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Sherlock Holmes bowed low in humorous acknowledgement, a look of immense satisfaction on his face.

“By Jove!” cried Musgrave. “This linen bag is identical to the one in which we recovered the crown from the lake, when you solved the puzzle of our Ritual.”

“You are certain of that?” said Holmes. “Your cousin showed me the bag at the time, but I did not, as I now regret, make any special examination of it.”

“Yes, I am certain. What can it mean?”

Holmes did not reply at once. He sat on the coffin, deep in thought. It was only when our host’s flare sputtered out, leaving us in darkness, that he spoke again. “Musgrave,” he said, “you mentioned that these catacombs abut the cellar in which we found Brunton’s body. Where precisely is that cellar?”

“Within ten paces of this spot!” replied Musgrave, relighting his flare; “Up these stone steps and through that archway!” Thus we found ourselves at the site of the old Hurlstone tragedy. The stone slab that had snuffed out Brunton’s life had been replaced, no doubt for reasons of safety, by a wooden trap door but, as Holmes commented, little else had changed. As before, on a barrel stood a large lantern, evidently still functional for Musgrave lit it at once. Wood was still stacked around the walls. Holmes was even able to show us two of the dented billets that Brunton and the girl Howells had used to raise the flagstone from the sepulchre. He had, he remarked, put them to one side, years ago.

On my first visit,” said Holmes, “I sat here for twenty minutes, thinking over the meaning of what we had found. I must now do so again. We have much data to consider. May I suggest that you, Watson, and you Musgrave, take these historic relics to a place of safety in the house while I remain here. My pipe and tobacco will suffice for company.”

I followed Musgrave as he led the way up a winding stone staircase to the daylight above. In half an hour we rejoined Holmes. He rose and stood before us, his hands on his coat lapels, his eyes alive with excitement.

“Musgrave, I have news which I fear will not please you, following as it does so hard on our discovery of …”

“Of what?” cried Musgrave. “What precisely are these rusted relics?”

“Reunited with the crown you already have, they are nothing less than the ancient Crown Jewels of England!”

Musgrave and I stared at Holmes in amazement.

“The Crown Jewels?”

“Just so. However, the fact is that others have rights to this new treasure and, hard though it may be to comprehend, they have already established an effective claim to it. They have done so moreover in a manner which will be hard to dispute or deny.”

“But that is impossible!” cried Musgrave. “We only discovered the trove an hour ago. We three alone know of it! How can anyone else possibly be aware of it, let alone have registered a claim to it? And by what agency could such a claim have been made?”

Holmes smiled ruefully. “I fear that I am myself the agent!”

“You?”

“Yes, I.”

“Mr Holmes, I must ask you to explain yourself. You are a friend of my family. You have helped us immeasurably in the past. My cousin admired, respected and trusted you. It is inconceivable that you would deliberately act against our family’s interest on behalf of others. I will not – can not – do not – believe it!”

“My dear Musgrave, what you say is true. Of course I would never knowingly do anything against your interest,” Holmes assured him. “The fact is that I have been duped.”

“By whom?”

“By one with a mind of astonishing power; by a daring and imaginative schemer possessed of a considerable flair and ingenuity which is the more startling for being unexpected.”

“Who is this Titan?”

“Your family’s former second housemaid!“

“What? Impossible!”

“I assure you no. The person who has effectively lodged a valid claim against this priceless treasure is Rachel Howells: the same Howells whose unexplained disappearance at the time of Brunton’s murder – for murder it was – created such a furore.”

“But if she is a murderess, Holmes,” I exclaimed, “she must be arrested. No criminal can be allowed to