The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [24]
“I cannot understand it, Your Grace. Are you sure that you had it with you in the dining room?”
“Young man,” snapped the elderly duke, “do you accuse me of senility?”
The “young man”, who was about fifty years of age, blanched, and took a step backward before the old man’s baleful gaze.
“Not at all, Your Grace, not at all. Just tell me the facts again.”
“After finishing my luncheon, I went into the wash room. I washed my hands and then brushed my hair. It is my custom to do so after luncheon. I took my silver hairbrush from my leather case, which I always carry with me. I remember clearly that I returned it to the case. I left the case on the wash stand and went into the toilet. I came out, washed my hands and then realized that the case was no longer there.”
The head waiter was looking glum.
“I have already suggested to His Grace that the case might have been left in the dining room and sent one of the waiters to check. It was not there.”
The old man bristled.
“Knew it would be a damned waste of time. Said so. I know where it went missing. I’d start interrogating your employees, sir. At once!”
The club chairman looked unhappy.
“Your Grace, please allow us time to search the premises before we start anything so drastic. Perhaps it has simply been mislaid … ?”
“Mislaid!” The word was an explosion. “Dammit! Mislaid! Do you take me for a fool, sir? I demand that an interrogation of your employees begin at once. I suggest that you now send for the DMP!”
The mention of the Dublin Metropolitan Police had made the chairman slightly pale.
“Your Grace, the reflection on our reputation …”
“Damn your reputation, sir! What about my hair brush!” quivered the old man.
It was then I felt I should intervene.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” I began.
Rheumy blue eyes turned on me and assessed my youthful years.
“And who the devil are you, Sir?”
“My name is Holmes. I might be able to help you.”
“You, you young jackanapes? What do you mean?”
I heard my brother “tut-tutting” anxiously in the background at my effrontery.
“With your permission, I think I might be in a position to recover the lost item.”
Cloncury’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Do you have it, you impudent whippersnapper?” he demanded. “By God, if you are responsible …”
Mycroft came to my help.
“Excuse me, Your Grace, this is my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes.”
Cloncury glanced up and recognized Mycroft, knowing him to have the ear of the Viceroy. He looked slightly mollified.
“Why didn’t he introduce himself properly then, hey? Very well, young Holmes, what do you mean by it?”
“With your permission, sir,” I went on, unperturbed, “I would like to put a few questions to the chairman of the club.”
The chairman began to flush in annoyance.
“Go ahead, then, Mister Holmes,” instructed Cloncury. “I am sure that the chairman will be in favour of anything that stops the incursion of the police into this establishment.”
It seemed that the chairman, albeit reluctantly, was in favour.
“Well, sir, if I remember correctly, the wash room is next to the cloak room, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Is the wash room attended?”
“It is not.”
“And the cloak room? Is it attended at all times?”
“Of course it is.”
“Your Grace, will you be so good as to show me where it was that you left your toilet box?”
We turned in a body, headed by the duke, and passed into the wash room. He pointed to one of the ornate marble wash basins at the far end of the room. It was one of a dozen such wash basins lining the entire left handside wall of the chamber which was fronted by a series of mirrors for the use of the members. The right handside wall was fitted with toilet cubicles in dark mahogany and brass fittings, except for a small area behind the main door. The marble tiled wall here was unimpeded by anything except for a small opening. It was about two feet square, framed in mahogany and with a hatch door.
I pointed to it.
“I presume that this hatch connects the wash room with the cloak room?”
“Naturally,” barked the chairman. “Now what is all this about?”
I turned