Unknown (23 page)

"So much for the late Amos
Gridley who, it would
seem,
did little business in antiques but a great deal of refinishing,
framing and reconditioning."

Dankers nodded. "Amos was
handy."

"He would have to be. Twenty
years ago in Devon
shire
there was a man called Garth who succeeded in unloading a number of
art forgeries on unsuspecting collectors. Like all who plied his
questionable trade, he
had
to be adept at framing and the composition of
paints
to allow his bogus masterpieces to pass muster.
Such
a man would be valuable to a great collector like Basil Selkirk,
would he not?"

The name rang a bell with me but I
could not recall
where
I had heard it. Danker's mouth hung open and he seemed to be having
trouble breathing. Witherspoon's brow was furrowed and there was a
resigned expression
in
his eyes as though he had feared the falling of the axe
and
was not surprised when it happened.

"The man, Garth,"
continued Holmes, "was known to have a long scar on his arm. You
did not mention that Amos Gridley had a similar marking, Doctor
Witherspoon."

"It did not seem important,"
mumbled the medical
examiner.

"Garth also had a lisp as did
Gridley. There are a
number
of things neither you nor the constable chose to
reveal.
Doctor Watson and I have been treated to a
pleasant
view of a slack-water hamlet at peace with the
world.
Indeed it is, but the picture is out of focus. The
tin
mines and the tourists are long gone, gentlemen. No
where
do we see tilled fields and there is not a factory
in
sight. What do people live on hereabouts? The streets
are
well-tended, the houses in good repair, so there has
to
be a source of income somewhere. And we know
where,
do we not? That notorious recluse, Basil Selkirk, the eccentric
millionaire collector. Selkirk is St. Aubrey.
Conveniently
close to London, but outsiders journey
through,
not
to.
A
little kingdom to preserve peace and
tranquility
around Selkirk Castle, which neither of you
so
much as mentioned. Selkirk wants the peace and serenity of other
years safe from the inroads of developers
and
the encroachment of the masses of the metropolis.
He
wants it; he pays for it; and you preserve it for
him."

Suddenly, I had it. It was in
Hassim's shop in Con
stantinople
and the dealer had mentioned the famous
collectors
of the world. Basil Selkirk of England had
been
one of them. Now I knew what had drawn Holmes
to
St. Aubrey, the site of the millionaire's country es
tate.
Small wonder that the death of Gridley had
sparked
him into action.

Constable Dankers showed signs of
argument, but he evidently was taking his lead from Witherspoon who
had, mentally, thrown in the sponge.

"What now, Mr. Holmes?"
asked the medical exam
iner.

"We're no part of any crime,"
added the constable.

"Agreed," replied
Holmes. "I'll not deny Selkirk's
right
to the haven of his choosing. But the façade you
men
are paid to preserve does not fit into my plans so I
had
to shred its fabric. What does suit me is an inter
view
with Selkirk. And you are going to facilitate it for
me."

"I'll be damned if I will!"
remonstrated Dankers.

It struck me that the bumptious,
bleary-eyed country
constable
was with us no more. Dankers's eyes were
sharp
and he had a hard core of toughness not apparent
before.
Play-acting, I thought. It has all been a well-rehearsed
entertainment with the performers concealed
behind
the masks of mummery.

"Things might be worse, if
you don't," was Holmes's
cool
response. "I've no doubt you both realized that Grid
ley
had been murdered. But there could not be any
thing
so
gauche
as
a homicide in the private kingdom.
Therefore,
the cover-up, though I doubt if you know
the
guilty party or even the reason for Gridley's death."

"That's a fact," agreed
Witherspoon wiping his brow with a handkerchief, though the thick
walls of the old building preserved a cool ulterior.

Holmes's piercing eyes were
fastened on Bankers, certainly the more truculent of the two.

"Much better a consulting
detective than a batch of
Scotland
Yarders to deal with. Think of that. I can ad-
vise
Trans-Continental Insurance to settle the Gridley
claim.
Murder still makes them liable. For the nonce,
the
death can be listed as accidental for I care not a
whit
about that either. But I will see Selkirk."

As Witherspoon and Dankers
exchanged another
nervous
glance, Holmes moved inexorably onward.

"There are two ways of
playing it. Either I have become suspicious through some
careless remark that one
or
both of you made and now consider Basil Selkirk to
be
an important cog in the mysterious death of Amos
Gridley
. . . that is one story we might pursue. The
alternate
will prove more palatable. Mr. Sherlock
Holmes,
while in St. Aubrey, is deeply desirous of
speaking
with the famed collector, Basil Selkirk, in con
nection
with some
objets
d'arts
that have
figured in
cases in
Mr. Holmes's files. Do mention the Beryl Cor
onet
and the Midas Emerald, two pieces certain to
whet
the appetite of a man like your employer. Make
your
choice, gentlemen."

Again, the constable and
Witherspoon exchanged glances. The medical examiner's shrug was
expressive and I could deduce their choice before they revealed it.

12

The
Meeting with that Frightening Man

121

Not long thereafter, Holmes and I
were again leaving
the
center of St. Aubrey, though this time we followed a
road
to the west. Witherspoon had made his carriage available to us and
the necessary directions were simple
enough.
Constable Dankers had used the station phone
to
contact Selkirk Castle. Evidently, its owner was dis
posed
to see the famous detective, though Dankers did not go into detail
regarding his conversation with the
millionaire.
Possibly, the matter was arranged through
intermediaries.
In any case, we set a good pace. The
road
we were to follow to our destination was now wind
ing
up a grade and I assumed Basil Selkirk's residence
was
over the rise ahead of us, which proved to be true.

At the top of the hill, Holmes
drew the carriage to a
halt
to allow the horse a moment of respite. I took a
deep
breath as well. The ground ahead sloped gently
down
into a tree-studded valley. A small river curved in from the north
following a serpentine course until it ter
minated
in a considerable body of water. In the center
of
this lake was a mound and on it were towering battle
ments,
looking for all the world like a miniature Dub
rovnik.

My lips pursed in a silent whistle
and even Holmes
looked
impressed. A mountain some considerable dis
tance
beyond the stout stone walls provided a rock-
strewn
and bleak backdrop. The scene would have been well-suited to a
Graustark melodrama.

"No fairylike cupolas and
spires like those fancied
by
the Mad Bavarian," said my friend. "An ancient feu
dal
keep augmented by modern workmanship, for you
will
note, Watson, the appearance of concrete where the ancient walls have
crumbled with age."

"Impressive," I mumbled.
"I rather fancy us as adventurers intent on the rescue of
the Prisoner of Zenda."

"Not a bad comparison,"
agreed Holmes, urging our horse into motion again. "But rather
than use a fictional
castle,
allow me to suggest the city of Bar."

This meaning nothing to me, I
questioned Holmes.

"A ghost town on the
Montenegrin Littoral," he explained. "The stern scene
before us bears a remarkable
resemblance
to the ancient Serbian ruins. Bar, of
course,
has not benefited by a modern Croesus intent
on
restoration."

As we drew nearer to the castle, I
noted that the road
terminated
at the end of a promontory, which extended
into
the moat. Our presence had been noted for there
was
a creak of a windlass and the heavily timbered
drawbridge
was lowered ponderously to allow us to
progress
between massive walls and into the courtyard beyond. As we rode
across the drawbridge, I noted the
color
of the water and drew Holmes's attention to it.

"Twenty feet deep or more,"
he commented. "No
wading
pond like the moat at Birlstone, which you recall, old friend. I
note the presence of finny inhabitants.
I
would not be surprised if a man so preoccupied with
privacy
as Basil Selkirk, has not stocked his first line of
defense
with piranha. But no, it's doubtful that such a
tropical
fish could live in our latitude."

We were now passing through the
walls, which I esti
mated
to be ten feet thick, and Holmes drew our car
riage
to a halt before the stone stairs leading upward to
the
massive doors of the medieval establishment.

Basil Selkirk might well cherish
his privacy but he
was
well-attended in his seclusion. Two dark-haired
grooms
were there to attend the horse, which they led
away
as soon as Holmes and I had alighted. A thin,
fair-haired
man with pale and delicate features ap
peared
at the main door and, greeting us both by name,
ushered
us into the massive pile of masonry.

As we followed our guide from room
to room, I felt like I was in Buckingham or the British Museum. That
we strode over priceless Persian carpets past rare furni
ture
and walls filled with masterful paintings I had no
doubt,
but there was not time to inspect individual
pieces
and my mind's eye recorded a kaleidoscope of matchless works. As we
were led down a long hallway,
its
floorboards polished like a mirror, there was the
sound
of a door opening and a craggy face viewed us.
Mounted
on a heavily built, muscled body, it seemed
familiar.
A gentle pressure of Holmes's fingers upon my
arm
cautioned me and I did not take a second look at
the
silent observer. It was Sam Merton, the heavyweight fighter, and I
puzzled at his presence until it occurred to
me
that his function was that of a bodyguard. Probably
not
the only one, for Selkirk might well have an army in his huge and
ancient keep.