Sherlock Holmes (56 page)

“What happens now, Mr Holmes?”
asked the Duke.

“I shall inform the authorities
of the facts and let the judicial process take its course. However,
we are still one piece of the puzzle missing."

Holmes sat silently, fingers
steepled together against his lips, almost in a silent prayer as we
drove on towards Salcombe Grange. I thought I might lighten the
mood somewhat by raising a different matter. “Your grace, your
grandfather was something of a horticulturist, I believe.”

“Why yes, Doctor Watson. He was
indeed knowledgeable, he decided on all the plantings in the
gardens and made sure there was always colour whatever the
season."

I smiled. “I’m something of a
gardener myself, though not, perhaps, on such a grand scale. I must
admit that I was surprised when I saw in your grandfather's
painting that he had painted what appear to be Michaelmas daisies,
Azaleas, and Asters in flower in the month of July as these species
mainly flower towards October.”

On hearing this, Holmes jolted
upright crying, “Watson! Old fellow, you never cease to amaze me!
Your grace, your grandfather’s painting was in the trompe l’oeil
style, almost photographic and yet, many are great masterpieces of
deception and illusion.” Holmes now leant forwards towards the
Duke, his eyes bright. “Your grandfather had one more great
deception to play. He dated his picture July 1858 whilst painting
flowers that would be in bloom in October!"

I was puzzled. “How does that
help us find the 'Star of Bithur'?” I asked.

“You will see, Watson.” said
Holmes, rubbing his hands with glee.

When we arrived at the Grange,
Holmes sprang from the carriage and raced into the great house. He
stood impatiently in front of the Duke’s study and once we had
caught up with him, he was desperate to ask the Duke a question.
“Your grace, your grandfather was in a regiment which, I believe,
included artillery?”

The Duke beamed, saying, “Why
yes, he was very much a keen artilleryman. He had even studied the
‘Concepts of Siege Artillery’ by Leonardo da Vinci, at Cambridge,
before obtaining his commission."

Holmes’ eyes sparkled as he
cried, “Splendid! Do you, perhaps, have some mathematical
tables?”

The Duke nodded. “Of course.”
The Duke then led Holmes to a section of his bookcase where he
pulled out a well-thumbed copy of Charles Babbage’s tables. Holmes
then asked for an atlas and flicking through the maps, quickly
found Salcombe. Taking out his notebook and pencil, he noted down
its longitude and latitude. Slipping the mathematical tables into
his pocket, he sprinted out into the garden towards the sundial.
Looking on, rather bemused, we followed at a pace. Some moments
later we approached the sundial and found my friend busily making
calculations in his notebook.

“Holmes!” I gasped, “Please have
pity and tell us what you have discovered.”

Holmes looked triumphant. “Your
grace, Watson, I think I have solved the mystery of the 'Star of
Bithur'! From its given date, we thought the painting to be of the
Grange in summer. Stretton had relied on this being the case and
had used the time shown on the clock face to determine the position
of the shadow from Mercury’s arm. At that position, the treasure
was sure to be... but no! Your grandfather had created one more
puzzle to be solved. He had painted the picture showing the blooms
of autumn, not summer."

His grace and I looked at each
other, unsure of the significance of this new information.

Holmes sighed. “The sun is much
lower in the sky in autumn... hence the shadow cast by Mercury’s
arm will be much longer!"

“Of course!” cried the Duke and
me, with one voice.

Holmes referred to his notebook.
“The height of the statue is a little over 6 feet. I used the atlas
to determine our position on the Earth’s surface and I estimate
that at 4 o’clock, the sun in the autumn is around 25° above the
horizon. Now we must use some trigonometry. This is what your
grandfather would have done, given his mathematical background in
the artillery."

 Referring back to the book
of tables, Holmes began to do more calculations in his notebook.
“The tangent of 25° would give us a length of shadow of….14 feet."
Holmes almost ran to the statue of Mercury and paced the distance
from the statue to the semi-circle of stones showing the hours of
the day. “Nine feet, the autumn shadow is approximately 5 feet
longer than the shadow at the same time in the summer!”

Turning to address the Duke, and
in spite of his previous excitement in solving the puzzle, Holmes
now spoke in a quiet, serious voice. “Your grace, I am almost
certain that the ‘Star of Bithur’ is buried here. Do you wish to
exhume it?”

The Duke did not hesitate. “Yes,
Mr Holmes. I must do what I feel is right and honourable."

Holmes smiled. “Very well. If
you would be kind enough to summon one of your gardeners, we will
begin." The Duke motioned to one of his footmen who seemed to be
ever attentive, standing a discreet distance away. He instructed
him to fetch one of the gardeners and to tell him to bring with him
a spade.

Within a few minutes, a young
man appeared wearing stout boots, working clothes and an apron that
looked fresh from the potting shed. “Good morning, your grace” said
the lad, touching his cap with one hand whilst in the other he
carried a garden spade.

Looking down at the manicured
lawn, there was little trace of the recently dug hole, close by the
sundial. The Grange gardeners had been meticulous, filling it in
and covering it with fresh turf.

Holmes paced out the five extra
feet and pointed to a point in the lawn. “Dig there, if you please,
but have a care if your spade strikes something."

The lad took off his apron and
set to work. He had barely gone down a foot into the soil when it
was clear from the sound that his spade had touched a solid object.
The lad stopped and Holmes was down on his knees in an instant.
Turning to the lad he asked, “Do you have a trowel?”

The young man nodded. “Why, yes,
sir, in my apron." Picking up the discarded apron, he produced a
trowel from the large lap pocket.

“Capital!” cried Holmes and he
immediately started scrapping away the soil. In a minute or so,
Holmes had cleared away the surface sufficiently to reveal a small
flagstone measuring about a foot square. He reached down and, with
help from the gardener, lifted the stone to reveal a small stone
chamber. The chamber was surprisingly dry due to the excellent fit
of the stonework. At its centre could be seen a small, iron bound,
teak chest. From my army days I recognised it as being typical of
those on sale in the markets in the north east of India.

Holmes reached down and
carefully lifted the chest, saying, “I think we ought to open this
in your study, your grace.” Adding, “If you would be kind enough to
ready your carriage, we will shortly take our leave of you.” The
Duke solemnly nodded, motioned to one of his footmen and then led
us back to his study.

Once inside, Holmes asked me to
close the study door before he stood the small chest on the Duke's
desk. The Duke moved forward and, with a little hesitation, he
opened the chest. As he did so, Holmes and I both instinctively
moved a little closer to see the contents.

The chest was lined with silk
and, although a little stained with age, was quite intact. Reaching
inside, he withdrew two objects. The first was a sealed letter and
the second, a small bundle of raw silk. He placed the bundle on the
desk and then turned his attention to the envelope. The face of the
envelope bore his grandfather’s crest and beneath it, written in
fine copperplate, were the words, “To my heirs.”

On turning the envelope over, I
could see that it was sealed with wax which also bore his
grandfather’s crest. The Duke looked up at Holmes, almost as if
asking permission. Holmes gave a thin smile and then nodded.
Breaking the seal, the Duke took from the envelope a single, folded
sheet of paper.

In an unsteady voice, he read
aloud, “To you, my heirs, I entrust an awful task. The ‘Star of
Bithur’ is a bloody link to events that no man should have
witnessed. I trust that you will ensure that any benefits from its
possession are passed to the families of those who have suffered
most. I truly hope that God will be merciful towards me.” It was
signed simply, William George Burley.

We stood quietly for several
moments, reflecting on one man’s anguish as he attempted to restore
his honour, even from beyond the grave. Almost reverently, the Duke
picked up the small silk wrapped package. It was tied with a silken
cord and, on releasing it, the silk slid free to reveal a diamond
the size of a bantam's egg. The Duke picked it up between his
finger and thumb and the whole room suddenly seemed to be lit by a
myriad of sparkling fireflies caused by the afternoon sunlight
streaming through the stone.

The Duke turned to Holmes,
asking, “What now, Mr Holmes?”

Holmes was clearly moved. He
drew a deep breath before replying, “I’m afraid I cannot help you
any further, your grace. I shall send you a note of my fees.” With
that he turned on his heel and left. I muttered some kind of
apology and bid the Duke farewell before hurrying off after
Holmes.

The Duke’s carriage had been
waiting at the door and Holmes had already climbed inside. I joined
him, somewhat confused and alarmed by Holmes’ behaviour, saying, “I
found your departure a little abrupt, Holmes!”

Holmes was silent. He was not a
man easily moved, but on this occasion, he was. “I was humbled,
Watson.” After saying this, he would say no more. He reached up,
tapped on the carriage roof as a signal to the coachman and we
drove back in silence to 'The Grapes'.

 We paid the landlord and
swiftly packed our belongings that we had left behind after our
early morning call to the Grange. Holmes was still strangely silent
throughout the whole of the journey back to Baker Street. On our
arrival at 221b, he simply turned his back and disappeared up the
stairs.

For the next week, I was busy
with my practice and it was some ten days before I had the
opportunity to visit my friend again. I was only part way up the
stairs when I heard Holmes shout, “Come along Watson, you should be
well rested and taking those steps two at a time!” Holmes knew the
sound of my tread on the stairs and was laughing jovially as I
entered our old rooms.

Holmes was sitting back in his
favourite chair and the air was filled with the light blue haze
from his meerschaum. Clearly in a better frame of mind than when I
had seen him last, he was indeed eager for my company. “Come in old
chap. Have you read today’s ‘Times’? ”

“No, Holmes. I have been busy
dealing with a particularly nasty case of gout!” I replied, rather
testily.

Holmes took the meerschaum from
his lips and laughed heartily and, in truth, my spirits lifted too.
He tossed me a copy of the paper, saying, “I think you will find
page two to be of interest.”

I caught the paper and turned to
the page. Almost a quarter of it was devoted to an account of how
the legendary 'Star of Bithur' had been sold anonymously to The
British Museum. It was to go on permanent display later in the
month together with its known history and an account of the British
sacrifice in Cawnpore. ‘The Times’ had been informed that the money
raised by the sale of the diamond was to be used to provide
pensions and educational bursaries for the families of those who
perished at Cawnpore. I folded the paper, saying, “That’s splendid
Holmes.”

Holmes nodded and then passed me
a crested envelope. “And this arrived in the morning post.” I
opened the envelope and within it was a cheque for two hundred
guineas together with a single sheet of paper. The note read, “Dear
Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson. I hope, by my deeds, to have fulfilled
my grandfather’s wishes. Words cannot sufficiently express my
gratitude to you both." The letter was not signed but simply
carried the monogram ‘G’. I sat down and was once again touched by
the humility of this young nobleman.

Holmes took his pipe from his
mouth saying “I think we can agree, Watson, that honour has been
fully satisfied.”

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