• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 619 0

of the letter is no ordinary sneaksman, but plays for large stakes and to whom, since time appears no object, the game is of more importance than the outcome? A dangerous opponent, Watson. Ten years ago – correct me if I err, Mr Mannering – the leader of the European power who now casts envious eyes on Britain’s prosperity, had not yet succeeded his father on the throne, and moreover his country had a great and wise Chancellor to guide it. Today, however, the son rules alone, and through jealousy, his relations with England are currently so bad that he would stop at nothing to mar the additional prestige that this summer will undoubtedly bring to Lady X and the British Empire.”

“I fear you are right, Mr Holmes,” Robert Mannering said heavily, “and that this affair will by no means be a straightforward financial transaction.”

“What then?” I asked, as no one spoke.

“There will be other bidders, Watson,” Holmes replied. “It remains to be seen whether we shall be permitted to be one of them.”

“But Sir George’s letter – ”

“The game, Watson, the game.”

Readers of my chronicles may recall the name which was now to be mentioned, and whose dramatic introduction to my friend I stated that I might some day recount. I am now able to do so, for Sir George said briskly: “All the more reason that the world must not know that you are involved, Mr Holmes. I have already taken the liberty of arranging for you to visit Dr Moore Agar of Harley Street who will issue instructions to you to surrender all your cases and take a complete rest, lest you suffer a breakdown of health. The newspapers will be informed of this. Dr Agar is well accustomed to such confidential work on our behalf.”

Holmes, who prided himself, despite his addiction to the notorious drug, on his strong constitution, reluctantly concurred.

In order to maintain the fiction we hailed a cab even for the short distance from Harley Street to our Baker Street rooms. No sooner had we entered than he flew to his index of biographies. After a mere ten minutes he exclaimed, “I have it. The chief player in our game, Watson.”

“Who is he, Holmes?”

“What man would play such a game for its own sake? I sought a woman. You may have wondered what I found informative about the handwriting. Why, nothing, save that its use told me that the writer did not fear discovery. It followed that we dealt with no common criminal but with someone well acquainted with the highest circles in the land and who gambled that the identity of the thief would be nothing compared with the need to recover the letter. It also follows that the thief is unlikely to be British with a social position to be maintained at all costs. The Baroness Pilski is most certainly our thief.” He brandished the heavy volume in the air. “A redoubtable lady, Watson, deserving of our respect. Her late husband fled to England after the failed uprising of the Poles in ‘sixty-three and, of an émigré family herself, she married him in ‘seventy-nine at the age of twenty-three. For some years a lady-in-waiting to Lady X, she resigned the position ten years ago and has since employed her skills to wreak damage to whom and where she chose. You may recall I crossed swords with the lady in the curious incident of the Limping Jarvy.”

“Cannot Lestrade arrest her?”

“Tut, tut, our friend will be prepared for such a move. It is the letter we seek, Watson. No, we must wait upon events.”

We did not have long to do so. Three days later, at breakfast, Holmes, deep in his study of The Times, startled me with a glad cry. “By Jove, I have it!” His long forefinger pointed to a notice in the personal column.

“The butler is a reptile who sleeps in the shadows until summoned by Zeus,” I read. “A cipher, Holmes?”

“I think not, Watson. Until summoned bears no hint of the cipher about it. The butler of course refers to our faithful retainer, Zeus the Thunderer to The Times, and the reptile – well, that is surely obvious.” He had sprung to his feet and seized a timetable from the shelves.

“The Reptile House of the Zoological Gardens.” I rose eagerly, ready