turned to Holmes.
“Well, Holmes, the count has certainly established a secure location for the stones. I cannot see how anyone could steal them.”
“I wish that were the case.” He glanced at me, then clasped his hands behind his back and turned to contemplate the dancing couples moving about the floor. “I have identified five possible methods for surreptitiously removing one or more of the emeralds from their case and then from the room. I am certain, were I to exert myself, I could add half-a-dozen more.”
“Surely you jest!” I stared at Holmes in surprise. “The door is locked, the windows are closed and barred, and a guard is stationed outside. What more could be done?”
“What more, indeed.” A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “If all my adversaries were as straightforward as you, I would have no fears at all about the fate of the von Kratzov emeralds.”
His words stung. “If my contributions are so useless, I wonder that you include me in your investigations at all.” I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman and drank rather more deeply than usual.
“Watson!” Holmes turned to me, his brows drawn together, yet not in a scowl. “I beg your pardon, my dear fellow. My words were ill chosen. Do not ask me, however, to apologise for the sentiment. Your mind acts as a touchstone to that which is pure and good; although agile, it lacks the sordid depths and devious paths of the criminal’s mental processes.”
Somewhat comforted, I took another sip of the count’s excellent champagne.
“What would you have me do this evening?” I asked.
“Will you assume responsibility for following Her Grace? I shall concern myself with observing Denbeigh and Sheppington.”
“With pleasure. But do you think it possible that she could steal one or more of the emeralds and elude detection?”
“That, of course, is the crux of the matter, isn’t it?” With an enigmatic smile, Holmes disappeared into the crowd.
A few moments later, Her Grace was announced, along with her son and grandson. I could see no sign of Holmes, yet I had no doubt he knew the whereabouts of every individual in the room.
Mindful of my charge, I peered at the dowager duchess and her party over the rim of my champagne flute. Resplendent in diamonds and sapphires, Her Grace displayed an engaging vivacity. She smiled at the count’s attentions, which were so marked as to be offensively Continental; indeed he stood so close that he actually trod upon her skirts.
With a thunderous expression, Sheppington clenched his hands into fists, but a word from Denbeigh stilled him. Drawing the young man away with a firm hand upon his shoulder, Denbeigh led him toward the supper room.
Her Grace continued to smile as the count gestured and spoke, yet her gaze appeared to follow their retreating forms. It was only upon the announcement of the arrival of another guest that the count bowed and turned away, leaving the duchess alone.
I stepped forward and, catching her eye, bowed.
She approached and extended her hand. “So here you are, Doctor.”
I raised her hand to my lips and then, somewhat reluctantly I confess, released it.
Leaning close, she lowered her voice. “I assume Mr Holmes is also here?”
“He is, Your Grace.”
She nodded in abstraction. A young guardsman inadvertently jostled her, and after politely receiving his incoherent apology, she drew a deep breath and took my arm in a firm clasp.
“Let us remove ourselves from the throng,” she said. I led her to a quiet corner by a heavily curtained window, and she continued: “You mentioned that we had met before at the Smythe-Parkinsons’.”
“Yes, several years ago. At a fancy dress ball.” I smiled at the memory of that carefree country weekend.
“What were you wearing?”
“I went as Pierrot. Not very original, I am afraid,” I said, my face warming. A more elaborate costume had been beyond my means.
“I am certain you looked most handsome.” The duchess tilted her head inquiringly. “And do you remember what I wore?”
“Of course. An Elizabethan-inspired dress in blue,” I replied promptly. “I believe it was velvet. You were enchanting.”
Indeed, she had outshone women half her age. No one attending the ball that night could have failed to admire her verve and beauty. Even now, so many years later, I picture her clearly.
“Ah, yes. That costume did suit me rather well, did it not?” She smiled and pressed my arm. “I am flattered you remembered me.”
“You were impossible to forget.”
“Doctor, you missed your true calling,” she said with a laugh. “You are quite the diplomat.”
At that moment, the count appeared before us, flanked by the dowager duchess’s son and grandson. I could not help but see the trio as examples of the worst traits of modern man: Count von Kratzov, coarse beneath his veneer of urbanity; Lord Maurice, colourless and cowed, living his life in a perpetual state of nervous exhaustion; and Viscount Sheppington, whose youthful attractiveness hid, by many accounts, a dissolute character.
“Doctor Watson!” Denbeigh appeared startled. “I did not expect to see you here. Is Mr Holmes also in attendance?”
“Yes, he’s about,” I said. “We were pleased to accept Count von Kratzov’s invitation.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” said the count before turning to the dowager duchess. “Your Grace, I would be honoured if you would give me the next dance.”
She sighed, the exhalation so soft I am certain I alone heard it. With a final squeeze, she released my arm and turned to the men.
“Thank you, Count von Kratzov. However, I am a trifle fatigued. Might I prevail upon you to show me those magnificent emeralds instead?”
For a moment the tableau stilled, as if each player were frozen in time. Even the music paused, and during that short-lived quiet, I heard a soft, sharp inhalation, although I could not tell from whom it issued. Then a woman’s shrill laugh rang through the room, and the silence ended as suddenly as it had begun, movement and sound resuming.
The count’s expression briefly darkened, then his scowl disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“But of course, dear lady,” he said, bowing and offering his arm.
The dowager duchess hesitated only a heartbeat before resting her gloved hand upon his. She glanced at me over her shoulder, and I do not believe I mistook the plea in her gaze.
“Doctor, you will join us, won’t you?”
“It would be my very great pleasure, Your Grace.”
Von Kratzov escorted her across the room. Denbeigh and I followed in their wake, as cygnets paddle behind a swan. The four of us had gained the receiving room,
