Holmes shot me an irritated look that suggested I’d hit solid in the gold. “Yes . . . perhaps. And yet, what commands such haste and secrecy in a man so well off? Only two things—”
I mouthed the words as he spoke them, so accustomed were they to me. “Much money or vast power.”
The bell rang, and the new maid, Aggie, showed him in. Although she was gone as soon as she’d announced “Mr. Habakkuk Sewall,” I couldn’t help admiring the trim profile of Aggie’s posterior. Mrs. Hudson knew my tastes down to the boot button and was determined to taunt me. A dalliance between us, born of equal parts mutual desire and my occasional tardiness with the rent, had cooled recently, but I soon hoped to find my way back into Margaret’s good graces. The rent now caught up, this was now entirely dependent on my ability to resist the temptations she put before me in the shape of our most recent maid of all work. We went through housemaids at an alarming rate, given the eclectic nature of our callers, the irregularity of our hours, and the odors generated by Holmes’s chemical experiments. I have been subject to more than one angry lecture on the adverse effects of chemical fumes on damask upholstery.
Mr. Sewall was, as we had observed, of elegantly tall proportions, with fair hair, fine teeth, and shrewd, watchful eyes. His rude good health, as much an American trait as a caricature, was carefully restrained with mannerly movement; he had a reserved and contemplative air.
Having assured us that he had dined, Mr. Sewall did not refuse our offer of brandy. “I’ve come a very long distance to see you, Mr. Holmes. I hope you can help me.”
Holmes and I had agreed early on in our association that, with clients, it was best for him to sink the hook with a display of his not inconsiderable detective acumen, followed by a faint pretense on my part to an overfull schedule, playing the fish before we finally landed the hefty fee. And so, I sat back and listened to Holmes recite what we’d just now observed, with a few embellishments drawn from his immediate assessment of our client. The more I saw of Mr. Sewall’s gold cigar case, the quality and weight of his cuff links, and the exquisite taste in buttons, the better I liked him. Rather, the more I liked our odds of getting paid, and handsomely.
Doctors, detectives, and writers of detective fiction—or, semi-fiction—must make a living, you see.
At the end of a scintillating performance, Mr. Sewall’s mouth opened and closed. “I had thought to come in here with my broadest Chicago hick accent, playing Eustis Goodfellow, the Corn King of the Midwest, but I see I would have failed almost instantly, Mr. Holmes. My hat is off to you.
“My goal in coming to England is of the utmost importance,” he continued, in accents that were polished, by American standards. “I hope you will forgive my doubts and my aspirations to test you.”
“You are not the first who has tried,” said Holmes, inclining his head. I observed he did not actually accept the proffered apology but our guest seemed not to notice.
“Thank you. I am a good judge of character, sir, but that takes time and observation, and speed is of the essence. A fortune stands in the balance, but more than that, the safety and health of many innocent people.”
“Pray, tell me how I may be of assistance.” Only I recognized the impatience behind Holmes’s request.
“My ancestress many times over, Anna Hoyt, was a woman of some means. It has recently come to light that she had a considerable fortune hidden here in England.” At this, his expression became somewhat rueful. “I understand that during the War of Independence, she was known as a true patriot, but it appears she was also careful enough to have money—and possibly friends—in both countries, so that she might find some security no matter the war’s outcome. This canny little lady, having started as a lowly tavern keeper, founded the family from which I am proud to be descended. Her caution, however, has placed me in a real bind. She hid the money, as one might during those bad old days, particularly keen not to let anyone find, seize, and tax it.”
“How did you discover this?” Holmes sat forward, his fingers steepled.
“An advertisement, published by the law firm that was charged with producing the notice one hundred years after her death. I understand that, in addition to notifying possible family connections, newspapers around the world were hired to advertise that anyone with a claim to the inheritance must produce evidence in order to receive the clue that should lead to the treasure.”
“What sort of treasure?” I asked. “Why a clue?”
“As I understand it, the old girl hid a small fortune in jewels and gold.”
“Small, portable, universally valuable,” Holmes remarked.
“Yes. And offered a clue and not a location as her reasoning was, anyone too stupid to find it, didn’t deserve it. Of course, the lawyers said it much fancier than that.” Mr. Sewall heaved a sigh. “First one who finds it, keeps it. I aim to be the first.”