Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon

“I spoke with the cleaning lady, Mrs. Farrell, today.”


Dermot sat back in the chair. “I did not know there was a cleaning lady. No one has mentioned her before.”

Katherine’s smile was humorless. “Servants and children are always the invisible observers. It would be a mistake to ignore their testimony.”

Dermot nodded.

“Mrs. Farrell finishes early in the morning. Last Wednesday, when she turned up for work, she discovered the door to the entrance to the tower unlocked and open. And then again, last Saturday, she arrived to find the door to the library ajar.”

“And did she report it?” He pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages. “There is no record of it.”

“She told Mr. Stivey, the messenger, and he, in turn, reported it directly to Vicars.”

“But why didn’t Vicars report it?”

“You must ask Sir Arthur that. I also spoke with Mr. Stivey. He told me that Vicars took the news with some equanimity and was apparently unperturbed.”

“How odd.”

Dermot sipped his chocolate, watching Katherine’s eyes over the rim of his cup. Finally, he sighed. “Your two-hour investigation has discovered more than the rest of the DMP. Do you know who stole the jewels?”

“I can tell you that Sir Arthur Vicars shares a house with Francis Shackleton, younger brother of the arctic explorer.”

“I knew that. I’ve seen Shackleton. A rather vain and foppish young man.”

“Who happens to have accrued some spectacular debts to some unfortunately unforgiving people.” Katherine’s face appeared out of the gloom. “The IOUs are on the floor beside your chair.”

Dermot put down his cup and picked up the scraps of paper, turning them to the firelight. “How did you get these?”

“I bought them for a percentage of their worth.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Oh, Inspector, remember who I am and what I am. Leverage is always useful. Now, see who has guaranteed the notes.”

Dermot turned over the page. “Vicars!” He looked at Katherine. “Vicars guarantees Shackleton’s debt. But how could he afford that on his salary?”

“He could not,” she said simply. “He asked a friend of his, Frank Goldney, to take on the debt, which he did.”

“What a tangled mess . . .”

“There is another twist. I am presuming that you did not know that Shackleton is an intimate of Lord Haddo.”

The inspector sat bolt upright. “The son of the Viceroy?”

“The same.”

“And when you say ‘intimate . . . ’” he asked cautiously.

“Both gentlemen are also very close to the Duke of Argyll, who has a fondness for guardsmen.”

“Guardsmen?”

“Guardsmen.”

“How did you discover all this?”

“Why, by listening, Inspector. People do love to gossip. The Castle is abuzz with stories of Vicars and his entourage of handsome young men. Did you know that they frequent some of the flash houses at the bottom of the street—those which cater solely to men? And that they sometimes dress in women’s clothing and . . . wear the jewels as part of their costumes?”

“Oh God!” Dermot leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

“And that the jewels have disappeared before, when the boys accidentally forgot them at one of their parties?”

Dermot sat back into the chair. “You have been busy. And, let me say that you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Katherine nodded. “One in my position is rarely given an opportunity to exercise her abilities, although I have spent my entire life watching and listening. It makes me quite suited to the role of detective, don’t you think?”

“What should I do?” he asked suddenly.

“This is a scandal, and scandals destroy careers. If you identify the thief, then you earn the enmity of him and his friends. If you continue to investigate you will bring yourself to their attention and even if you make no accusation, then your career is destroyed.”

“So what should I do?” he asked again.

“Do nothing. The jewels will either mysteriously turn up, or they will not.”

“But the police will still descend on these streets and close your businesses. This morning you spoke about children starving . . .”

Katherine leaned forward, firelight turning her face golden. Her smile was feral. “About an hour ago a letter was delivered to both the Viceroy and the head of the Dublin Metropolitan Police outlining some of the facts of the case. There will be no real investigation, I assure you; the scandal would involve the crown, and Edward now works hard to distance himself from the excesses of his youth. I am sorry that you will not get that promotion, however. Your future fiancée will be disappointed.”

“There will be other cases,” he said. “And I have waited this long to propose; another few months will not make any real difference.”

“Women do not like to wait, Inspector. Propose. If she loves you, then she will say yes, in spite of your circumstances.”

“And if she says no?”

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