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acdholmesfestTitle: The Case of the Purloined Pearls
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sevs_girl72
Author:tripleransom
Rating: PG for canon-level violence
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade
Warnings: None. Your grandmamma would love it.
Beta: My DH was good enough to help out, even though he thought the whole idea was a little daft. NB: we're both Americans, so I can only hope there are no obvious howlers.
Disclaimer: Public domain, baby! Or maybe not. In any case, no profit is made
Word Count: 4,250
Summary: Lestrade writes his sister a letter detailing a bizarre case he works on shortly after Holmes's return to London.
The Case of the Purloined Pearls
My Dear Sister,
I take pen in hand to write you, in hopes that this letter finds you in better spirits with the coming of Spring and the resolution of that low fever and cough that so plagued you during the Winter months.
Perhaps now that you are out of mourning, you can be persuaded to come to London to visit you dear old brother. My lodgings are small, but comfortable and not far from those of my colleague, Mr Tobias Gregson. Mrs Gregson promises to introduce you to her very amiable circle of friends, so you will not lack for congenial company during your stay here.
I know you must be lonely in Putney, although I am sure you keep busy. But surely, it would do you good to have a change of scene, despite the fact that the air in London is not so good as in the country.
I suppose that by now, Sister, you have heard by now the news that all of London is ringing with. Mr Sherlock Holmes is returned from his seeming death at the Reichenbach Falls! I had, of course, no foreknowledge of this event. In fact, briefly, I was inclined to regard the telegram from him requesting my presence the following night as a joke. However, upon reflection, I realized that it was written in Mr Holmes's authentic style and so decided to treat it as Gospel. It was fortunate that I did so, for it led me to solve a heinous crime and apprehend the notorious criminal Colonel Sebastian Moran. And quite a feather in my cap it was, I can tell you.
The streets of London will surely be the safer for Mr Holmes's return. Despite the fact that he is an amateur, he has earned the respect of the entire force and my highest personal regard as well.
His colleague, Dr Watson, is quite transformed by the news. You will remember my letter telling you of the Doctor's sad bereavement last Winter. He had been a changed man after his return from the Continent, believing (with the rest of us) that Mr Holmes had been killed in Switzerland. When Mrs Watson went as well, I almost feared for the Doctor's life, so despondent did he seem. Although I spent what time I could in his company, a game of billiards and a shared pint can only go so far in relieving a man's loneliness.
Of course, as soon as he returned, Mr Holmes wasted no time in dragging the Doctor off on one adventure after another. Between ourselves, the late Mrs Watson must have been a candidate for sainthood to put up with Mr Holmes's demands on the Doctor's time as she did.
All of which brings me to the subject of this letter. I know how you always love to hear such tales of my adventures as I can recount to you, so here is the latest one:
Mr Holmes bounded into my office several days ago with much of his old breeziness. "Come, Lestrade," he said. "I know you are bound for Lincolnshire to-night to be in residence at the house party Lady Favisham is giving to celebrate the engagement of her daughter to Philip Dalton, the American she met on the ship returning from the States. Her mother is not in favour of the match, but since Henrietta Favisham is of age and has her own income, there is nothing she can say without causing an open breach. Lady Favisham has had her famous pearls re-set especially for the occasion and she seems to mistrust some of her daughter's fiancé's friends so much that she has specifically requested that I should come down to safeguard the pearls. Doctor Watson and I are going down today and we can pool our knowledge when you arrive."
There is no gainsaying Mr Holmes when he is in that sort of humour and, truthfully, I was glad enough to hear that he would be there. There is no denying that he has a gift for ferreting out the detail of cases such as these.
I knew that the house-party, which would last for several days, was to have a medieval theme, with the guests and staff alike dressed in costume, but even so, upon my arrival at Favisham Castle, I was unprepared for the scope of it all. All the servants, except for the butler were dressed as serving men and wenches. There was an orchestra (also in costume) playing what I supposed were medieval tunes and there was a whole boar turning on a spit, preparing for the feast to come in the evening. As for the guests, there were courtiers aplenty, half-a-dozen Robin Hoods, and too many Maid Marions to count. There were pointed hats and gauzy veils everywhere you looked.
Several gentlemen were clanking about in suits of chain mail. Lady Favisham herself was seated on a throne, looking disapproving as Eleanor of Aquitaine, (as the Doctor whispered in my ear) the famous pearls very much in evidence. Lady Henrietta made a rather daring Guinevere while her American fiancé was Lancelot. I identified him readily enough: A red-cross knight forever kneeled/To a lady on his shield, as I'm sure you remember from the days when we read Tennyson together. Many of the guests were masked, which I knew would seriously hamper our investigation. Seeing this, I was more than ever grateful for Mr Holmes's presence.
To complicate matters even more, there was a large contingent of Americans, friends of Lady Henrietta's fiancé. I could see that there would be no lack of suspects
Naturally, Mr Holmes had managed to arrange things so that he was not wearing a costume, appearing in evening dress instead. Equally naturally, he would not hear of MY not participating in the "fun" as he called it. "Tut, man," he said to me, "it won't do at all for you not to dress up.
You'll – pardon me, Lestrade, but you'll never do as one of the guests," he said, with just the hint of a smirk, "so I've arranged for you to be one of the entertainers. Wamba, the Jester, should just suit, I think."
So there I was got up in a Fool's outfit – parti-colored hose and bells all over, including my cap. I couldn't move without jangling, but at least, I don't suppose even one of my own men would have recognized me in that get-up. The Doctor, with his usual good sense, had commandeered a plain brown friar's outfit. "Tuck?" I asked him.
"Heavens, Lestrade," he protested, stifling a grin at my attire, "I hope I haven't that much girth. I'll settle for just being an anonymous wandering friar."
"Won't you rather stand out without a costume?" I asked Mr Holmes.
"That is my intention," he explained, with a raised eyebrow, "I want to be conspicuous, to ensure that everyone knows how I'm dressed. Later, I can disappear and re-emerge in a costume, without it being remarked upon."
"Besides," I thought sourly, "that means you don't have to look like a fugitive from a Punch-and-Judy show all evening." But I kept that thought to myself.
As the evening progressed and the torches were lit, the festivities became wilder and wilder. The orchestra struck up what I supposed were medieval dance tunes on what I supposed were medieval instruments, although they sounded like waltzes and gavottes to me.
Couples were dancing, a boar's head was brought out on to the central table on the lawn where a veritable feast was laid out, and mead (or something like it) was flowing freely. Lady Favisham, clearly disapproving of the festivities, detached herself from the melee as much as possible, which made it easier for me to keep a discreet eye on her. As Mr Holmes had disappeared early on, I assumed he had changed into a costume and despaired of spotting him again.
Then, Lady Favisham, protesting, was drawn into the dancing by her prospective son-in-law. I stiffened and tugged at the Doctor's sleeve. This looked like a prime opportunity for the pearls to be abstracted and I had had my suspicions of the Americans all along. We moved through the crowd after them, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping sight of them through the flickering torches,\ toward the edge of the darkness, when suddenly, I was struck a blow on the head from behind and the lights went out for me completely.
When I regained my senses and tried to move, I realized that I was tied to a heavy chair, gagged, too; and bound so tightly I could hardly move. My hands and feet were numb, which was worrisome, and I had the Devil of a headache, but I seemed otherwise unharmed. I cast my eyes around and saw that the Doctor was there too, in a similar situation. There was a trickle of blood down the side of his face, but he was awake. Some of the worry left his eyes when he saw me stirring.
Looking around as best I could, I saw that we were in a circular room, somewhere in the old keep, by the looks of it, dusty and unused looking, with a heavy oak door and high narrow slits for windows. There was no sign of whoever had done this to us. I wondered how long we had been there and if anyone would miss us anytime soon. The only bright spot was that Mr Holmes was not there.
I don't know how much longer after that it was – I had quite lost track of the time – when I heard the sound of a lute and a familiar voice faintly through the window-slit. I've heard Mr Holmes humming along with his violin many times when I got up the stairs to his rooms without him noticing, and I'd have known that light baritone of his anywhere.
Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'on moment
Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie…
I did my best to get out a response, to let him know we were here, but the gag in my mouth was too tight and all I could manage was a sort of strangled croak. As he continued his song without a break, I could tell he hadn't heard me. The Doctor made a sort of urgent noise through his gag and directed his gaze down towards my feet. There next to them were a string of those blasted bells from my costume, lying just out of reach. I wriggled and stretched desperately and finally managed to kick them - hard - and they gave a loud jangle. The song outside stopped and then I heard Mr Holmes' voice say cautiously, "Lestrade? Is that you?"
I kicked the bells again by way of reply and when he said, "hold on, I can't get across the moat from here – you're too high up. I'm coming round inside; I'll find you." I felt like cheering. I looked round at the Doctor and I could tell he was smiling too, by the way his eyes crinkled above the gag.
It wasn't long, although it seemed like forever, until I heard Mr Holmes' low voice saying that the door was locked and then a cautious scratching noise that told me he was working on it with his lock-picks. Soon enough, he charged into the room. He had changed into a costume and as he had predicted, most likely no one gave him a second glance. He should have looked ridiculous; as ridiculous as I knew I did, in his velvet doublet and hose with a flat velvet cap and a rakish ostrich feather in it, but instead he looked perfectly natural, even elegant. He even still had his lute with him. Setting it carefully in the corner, he strode across the room to where the Doctor was tied up and drawing a poignard from his belt, he had the gag cut in a moment. "Holmes! Thank God you're here," the Doctor croaked out as Mr Holmes set to work on his bonds.
A moment later, there was a step at the door and who should appear but the American Mr Addams, who Mr Holmes had told me was the especial friend of Philip Dalton. With him were two other ruffians – no doubt the ones responsible for our current predicament.
A gun was in Addams' hand. "Very well done, Mr Holmes,'" he sneered. "Now, step away from the Doctor with your hands up."
Mr Holmes tensed and I saw him hesitate but then Addams said, "None of your tricks, Holmes. You might be able to elude me, but your friends won't be so agile, tied up. I swear I'll shoot the Doctor in that famous bad leg of his – or is it his shoulder? - if you don't raise your hands and stand clear."
Mr Holmes's face went pale and he rose slowly to his feet with his hands up. "Just make sure the Doctor is still tied, Higgens," Addams said. "And then take care of Mr Holmes."
The taller of the two ruffians quickly checked the Doctors' bonds, while Addams continued to cover Mr Holmes, then stepped up behind him and taking a life preserver out of his pocket, hit him sharply on the head. As Mr Holmes fell to the floor without a sound. the other ruffian said "Jesus, Bill, you've killed him," but Addams only smiled coldly and said, "so much the better."
The look of horror on the Doctor's face was the same as mine. To have had Mr Holmes back for such a short time and then to lose him again so quickly…! It was simply too much to be borne.
Turning to us, as the Doctor strained at his bonds like a wild man, Addams taunted, "That was easier than I thought it would be. Good old American know-how does the trick. So much for the mighty Sherlock Holmes! Now, gentlemen, we must be off with Lady Favisham's pearls. I imagine that if you're lucky, someone will find you within the next few days, but we'll be long gone by then. We have just time to catch our train."
With that parting sally, he closed the door and they were gone. I heard the bolt shoot home on the other side and then silence fell again.
As we sat there in horror at what had just happened, the Doctor had to make several tries at it before he could manage to speak, but finally he managed to whisper, "I've got a small saw from Holmes's picklock set. Holmes slipped it up my sleeve just before he stood up. I think I can use it to cut my bonds."
It took a little while; his hands must have been numb too, but it wasn't too long before he had the ropes cut and was freeing himself. If he flung himself on his knees before Mr Holmes before loosing me, I can't blame him for that. He pressed two fingers to the angle of Mr Holmes's jaw, face intent, and then said with a sigh of relief, "he's just knocked out. Probably concussed, but I don't feel a fracture." He smoothed Mr Holmes's' hair back, feeling for further injuries, then he got up with a wince and cut me loose before crouching down to tend to Mr. Holmes again.
When I got the feeling back in my legs, I tried the door, only to find that as I had expected, it was immoveable. I turned back from a futile survey of the room, just in time to see Mr Holmes's eyes flutter open. He tried to sit up, but the Doctor pressed him back. "Don't even think about it, old man. Your cap took some of the force of the blow, but you've still had quite a knock."
Mr Holmes subsided back with a groan, closing his eyes again. I've been coshed myself and I know how sick and dizzy it makes you feel. I didn't envy him. "They're headed for the continent on the boat train," he said. "We have to get out of here."
"They bolted the door," I pointed out. "We're locked in."
He groaned. "It could be morning – or longer – before they find us in this deserted part of the castle," he said. Then he suddenly stiffened. "Lestrade! Can you fit through the window-slit? It's only about a twenty-foot drop to the moat, but you'll have to turn and go in feet-first. The water's only five and a half feet deep at this end."
A twenty-foot drop in the pitch-black darkness into the murky waters of the moat didn't seem at all attractive, but it also seemed as if it might be the only way out and as I looked at the narrow window, it was obvious that the Doctor's shoulders were far too broad to get through. Mr Holmes might have been able to do it – just – but he was in no shape to try. That meant it was up to me. "I'll do it" I said. "Doctor, can I stand on your shoulders?"
"Here," he said, getting up again, "Let's get a chair and you can have my habit to let yourself down with. It's a good thing I've my combinations on underneath! Holmes, you stay there." he commanded sternly as Mr Holmes started to lever himself up.
Between the two of us, we managed to wrestle one of the heavy chairs over underneath the window, so the Doctor could stand on it and boost me up, and then hold one end of his robes, while I wriggled myself out. It was a tricky thing to turn around so that I could let myself down feet first, but with his robe to steady me, I managed it. It was black as pitch out, with only a little glow and faint sounds of merriment away on the other side of the castle to show that the party was still in full swing. I won't say I didn't have second thoughts, but there was nothing else to do, so I hung on for a moment with a little prayer and then dropped into the darkness.
The water was cold enough to make me gasp when I hit, so naturally I gulped a mouthful of water which made me cough and choke, but it was nowhere near as rank as I had feared; I've had an impromptu swim in the Thames before and this was not nearly so bad. I could just touch bottom, so I half-swam and half-waded to the edge where I could pull myself up and within minutes, I had managed to hoist myself out. I paused only long enough to yank off the remaining bells from my costume and then I was pelting across the lawn at top speed in the direction of the lights.
I squelched up to the butler who looked down at me from his considerable height and sneered at me when I demanded a telegraph form. "And just who might you be to be giving orders?" he enquired, in his best who-d'you-think-you-are tone.
I clenched my jaw (to keep my teeth from chattering, but he didn't need to know that) and told in my best copper's voice that, never mind what I looked like, I was Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard and that if he didn't do as I said and then send a lad to the village on the double with a telegram to apprehend Addams and company at Dover he was going to find himself so far up queer street that he would never get back. And furthermore that I would have him up on charges of obstructing justice before he could say 'knife'. That got his attention, all right, and he not only sent the lad off at a run as soon as I had got my message down, he sent for a dressing gown to cover my wet things – a bit too large but never mind that, it was dry and that's all I cared about.
Of course, he knew the house well and when I described as best I could where we had been held, he said, "that would be in the old keep," and set off immediately with a party of lads to find the Doctor and Mr Holmes.
It was morning before I saw Mr Holmes and the Doctor again. "How are you feeling?" I inquired, the next morning, poking my head into the room. I hadn't had any sleep to speak of, but I had had breakfast, I was wearing my own clothes again – warm, dry and blessedly free of bells – and was feeling rather more chipper than might be expected. Mr Holmes was in bed, still very white in the face (even more than usual) with the Doctor's hand on his wrist. "I thought you'd like to know," I said. "I got a telegram off and my men have got Addams and the pearls."
Mr Holmes pale face took on a bit more colour. He cleared his throat. "Very good, Lestrade," he said, tentatively, while the Doctor added "Oh, well done!"
"However, about those pearls…" Mr Holmes's voice trailed off. "If you would kindly fetch my lute," motioning to where the blasted thing was propped up in the corner. "Now, reach inside the belly," he said, when I brought it over. I did so and felt a packet stuck to the side. I worked it loose and to my astonishment, found that I was holding a lustrous string of pearls.
"I - ah - wouldn't worry too much about the ones Addams had," Mr Holmes said. 'They're reproductions, as are the ones the Lady Favisham is currently wearing. Addams took advantage of his position as the friend of Lady Henrietta's fiancé to steal the real ones and substitute his own fakes. However, I had already abstracted the real ones from her jewel-case earlier in the evening and replaced them with my own set, taking the real ones for safe-keeping. And since my character had a lute as part of his costume, that naturally suggested itself as a place of concealment."
"Good Lord! You don't mean you had them all along?" I said. "Good job Addams didn't realise. You might have told me earlier!"
"There didn't seem to be any good time," he said, as much on the defensive as Mr Holmes ever gets.
"Just how are you planning to replace them?" asked the Doctor, hiding a smile.
"Oh, that's merely an elementary detail,' replied Mr Holmes airily, recovering his poise. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat again and said, "that really was well-done, you know, Lestrade. Going out of the window into the moat in the dark like that. I know it wasn't easy."
"I'd say we owe you our lives," the Doctor chimed in, nudging Mr Holmes with his elbow."
"\Hem," Mr Holmes cleared his throat. "Yes. You saved the day, as it were. Neither of us could have gone out that window the way you did." He raised himself gingerly up in the bed and extended his hand for me to shake. "Well-done, Lestrade," he said. "Thank you."
We all shared a moment of silence. I don't think any of us knew exactly where to look. Then, by way of a change of subject, I asked Mr Holmes, "Just who were you playing at, anyway? Alan-A-Dale?"
"The minstrel Blondel" he replied solemnly. "He sang under the windows of all the castles in Normandy until..."
"Until he found the one where his master, Richard the Lion-Heart, was imprisoned." I finished, restraining the impulse to roll my eyes. "I did go to school, Mr Holmes." He had the grace to look just slightly abashed at this and I saw in the corner of my eye the Doctor doing his best to hide a grin.
"Well, I'll be off, then." I said after another pause. I need to see if there's any word on Addams's men.
To finish off my tale, we caught up with them later that day. Mr. Holmes managed to spirit Lady Favisham's pearls back into her jewel-box with no one the wiser and I believe he had a few words with Philip Dalton about his choice of friends. Luckily, Mr Holmes himself was none the worse for wear, for all the fright he had given us.
So then, there's the end to another thrilling tale of police work, and a neat job it was, too. I know you'll be reciting this story to your friends when next they come to sit with you. I don't mind a bit, but let me ask one thing of you this time; don't make your old brother out to be some sort of hero for going out that window. After all, all I did was my job.
I remain as always,
Your affectionate brother,
G -
Recipient:
sevs_girl72Author:
tripleransomRating: PG for canon-level violence
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade
Warnings: None. Your grandmamma would love it.
Beta: My DH was good enough to help out, even though he thought the whole idea was a little daft. NB: we're both Americans, so I can only hope there are no obvious howlers.
Disclaimer: Public domain, baby! Or maybe not. In any case, no profit is made
Word Count: 4,250
Summary: Lestrade writes his sister a letter detailing a bizarre case he works on shortly after Holmes's return to London.
The Case of the Purloined Pearls
My Dear Sister,
I take pen in hand to write you, in hopes that this letter finds you in better spirits with the coming of Spring and the resolution of that low fever and cough that so plagued you during the Winter months.
Perhaps now that you are out of mourning, you can be persuaded to come to London to visit you dear old brother. My lodgings are small, but comfortable and not far from those of my colleague, Mr Tobias Gregson. Mrs Gregson promises to introduce you to her very amiable circle of friends, so you will not lack for congenial company during your stay here.
I know you must be lonely in Putney, although I am sure you keep busy. But surely, it would do you good to have a change of scene, despite the fact that the air in London is not so good as in the country.
I suppose that by now, Sister, you have heard by now the news that all of London is ringing with. Mr Sherlock Holmes is returned from his seeming death at the Reichenbach Falls! I had, of course, no foreknowledge of this event. In fact, briefly, I was inclined to regard the telegram from him requesting my presence the following night as a joke. However, upon reflection, I realized that it was written in Mr Holmes's authentic style and so decided to treat it as Gospel. It was fortunate that I did so, for it led me to solve a heinous crime and apprehend the notorious criminal Colonel Sebastian Moran. And quite a feather in my cap it was, I can tell you.
The streets of London will surely be the safer for Mr Holmes's return. Despite the fact that he is an amateur, he has earned the respect of the entire force and my highest personal regard as well.
His colleague, Dr Watson, is quite transformed by the news. You will remember my letter telling you of the Doctor's sad bereavement last Winter. He had been a changed man after his return from the Continent, believing (with the rest of us) that Mr Holmes had been killed in Switzerland. When Mrs Watson went as well, I almost feared for the Doctor's life, so despondent did he seem. Although I spent what time I could in his company, a game of billiards and a shared pint can only go so far in relieving a man's loneliness.
Of course, as soon as he returned, Mr Holmes wasted no time in dragging the Doctor off on one adventure after another. Between ourselves, the late Mrs Watson must have been a candidate for sainthood to put up with Mr Holmes's demands on the Doctor's time as she did.
All of which brings me to the subject of this letter. I know how you always love to hear such tales of my adventures as I can recount to you, so here is the latest one:
Mr Holmes bounded into my office several days ago with much of his old breeziness. "Come, Lestrade," he said. "I know you are bound for Lincolnshire to-night to be in residence at the house party Lady Favisham is giving to celebrate the engagement of her daughter to Philip Dalton, the American she met on the ship returning from the States. Her mother is not in favour of the match, but since Henrietta Favisham is of age and has her own income, there is nothing she can say without causing an open breach. Lady Favisham has had her famous pearls re-set especially for the occasion and she seems to mistrust some of her daughter's fiancé's friends so much that she has specifically requested that I should come down to safeguard the pearls. Doctor Watson and I are going down today and we can pool our knowledge when you arrive."
There is no gainsaying Mr Holmes when he is in that sort of humour and, truthfully, I was glad enough to hear that he would be there. There is no denying that he has a gift for ferreting out the detail of cases such as these.
I knew that the house-party, which would last for several days, was to have a medieval theme, with the guests and staff alike dressed in costume, but even so, upon my arrival at Favisham Castle, I was unprepared for the scope of it all. All the servants, except for the butler were dressed as serving men and wenches. There was an orchestra (also in costume) playing what I supposed were medieval tunes and there was a whole boar turning on a spit, preparing for the feast to come in the evening. As for the guests, there were courtiers aplenty, half-a-dozen Robin Hoods, and too many Maid Marions to count. There were pointed hats and gauzy veils everywhere you looked.
Several gentlemen were clanking about in suits of chain mail. Lady Favisham herself was seated on a throne, looking disapproving as Eleanor of Aquitaine, (as the Doctor whispered in my ear) the famous pearls very much in evidence. Lady Henrietta made a rather daring Guinevere while her American fiancé was Lancelot. I identified him readily enough: A red-cross knight forever kneeled/To a lady on his shield, as I'm sure you remember from the days when we read Tennyson together. Many of the guests were masked, which I knew would seriously hamper our investigation. Seeing this, I was more than ever grateful for Mr Holmes's presence.
To complicate matters even more, there was a large contingent of Americans, friends of Lady Henrietta's fiancé. I could see that there would be no lack of suspects
Naturally, Mr Holmes had managed to arrange things so that he was not wearing a costume, appearing in evening dress instead. Equally naturally, he would not hear of MY not participating in the "fun" as he called it. "Tut, man," he said to me, "it won't do at all for you not to dress up.
You'll – pardon me, Lestrade, but you'll never do as one of the guests," he said, with just the hint of a smirk, "so I've arranged for you to be one of the entertainers. Wamba, the Jester, should just suit, I think."
So there I was got up in a Fool's outfit – parti-colored hose and bells all over, including my cap. I couldn't move without jangling, but at least, I don't suppose even one of my own men would have recognized me in that get-up. The Doctor, with his usual good sense, had commandeered a plain brown friar's outfit. "Tuck?" I asked him.
"Heavens, Lestrade," he protested, stifling a grin at my attire, "I hope I haven't that much girth. I'll settle for just being an anonymous wandering friar."
"Won't you rather stand out without a costume?" I asked Mr Holmes.
"That is my intention," he explained, with a raised eyebrow, "I want to be conspicuous, to ensure that everyone knows how I'm dressed. Later, I can disappear and re-emerge in a costume, without it being remarked upon."
"Besides," I thought sourly, "that means you don't have to look like a fugitive from a Punch-and-Judy show all evening." But I kept that thought to myself.
As the evening progressed and the torches were lit, the festivities became wilder and wilder. The orchestra struck up what I supposed were medieval dance tunes on what I supposed were medieval instruments, although they sounded like waltzes and gavottes to me.
Couples were dancing, a boar's head was brought out on to the central table on the lawn where a veritable feast was laid out, and mead (or something like it) was flowing freely. Lady Favisham, clearly disapproving of the festivities, detached herself from the melee as much as possible, which made it easier for me to keep a discreet eye on her. As Mr Holmes had disappeared early on, I assumed he had changed into a costume and despaired of spotting him again.
Then, Lady Favisham, protesting, was drawn into the dancing by her prospective son-in-law. I stiffened and tugged at the Doctor's sleeve. This looked like a prime opportunity for the pearls to be abstracted and I had had my suspicions of the Americans all along. We moved through the crowd after them, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping sight of them through the flickering torches,\ toward the edge of the darkness, when suddenly, I was struck a blow on the head from behind and the lights went out for me completely.
When I regained my senses and tried to move, I realized that I was tied to a heavy chair, gagged, too; and bound so tightly I could hardly move. My hands and feet were numb, which was worrisome, and I had the Devil of a headache, but I seemed otherwise unharmed. I cast my eyes around and saw that the Doctor was there too, in a similar situation. There was a trickle of blood down the side of his face, but he was awake. Some of the worry left his eyes when he saw me stirring.
Looking around as best I could, I saw that we were in a circular room, somewhere in the old keep, by the looks of it, dusty and unused looking, with a heavy oak door and high narrow slits for windows. There was no sign of whoever had done this to us. I wondered how long we had been there and if anyone would miss us anytime soon. The only bright spot was that Mr Holmes was not there.
I don't know how much longer after that it was – I had quite lost track of the time – when I heard the sound of a lute and a familiar voice faintly through the window-slit. I've heard Mr Holmes humming along with his violin many times when I got up the stairs to his rooms without him noticing, and I'd have known that light baritone of his anywhere.
Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'on moment
Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie…
I did my best to get out a response, to let him know we were here, but the gag in my mouth was too tight and all I could manage was a sort of strangled croak. As he continued his song without a break, I could tell he hadn't heard me. The Doctor made a sort of urgent noise through his gag and directed his gaze down towards my feet. There next to them were a string of those blasted bells from my costume, lying just out of reach. I wriggled and stretched desperately and finally managed to kick them - hard - and they gave a loud jangle. The song outside stopped and then I heard Mr Holmes' voice say cautiously, "Lestrade? Is that you?"
I kicked the bells again by way of reply and when he said, "hold on, I can't get across the moat from here – you're too high up. I'm coming round inside; I'll find you." I felt like cheering. I looked round at the Doctor and I could tell he was smiling too, by the way his eyes crinkled above the gag.
It wasn't long, although it seemed like forever, until I heard Mr Holmes' low voice saying that the door was locked and then a cautious scratching noise that told me he was working on it with his lock-picks. Soon enough, he charged into the room. He had changed into a costume and as he had predicted, most likely no one gave him a second glance. He should have looked ridiculous; as ridiculous as I knew I did, in his velvet doublet and hose with a flat velvet cap and a rakish ostrich feather in it, but instead he looked perfectly natural, even elegant. He even still had his lute with him. Setting it carefully in the corner, he strode across the room to where the Doctor was tied up and drawing a poignard from his belt, he had the gag cut in a moment. "Holmes! Thank God you're here," the Doctor croaked out as Mr Holmes set to work on his bonds.
A moment later, there was a step at the door and who should appear but the American Mr Addams, who Mr Holmes had told me was the especial friend of Philip Dalton. With him were two other ruffians – no doubt the ones responsible for our current predicament.
A gun was in Addams' hand. "Very well done, Mr Holmes,'" he sneered. "Now, step away from the Doctor with your hands up."
Mr Holmes tensed and I saw him hesitate but then Addams said, "None of your tricks, Holmes. You might be able to elude me, but your friends won't be so agile, tied up. I swear I'll shoot the Doctor in that famous bad leg of his – or is it his shoulder? - if you don't raise your hands and stand clear."
Mr Holmes's face went pale and he rose slowly to his feet with his hands up. "Just make sure the Doctor is still tied, Higgens," Addams said. "And then take care of Mr Holmes."
The taller of the two ruffians quickly checked the Doctors' bonds, while Addams continued to cover Mr Holmes, then stepped up behind him and taking a life preserver out of his pocket, hit him sharply on the head. As Mr Holmes fell to the floor without a sound. the other ruffian said "Jesus, Bill, you've killed him," but Addams only smiled coldly and said, "so much the better."
The look of horror on the Doctor's face was the same as mine. To have had Mr Holmes back for such a short time and then to lose him again so quickly…! It was simply too much to be borne.
Turning to us, as the Doctor strained at his bonds like a wild man, Addams taunted, "That was easier than I thought it would be. Good old American know-how does the trick. So much for the mighty Sherlock Holmes! Now, gentlemen, we must be off with Lady Favisham's pearls. I imagine that if you're lucky, someone will find you within the next few days, but we'll be long gone by then. We have just time to catch our train."
With that parting sally, he closed the door and they were gone. I heard the bolt shoot home on the other side and then silence fell again.
As we sat there in horror at what had just happened, the Doctor had to make several tries at it before he could manage to speak, but finally he managed to whisper, "I've got a small saw from Holmes's picklock set. Holmes slipped it up my sleeve just before he stood up. I think I can use it to cut my bonds."
It took a little while; his hands must have been numb too, but it wasn't too long before he had the ropes cut and was freeing himself. If he flung himself on his knees before Mr Holmes before loosing me, I can't blame him for that. He pressed two fingers to the angle of Mr Holmes's jaw, face intent, and then said with a sigh of relief, "he's just knocked out. Probably concussed, but I don't feel a fracture." He smoothed Mr Holmes's' hair back, feeling for further injuries, then he got up with a wince and cut me loose before crouching down to tend to Mr. Holmes again.
When I got the feeling back in my legs, I tried the door, only to find that as I had expected, it was immoveable. I turned back from a futile survey of the room, just in time to see Mr Holmes's eyes flutter open. He tried to sit up, but the Doctor pressed him back. "Don't even think about it, old man. Your cap took some of the force of the blow, but you've still had quite a knock."
Mr Holmes subsided back with a groan, closing his eyes again. I've been coshed myself and I know how sick and dizzy it makes you feel. I didn't envy him. "They're headed for the continent on the boat train," he said. "We have to get out of here."
"They bolted the door," I pointed out. "We're locked in."
He groaned. "It could be morning – or longer – before they find us in this deserted part of the castle," he said. Then he suddenly stiffened. "Lestrade! Can you fit through the window-slit? It's only about a twenty-foot drop to the moat, but you'll have to turn and go in feet-first. The water's only five and a half feet deep at this end."
A twenty-foot drop in the pitch-black darkness into the murky waters of the moat didn't seem at all attractive, but it also seemed as if it might be the only way out and as I looked at the narrow window, it was obvious that the Doctor's shoulders were far too broad to get through. Mr Holmes might have been able to do it – just – but he was in no shape to try. That meant it was up to me. "I'll do it" I said. "Doctor, can I stand on your shoulders?"
"Here," he said, getting up again, "Let's get a chair and you can have my habit to let yourself down with. It's a good thing I've my combinations on underneath! Holmes, you stay there." he commanded sternly as Mr Holmes started to lever himself up.
Between the two of us, we managed to wrestle one of the heavy chairs over underneath the window, so the Doctor could stand on it and boost me up, and then hold one end of his robes, while I wriggled myself out. It was a tricky thing to turn around so that I could let myself down feet first, but with his robe to steady me, I managed it. It was black as pitch out, with only a little glow and faint sounds of merriment away on the other side of the castle to show that the party was still in full swing. I won't say I didn't have second thoughts, but there was nothing else to do, so I hung on for a moment with a little prayer and then dropped into the darkness.
The water was cold enough to make me gasp when I hit, so naturally I gulped a mouthful of water which made me cough and choke, but it was nowhere near as rank as I had feared; I've had an impromptu swim in the Thames before and this was not nearly so bad. I could just touch bottom, so I half-swam and half-waded to the edge where I could pull myself up and within minutes, I had managed to hoist myself out. I paused only long enough to yank off the remaining bells from my costume and then I was pelting across the lawn at top speed in the direction of the lights.
I squelched up to the butler who looked down at me from his considerable height and sneered at me when I demanded a telegraph form. "And just who might you be to be giving orders?" he enquired, in his best who-d'you-think-you-are tone.
I clenched my jaw (to keep my teeth from chattering, but he didn't need to know that) and told in my best copper's voice that, never mind what I looked like, I was Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard and that if he didn't do as I said and then send a lad to the village on the double with a telegram to apprehend Addams and company at Dover he was going to find himself so far up queer street that he would never get back. And furthermore that I would have him up on charges of obstructing justice before he could say 'knife'. That got his attention, all right, and he not only sent the lad off at a run as soon as I had got my message down, he sent for a dressing gown to cover my wet things – a bit too large but never mind that, it was dry and that's all I cared about.
Of course, he knew the house well and when I described as best I could where we had been held, he said, "that would be in the old keep," and set off immediately with a party of lads to find the Doctor and Mr Holmes.
It was morning before I saw Mr Holmes and the Doctor again. "How are you feeling?" I inquired, the next morning, poking my head into the room. I hadn't had any sleep to speak of, but I had had breakfast, I was wearing my own clothes again – warm, dry and blessedly free of bells – and was feeling rather more chipper than might be expected. Mr Holmes was in bed, still very white in the face (even more than usual) with the Doctor's hand on his wrist. "I thought you'd like to know," I said. "I got a telegram off and my men have got Addams and the pearls."
Mr Holmes pale face took on a bit more colour. He cleared his throat. "Very good, Lestrade," he said, tentatively, while the Doctor added "Oh, well done!"
"However, about those pearls…" Mr Holmes's voice trailed off. "If you would kindly fetch my lute," motioning to where the blasted thing was propped up in the corner. "Now, reach inside the belly," he said, when I brought it over. I did so and felt a packet stuck to the side. I worked it loose and to my astonishment, found that I was holding a lustrous string of pearls.
"I - ah - wouldn't worry too much about the ones Addams had," Mr Holmes said. 'They're reproductions, as are the ones the Lady Favisham is currently wearing. Addams took advantage of his position as the friend of Lady Henrietta's fiancé to steal the real ones and substitute his own fakes. However, I had already abstracted the real ones from her jewel-case earlier in the evening and replaced them with my own set, taking the real ones for safe-keeping. And since my character had a lute as part of his costume, that naturally suggested itself as a place of concealment."
"Good Lord! You don't mean you had them all along?" I said. "Good job Addams didn't realise. You might have told me earlier!"
"There didn't seem to be any good time," he said, as much on the defensive as Mr Holmes ever gets.
"Just how are you planning to replace them?" asked the Doctor, hiding a smile.
"Oh, that's merely an elementary detail,' replied Mr Holmes airily, recovering his poise. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat again and said, "that really was well-done, you know, Lestrade. Going out of the window into the moat in the dark like that. I know it wasn't easy."
"I'd say we owe you our lives," the Doctor chimed in, nudging Mr Holmes with his elbow."
"\Hem," Mr Holmes cleared his throat. "Yes. You saved the day, as it were. Neither of us could have gone out that window the way you did." He raised himself gingerly up in the bed and extended his hand for me to shake. "Well-done, Lestrade," he said. "Thank you."
We all shared a moment of silence. I don't think any of us knew exactly where to look. Then, by way of a change of subject, I asked Mr Holmes, "Just who were you playing at, anyway? Alan-A-Dale?"
"The minstrel Blondel" he replied solemnly. "He sang under the windows of all the castles in Normandy until..."
"Until he found the one where his master, Richard the Lion-Heart, was imprisoned." I finished, restraining the impulse to roll my eyes. "I did go to school, Mr Holmes." He had the grace to look just slightly abashed at this and I saw in the corner of my eye the Doctor doing his best to hide a grin.
"Well, I'll be off, then." I said after another pause. I need to see if there's any word on Addams's men.
To finish off my tale, we caught up with them later that day. Mr. Holmes managed to spirit Lady Favisham's pearls back into her jewel-box with no one the wiser and I believe he had a few words with Philip Dalton about his choice of friends. Luckily, Mr Holmes himself was none the worse for wear, for all the fright he had given us.
So then, there's the end to another thrilling tale of police work, and a neat job it was, too. I know you'll be reciting this story to your friends when next they come to sit with you. I don't mind a bit, but let me ask one thing of you this time; don't make your old brother out to be some sort of hero for going out that window. After all, all I did was my job.
I remain as always,
Your affectionate brother,
G -
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