, years later, that nothing in his dealings with Holmes had ever baffled him so much. How could Valence's left thumb have any relevance to the case? What changes could occur in its abnormalities during the course of the day?

Happily for the detective officer, the manager was able to leave him pretty much at liberty. There was no means by which he could answer Holmes's query, except by closely observing Valence throughout the day. The Australian's attachment to the smoking-room and the card-table made this easier than it might have been. Lestrade became a supernumerary smoking-room attendant.

However diffident Valence had been in the outer world of London society, he came into his own among the familiarities of the card-table, which was occupied by hardier souls day and night. To one bluff racing-man and that linen-suited aristocrat, the Marquis Montmorency, who seemed to be his habitual neighbours, Valence remarked that poker was his game but that during his travels he had improved his hand at baccarat.

The conviviality of the game, rather than the hock and seltzer which accompanied it, loosened the tongue of this diffident giant. He spoke of a sweetheart in England. Indeed, he went so far as to draw out his notecase and produce a photograph of a young woman whose every feature confirmed her breeding. Compliments and polite congratulations were breathed in his direction from all corners of the table.

So far, the vigilance of the Scotland Yard man revealed no immediate sign of abnormality in Valence's left thumb, nor any change as the hours passed. However, on the second evening, as he was emptying and polishing the glass bowls that had contained cigarette and cigar ash, he heard Valence speak of marriage and the diamond necklace which was to be his gift to his beloved upon their betrothal. He had ordered it from a Bond Street jeweller before departing on his tour of Europe. Now he had returned to collect and present the finished article. The racing-man inquired politely where the necklace was being made.

‘Regniers in Bond Street,' said the Australian modestly.

The Marquis Montmorency looked astonished.

‘I am delighted to know it, sir, for Henri Regnier himself is related to me by marriage, through my cousin, Antoine Mellerio of the rue de la Paix. A small world, to be sure! I congratulate you on your choice of craftsman. You know, I imagine, that it is possible in the trade to arrange a little discount for oneself or one's friends. Perhaps you have already done so.'

The bearded giant looked abashed.

‘A discount? No, Marquis. It never crossed my mind to suggest such a thing.'

Montmorency looked down at the cards in his hand and shook his head.

‘That is much to be regretted. The reduction is not so great, of course. Ten per cent. Perhaps less. But on so large a sum …'

He left the rest unsaid. Lestrade was now obliged to move out of earshot. He saw only that, during the rest of the evening, Valence pulled ahead of the others and at the end of the game was almost thirty pounds to the good. A little after midnight, as they pushed their chairs back and rose to go their separate ways, the dapper marquis twinkled at his companion.

‘I would not for the world, sir, presume upon so short an acquaintance. However, if you would permit me to put in a word, I will see if my cousin might not arrange a discount, even at this late stage of the purchase. Between ourselves, you understand. If you will trust me with the details, I will see what can be done tomorrow. It is usual to agree these things at the beginning of a transaction but a man in your situation, who would be so valued a customer for the future, surely deserves a degree of
ex post facto
consideration.'

Valence plainly had no idea what the term meant and appeared troubled by embarrassment at such unexpected kindness. Yet he could scarcely refuse so generous an offer, made out of pure friendship.

The next morning brought another of the perfumed envelopes, which Lestrade was certain must come to Valence from the intended recipient of the diamond necklace. The Australian spent most of that day in his room. In the mild warmth of late afternoon, however, he went out alone with nothing to indicate where his destination might be. Almost as soon as Valence had entered a cab, Lestrade noticed the racing-man and the Marquis Montmorency going up the stairs together in something of a hurry. To the mind of a detective, they appeared an ill-matched pair. Following at a distance, Lestrade saw the two men take separate directions at the first landing. The racing-man retired to his room, his companion followed the corridor where Valence slept.

Lestrade was clear as to what was about to happen. Montmorency had by now had ample opportunity to acquire a copy of the key to Valence's room. The means might be easy enough in a hotel of this size. He or his racing friend had only to ask for Valence's room number, take the key, then return it a few minutes later, apologizing or complaining that it was the wrong one and did not fit his door. Such errors, in all honesty, were not frequent but nor were they uncommon. In this case, a wax impression of the key would soon be taken.

By the time that Lestrade turned the corner of the landing, the corridor ahead of him was empty. There had been no time for Montmorency to reach the far end, unless he had done it at a sprint. Therefore, he was in one of the rooms. The detective reached Valence's door, knelt down, and squinted through the keyhole. He saw only a segment of the sitting-room but it was enough to show him the marquis patiently going through the contents of Valence's ash-bowl, examining the cigarette-butts, holding them up and considering each in turn. Presently he put the ash-bowl down and swung round to the door. Lestrade moved quickly but without a sound. There was just time to reach the end of the corridor and disappear from view.

However, from where he stood, the Scotland Yard man was able to hear the door of Valence's room opening very slowly, as if the dapper little aristocrat looked cautiously in either direction, slipped out, and closed the door very softly behind him.

To enter Valence's room for no other reason than to inspect the remains of the cigarettes he had smoked, ignoring money and valuables, was surely the maddest thing in a mad business. Or so it seemed to Lestrade.

VIII

A further day passed and Lestrade had yet been unable to observe the essential peculiarities of Valence's left thumb. It was a thumb that pressed upon the pasteboard cards with as firm a hold as any man's round the card-table, nor did it appear to change as the day progressed. Perhaps the change was a certain twitching that sometimes occurred as the evening wore on. Lestrade felt that he certainly noticed something of the sort. Upon his next visit to the Home Department, Mycroft Holmes silently handed him another telegram.

MATTERS IN FRANCE COMING TO A HEAD STOP. KINDLY ATTEND TO PREVIOUS INSTRUCTIONS IN MINUTEST DETAIL STOP. ESSENTIAL YOU CONTINUE TO DO SO STOP. HOLMES HOTEL CRILLON
.

In the course of his smoking-room duties that evening, the Scotland Yard man caught another scrap of conversation. Montmorency, the smiling gamester, said to Valence, as they drew their chairs in round the table, ‘I must tell you that it is all arranged, my dear fellow. Twelve per cent is to be the discount on your purchase. I tried for fifteen on your behalf, but twelve was the best I could manage. Still, it is preferable to nothing, is it not?'

The black-bearded giant, in his good-natured simplicity, seemed so overcome by such a selfless action that for a moment he appeared tongue-tied.

‘Twelve!' he said at last. ‘But that is far more than I had expected! Five, I had thought, perhaps ten at the extreme. What can I have done to merit such consideration from you? It is more than I can guess.'

‘In that case, my dear Valence, you need only guess that you are a good sportsman and a most agreeable companion,' beamed the dapper little lord. ‘Besides, these jewellers always stick the price on at first, thinking they will be beaten down in negotiation. In that case, old fellow, it is only justice to knock 'em down a bit. They quite expect it, you know. And then, what is this world, if we cannot do one another a good turn from time to time?'

‘What, indeed, sir?'

‘However, if you will permit me,' the dapper nobleman went on, ‘I believe it would be best if I were to collect the necklace myself and bring it to you. Though the matter is arranged with my cousin, I shall be better acquainted with the shopman than you would be. If I deal with him, you may be sure that your discount will not wash off, as they say!'

At this there was something, less than suspicion but more than doubt, which flickered briefly in the Australian's eyes.

‘Then you would wish me to give you the cash or a cheque, so that you might take it to Regnier's?'

He did not so much as hint at a natural misgiving that this man he had known only as a card-player might run off with his money, though the suspicion ran through the minds of everyone else present. As if to confound them by sheer good-nature, the slightly-built Montmorency lay back in his chair and fairly rolled about with laughter, like a pleased child, at such a suggestion.

‘I should not dream of it!' he giggled at last. ‘No, my dear Valence. I will pay for the necklace with my cheque, it is better that way and will absolutely secure the reduction in price. My cousin would not go back on his word to me, of all people! When I return to the hotel with the necklace, you may reimuburse me for a sum twelve per cent less than you thought the cost would be. Is that fair?'

The bulky Australian was in a confusion of gratitude and remorse for having suspected the other man's good faith.

‘It is more than fair, sir. It is generosity on a grand scale. May I ask how you would like the money to be repaid?'

The marquis looked a little sheepish.

‘As it is most convenient to you. I confess, however, that having written a cheque for such an amount, I should not at all object to being reimbursed in cash. Specie may be paid into the bank so much more easily and quickly. After all this, I should not care to hear that the cheque I had written had been returned by my bank for lack of funds!'

There was general laughter round the table at the absurdity of such a proposition.

‘All the same,' Valence said, as if now eager to make amends for his suspicion, ‘why should I not give you a cheque or money in the first place to take to Regnier's?'

The Marquis Montmorency beamed and spread out his hands.

‘You shall not pay a cent, sir, until the necklace is in your hands. I insist upon that. Besides, suppose I should be waylaid by footpads between here and Bond Street?'

There was great hilarity at the notion of such an old-fashioned robbery in the streets of the modern West End.

‘I do not know,' said Valence softy, ‘I never dreamed when I came to Europe that I would receive so much friendship on all sides.'

Despite the strictest instructions in the latest telegram from Holmes, Lestrade abandoned his surveillance that afternoon, as Valence withdrew to his room. Instead, the Scotland Yard man shadowed the Marquis Montmorency. In his fawn hat, cream linen suit and lemon waistcoat, patent-leather shoes and spats, a rose in his buttonhole, the slim figure of the nobleman was not hard to track. He did not take a cab but walked quickly past the clubs of Pall Mall, up the broad elegance of St James's Street, across Piccadilly, and so into Bond Street.