My exclamation was lost amidst the chorus of voices evincing surprise and disbelief at Holmes’s request, which continued until Her Grace nodded once.
“Very well, Mr Holmes.” She quelled Denbeigh’s vehement objections with a glance.
Jones entered the drawing room first, while a constable remained stationed by the door. Holmes quickly ushered in Her Grace, Denbeigh, and Sheppington, followed by Carolus. When Jones questioned the latter’s appearance, Holmes raised his hand.
“In the absence of Count von Kratzov,” Holmes said, “I have requested that his private secretary attend us, so that he may correct any errors I might make regarding the details of the display.”
“Get on with it, Mr Holmes,” Jones grumbled.
I have always maintained that Holmes, despite his protestations to the contrary, is a consummate showman. To set the stage, he lowered the light until the room was cloaked in shadows. Then he positioned Her Grace in the centre of the room by the overturned table and asked Carolus to take the count’s place opposite her.
“Play-acting!” muttered Jones, but he did not object further.
“Upon your entry into the room, your attention was immediately caught by the sight of those magnificent emeralds,” Holmes said, addressing Her Grace. “As you admired them, the count stood by your side. His remarks became more personal and intrusive. When he pressed close, becoming increasingly familiar, you struck out at him and withdrew to the window.”
The colour drained from her face, and I hurried to her side. She waved me away.
“Continue,” she said, her voice firm.
Holmes lifted one brow. “Before he could pursue you, the lights were extinguished and there was a sudden commotion: the sounds of a struggle and breaking glass, the grunts of the combatants. In the faint illumination from the window, you watched as indistinct shapes wreaked havoc in the room.”
Her hand crept to her throat and she nodded, her eyes dark with the memory.
“I recall it all now,” she whispered. “A man stumbled toward me. It was the count, his face streaming with blood, his hands reaching…” She shuddered. “He struck me on the temple, a blow that sent me reeling. I fended him off, and he moved away with a cry, but my head swam and I staggered, grasping at the curtains for support.” She looked at Holmes, her brows drawn together in bewilderment. “I do not remember more.”
“That is hardly surprising,” I said, stepping to her side. “Holmes, I really—”
“No, Doctor,” she interrupted. Her voice trembled. “I must know what happened. Mr Holmes, can you tell me who attacked the count, and how did he enter and leave a locked room?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” By some trick of the light, Holmes’s eyes shone like a cat’s. “I shall answer the latter first.” He strode to the far wall and ran his long fingers across the moulding.
“Mr Holmes,” began Jones. “What are you—?”
His question died upon his lips as, with a soft creak, a portion of the wall swung open. A secret panel! I was scarcely able to believe my eyes. Beyond the opening, I could make out the small niche that Holmes and I had explored earlier.
“Good God!” cried Denbeigh. Sheppington bit back a ripe oath.
“Capital, Holmes! A palpable fact!” Jones smiled and tugged on the lapels of his coat. “I asked for facts, and you have provided me with a corker!”
“Mr Holmes, you have exceeded my expectations,” Her Grace said, sounding a trifle breathless. “How did you ever discover this?”
Holmes explained his discovery of the crushed glass. “The traces we found were of the same variety used in the jewels’s display case, and the trail led to an alcove in the servants’s hall that is visible through the door.”
“In addition,” he continued, “the thief did not retrace his steps, as the single set of tracks clearly showed. Therefore, it was clear that the thief entered the servants’s hall at that location, directly from this chamber.”
“So the thief must still have traces of glass in his boots,” I said.
“Exactly, Watson.” Holmes pointed to the area of powdered glass on the floor beside the hearth. “The thief trod in the glass there, and when he exited, he left a trail—Constable! Stop that man!” Holmes cried.
Denbeigh started.
Confused, I glanced about the chamber.
Carolus struggled in the grasp of the burly constable, shouting what sounded like pleas in a foreign language, his face pale with terror. He must have surreptitiously edged toward the door as Holmes outlined the evidence.
“If you examine the soles of his shoes,” Holmes said to Jones, “you will discover traces of glass embedded in the leather—the same glass as that of the smashed jewel case.”
“And the emeralds,” Jones said triumphantly. “He must have taken them after he attacked his master.”
Carolus ceased his struggles and turned to Holmes. “Mr Holmes, you must believe me! I never meant to harm anyone. When my master and Her Grace entered, I hid in the shadows, but I could not stand by and watch the count molest her.”
She shuddered once, then breathed deeply, lifting her chin. I could not but admire her strength.
“Why are you listening to this blackguard, Mr Holmes!” Sheppington pushed his way past his uncle and glared at Carolus. “He has deceived us all.”
“I very much doubt that he is the only person in this room who is not speaking the truth,” replied Holmes with a cold look at the young man. He addressed Carolus again. “But what of the emeralds?”
“I do not have them!” he asserted.
“Then who does?” Holmes asked, his voice implacable.
“I do not know his name, and I never saw his face.” Carolus bowed his head. “He came to me, and threatened to reveal…” His throat worked as he swallowed.
“It is not uncommon for opium addicts to be blackmailed,” said Holmes.
Carolus stared at him. “How did you—?”
Holmes waved negligently. “The characteristic sallow complexion, the wide pupil, a trace of the distinct odour… Your vice was obvious to me the moment we met.”
“I see,” Carolus whispered. “He knew of the secret panel. He instructed me to ensure that the emeralds were displayed in this room and to steal them tonight. After doing so, I was to leave them wrapped in a handkerchief behind a vase in the receiving room. When I checked after arranging for the count to be carried to his chambers, they were not there. I know nothing more!”
“All this sounds extremely dubious to me,” Jones grunted. “Mr Holmes, do you believe this ruffian?”
“I do indeed.” Holmes surveyed the room. He reached into his pocket and then lifted
