The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Volume II - By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle & Kyle Freeman Page 0,358

doubt.”

“Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon it?”

“You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you.”

“You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the actual thieves.”

“When you have caught them.”

“Exactly. But the question is—how shall we proceed against the receiver?”

“Is this not rather premature?”

“It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard as final evidence against the receiver?”

“The actual possession of the stone.”

“You would arrest him upon that?”

“Most undoubtedly.”

Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watson could remember.

“In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity of advising your arrest.”

Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks.

“You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of official life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir, engaged upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your powers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, to wish you good-evening.”

Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer and the door.

“One moment, sir,” said he. “To actually go off with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious offence than to be found in temporary possession of it.”

“Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass.”

“Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Come—come, do what I ask.”

An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.

“What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?”

“Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad!” cried Holmes. “My old friend here will tell you that I have an impish habit of practical joking. Also that I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty—the very great liberty, I admit—of putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our interview.”

The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.

“Sir, I am bewildered. But—yes—it is indeed the Mazarin stone. We are greatly your debtors, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humour may, as you admit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkably untimely, but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made upon your amazing professional powers. But how—”

“The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, Lord Cantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result in the exalted circle to which you return will be some small atonement for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his Lordship out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner for two as soon as possible.”

THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES

I don’t think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes opened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I associate with The Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes for some days and had no idea of the new channel into which his activities had been directed. He was in a chatty mood that morning, however, and had just settled me into the well-worn low armchair on one side of the fire, while he had curled down with his pipe in his mouth upon the opposite chair, when our visitor arrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it would give a clearer impression of what occurred.

The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the room. He would have been a comic figure if he had not been terrific, for he was dressed in a very loud gray check suit with a flowing salmon-coloured tie. His broad face and flattened nose were thrust forward, as his sullen dark eyes, with a smouldering gleam of malice in them, turned from one of us to the other.

“Which of you gen‘l’men is Masser Holmes?” he asked.

Holmes raised his pipe with a languid smile.

“Oh! it’s you, is it?” said our visitor, coming with an unpleasant, stealthy step round the angle of the table. “See here, Masser Holmes, you keep your hands out of other folks’ business. Leave folks to manage their own affairs. Got that,