The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes (31 page)

"Have you seen the originals of these Valence documents?"

"The duchess has seen them and they appear to be perfectly genuine, nor can she doubt

her husband's signature."

"It might be a forgery."

"True, but I have already ascertained from Valence that there was a woman of that name

living there in 1848, that she married an Englishman and later moved to some other locality."

"But surely, Holmes, a provincial Frenchwoman, if driven to blackmail by the desertion of

her husband, would demand money," I protested. "What possible use could she have for copies

of state papers?"

"Ah! There you put your finger on it, Watson, and hence my presence in the case. Have

you ever heard of Edith von Lammerain?"

"I cannot recall the name."

"She is a remarkable woman," he continued musingly. "Her father was some sort of petty

officer in the Russian Black Sea Fleet and her mother kept a tavern in Odessa. By the time

that she was twenty, she had fled her home and established herself in Budapest where,

overnight, she gained notoriety as the cause of a sabre duel in which both combatants were

slain. Later, she married an elderly Prussian Junker who, having borne away his bride to his

country estate, upped and died most conveniently within three months from eating a surfeit of

turtle-doves stuffed with chestnuts. They must have been interesting, those chestnuts!

"You will take my word for it," he went on, "that for the past year or so the most brilliant

functions of the Season, be it London, Paris or Berlin, would be considered incomplete

without her presence. If ever a woman was made by Nature for the profession of her choice,

then that woman is Edith von Lammerain."

"You mean that she is a spy?"

"Tut, she is as much above a spy as I above the ordinary police-detective. I would put it

that I have long suspected her of moving in the highest circles of political intrigue. This, then, is

the woman, as clever as she is ambitious and merciless, who, armed with the papers of this

secret marriage, now threatens to ruin the Duchess of Carringford and her daughter unless

she consents to an act of treason, the results of which may be incalculable in their damage to

England." Holmes paused to knock out his pipe into the nearest tea-cup. "And I remain here

useless, Watson, useless and helpless to shield an innocent woman who in her agony has turned

to me for guidance and protection," he ended savagely.

"It is indeed a most infamous business," I said. "But, if Billy's message refers to it, then

there is a footman involved."

"Well, I confess that I am deeply puzzled by that message," Holmes replied, staring down

thoughtfully at the stream of hansoms and carriages passing beneath out window. "Incidentally,

the gentleman known as Footman Boyce is not a lackey, my dear Watson, though he takes his

nickname, I believe, from the circumstance that he commenced his career as a man-servant.

He is in fact the leader of the second most dangerous gang of slashers and racing-touts in

London. I doubt that he bears me much goodwill, for it was largely owing to my efforts that

he received two years on that Rockmorton horse-doping affair. But blackmail is out of his

line and I cannot see—" Holmes broke off sharply and craning his neck peered down into the

street. "By Jove, it is the man himself!" he ejaculated. "And coming here, unless I am much

mistaken. Perhaps it would be as well, Watson, if you concealed yourself behind the bedroom

door," he added with a chuckle as, crossing to the fireplace, he threw himself into his chair.

"Mr. Footman Boyce is not among those whose conversational eloquence is encouraged by

the presence of a witness."

There came a jangle from the bell below and as I slipped into the bedroom I caught the

creak of heavy steps upon the stairs followed by a knock and Holmes's summons to enter.

Through the crack in the door I had a glimpse of a stout man with a red, good-natured

face and bushy whiskers, clad in a check overcoat and sporting a brown bowler hat, gloves and

a heavy malacca cane. I had expected a type far different from this vulgar, comfortable person

whose appearance was more in keeping with a country yeoman until, as he stared at Holmes

from the threshold of our sitting-room, I had a good view of his eyes. They were round as two

glittering beads, very bright and hard, with that dreadful suggestion of stillness that belongs to

the eyes of venomous reptiles.

"We must have a word, Mr. Holmes," he said in a shrill voice curiously at variance with

that portly body. "Really, we must have a word. May I take a seat?"

"I would prefer that we both stand," came my friend's stern reply.

"Well, well." The man turned his great red face slowly round the room. "You're very snug

here, very comfortable and snug and lacking nothing, I'll be bound, in the way of home

cooking by that respectable woman who opened the door to me. Why deprive her of a good

lodger, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"I am not contemplating a change of address."

"Ah, but there are others who might contemplate it for you. 'Let be,' says I, 'Mr. Holmes is a

nice-looking gent.' 'Maybe' says others, 'if
his nose wasn't a little too long for the rest of his

features, so that it is forever sticking itself into affairs that are no concern of his.' "

"You interest me profoundly. By the way, Boyce, you must have received pressing orders to

have brought you up from Brighton at a moment's notice."

The cherubic smile faded from the ruffian's face. "How the devil do you know where I've

come from!" he shrilled.

"Tut, man, today's Southern Cup racing-programme is peeping out of your pocket. However,

as I am a trifle fastidious in my choice of company, kindly come to the point and put a close to

this interview."

Boyce's lips curled back suddenly like the grin of some ill-conditioned dog.

"I'll put a close to something more than that, you nosey-parking busybody, if you get up to

anymore of your flash tricks," he snarled. "Keep out of Madame's business or—" he paused

significantly, his beady little eyes fixed immovably upon my friend's face—"or you'll be sorry

you were ever born, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he concluded softly.

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands.

"This is really most satisfactory," said he. "So you come from Madame von Lammerain?"

"Dear me, what indiscretion!" cried Boyce, his left hand sliding stealthily to his malacca

cane. "I had hoped that you would take a word of warning, but instead you make free with the

names of other folk. And so—" in an instant he had whipped off the hollow body of the stick,

leaving in his other hand the grip and the long, evil razor-blade that was attached to it "—and

so, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I must make good my words."

"To which I trust, Watson, that you have paid the attention they deserve," remarked

Holmes.

"Certainly!" I replied loudly.

Footman Boyce stopped in his tracks and then, as I emerged from the bedroom armed

with a heavy brass candlestick, he leapt for the sitting-room door. On the threshold, he turned

for a moment toward us, his little eyes flaming evilly in his great crimson face while a flood of

foul imprecations poured from his lips.

"That will do!" interrupted Holmes sternly. "Incidentally, Boyce, I have wondered more

than once how you murdered Madgern, the trainer. No razor was found on you at the time.

Now, I know.

The ruddiness faded slowly from the man's features leaving them the colour of dirty putty.

"My God, Mr. Holmes, surely you don't think—only a little joke, sir, among old friends

—!" Then, springing through the door, he slammed it behind him and went clattering wildly

down the stairs.

My friend laughed heartily. "Well, well. We are hardly likely to be bothered any further by

Mr. Footman Boyce," said he. "Nevertheless, the fellow's visit has done me a good turn."

"In what way?"

"It is the first ray of light in my darkness, Watson. What have they to fear from my

investigations unless there is something to be discovered? But get your hat and coat and we

will call together on this unhappy Duchess of Carringford."

Our visit was a brief one and yet I will long recall the memory of that courageous and still

beautiful woman who, through no fault of her own, now stood face to face with the most

terrible calamity that fate could have devised. The widow of a great statesman, the bearer of a

name revered throughout the country, the mother of a young and lovely girl on the eve of

her wedding to a public man and then, overnight, this dreadful discovery of a secret, the

publication of which must destroy irrevocably the very fabric of her life and being. Here was

enough to justify the extremes of human emotion. Instead, when my friend and I were ushered

into the drawing-room of Carringford House in Portland Place, the lady who rose to meet us

was as distinguished for the grace of her manner as for the beauty of her complexion and her

delicate, serene features. It was only in the dark stains beneath her eyelids and the too brilliant

lustre of her hazel-tinted eyes that one sensed the dreadful tensity that was eating its way

through her heart.

"You have news for me, Mr. Holmes?" she said calmly enough, but I noticed that one of her

long, slim hands flew to her bosom. "The truth cannot be worse than this suspense, so I beg

that you will be frank with me."

Holmes bowed. "I have no news as yet, Your Grace," he said gently. "I am here to ask

you one question and to make one request."

The duchess sank into a chair and, picking up a fan, fixed her fevered brilliant eyes upon

my friend's face. "And these are?"

"The question is one which can be forgiven from a stranger only under the stress of the

present circumstances," said Holmes. "You were married for thirty years to the late duke.

Was he a man of honourable conduct in his sense of private responsibility as distinct from his

moral code? I will ask Your Grace to be very frank with me in your reply."

"Mr. Holmes, during the years of our marriage, we had our quarrels and our

disagreements, but never once did I know my husband to stoop to an unworthy action or

lower the standard which he had set himself in life. His career in politics was not made the

more easy by a sense of honour that would not descend to the artifices of compromise. He

was a man whose character was nobler than his position."

"You have told me all that I wished to know," answered Holmes. "Though I do not

indulge in emotions of the heart, I am not among those who consider that love makes blind.

With a mind of any intelligence, the effect should be the exact opposite, for it must

promote the most privileged knowledge of the other's character. Your Grace, we are face to

face with necessity and time is not on our side." Holmes leaned forward earnestly. "I must

see the original documents of this alleged marriage in Valence."

"It is hopeless, Mr. Holmes!" cried the duchess. "This dreadful woman will never let

them out of her hands, save at her own infamous price."

"Then we must summon craft to our aid. You must send her a carefully worded letter, now,

conveying the impression that you will be driven to comply with her demands if once you are

convinced that the marriage documents are really genuine. Implore her to receive you privately

at her house in St. James's Square at eleven o'clock tonight. Will you do this?"

"Anything, save what she asks."

"Good! Then one final point. It is essential that you find some pretext at exactly twenty

minutes past eleven to
draw her from the library containing the safe in which she keeps these

documents."

"But she will take them with her."

"That is of no importance."

"How can you be sure that the safe is in the library?"

"I have a plan of the house, thanks to a small service once rendered to the firm who

rented the property to Madame von Lammerain. Furthermore, I have seen it."

"You have seen it!"

"A window was broken mysteriously yesterday morning" smiled Holmes, "and the agents

very promptly supplied a glazier. It had occurred to me that there might be advantages."

The Duchess leaned forward, her hand to her heaving breast. "What do you propose to do?"

she demanded almost fiercely.

"That is a question in which I must use my own judgement, Your Grace," replied Holmes,

springing to his feet. "If I fail, I will do so in a good cause."

We were making our adieux when the duchess laid her hand on my friend's arm.

"If you examine these terrible documents and convince yourself that they are genuine, will

you remove them?" she asked.

There was a hint of concern under Holmes's austere manner as he looked at her. "No," he

said quietly.

"You are right!" she cried. "I would not have them taken. A hideous wrong must be

righted, whatever the cost to myself. It is only when I think of my daughter that all the

courage goes from my heart."

"It is because I recognize that courage," said Holmes very gently, "that I warn you to

prepare for the worst."

During the remainder of the day, my friend was in his most restless mood. He smoked

incessantly until the atmosphere of our sitting-room was hardly bearable and, having exhausted